Dirty Laundry

It was frightening. It was one of the biggest things I had ever seen. I didn't know what to do or how to protect myself without being overpowered and engulfed. So I took a deep breath and decided to go for it. I was so proud of myself for being so brave. I hadn't tested my fears in a long time…but it was time. And that's why I decided the day had arrived; for I was now entering......the Wal-Mart zone.

Yes, that's right. I was a Wal-Mart virgin. And now I know why. They always say ‘Try something once.’ [Whoever ‘they’ are?] And ‘Don't knock it til you try it.’ Well....I can honestly say…once was one time too many. That was the first and only time I will ever show my face in there. Everything they say about it; all the fun they poke at the Wal-Mart people....could never begin to really show the enormity of the sideshow you actually witness. It really is like entering the Twilight Zone. I had no idea what I would encounter. I had assumed it would be like Target. A mish-mosh of lots of stuff, but clean, organized, and easy to navigate. But when I walked into Wal-Mart, I was completely overwhelmed. I had never seen so much crap piled into one store in my entire life; with so many narrow aisles, you’d have to be the size of toothpick to fit through them. Costco couldn’t hold a candle to the inventory at Wal-Mart. Costco is like a Caribbean vacation compared to that. And the amount of people inside…I felt like I was in a crowded subway in New York at rush hour. Except maybe in another universe. I walked around for close to an hour looking for what I went there for. Actually I was pushed and shoved as I attempted to walk around on my quest to find what I was looking for. Finally I found a salesperson after about 40 minutes of searching through a sea of circus freaks.

“Excuse me. Do you sell washing machines?” "¿Como?" “Do you sell washers?” "¿Qué?"   "¿Habla Inglés?" “No. Lo siento.” "¿Dondé esta el washingó machinó?” “No sé.” Oh brother.** My search continued.

I believe it was 'wear your clothes ten sizes too small' day at Wal-Mart. Do they not sell sizes over a 4 there? Are there fun house mirrors in the dressing rooms so they can't tell what they actually look like? Or for that matter, are there mirrors at all? Do they not see what we see? Glamour and Weight Watchers should have had booths set up. They would have had a field day. It’s definitely a place to go to see the ‘Before’ people. Quite enjoyable for those of us who are avid people watchers.

After spending almost an hour searching for a washing machine, I finally found an English speaking salesperson who informed me that they don’t carry large appliances. Are you f**king kidding me? Although, I have to say she was quite helpful suggesting other stores where I could find them, not too far from there. It was unfortunate I didn’t know that prior to entering that sardine like claustrophobic nightmare. I’m just thankful I made it out alive. My Spanish is much improved, though.

Next stop…Best Buy. The used car salesman-like vultures swooped in on me like they hadn’t seen a customer or had a sale in a decade. Which…with the economy the way it is…maybe they hadn’t. Three of them lunged at me all at once. I’m not sure how they decided who would be lucky enough to help me, but two of them backed off while the third creepy looking guy decided to help. “Welcome to Best Buy. How may I swindle you today?”

Have you ever spontaneously gone out and bought a washing machine? I would have never believed there were so many options on something that you simply are using to get your clothes clean. I’m not buying a rocket ship here. I just wanted a f**king washing machine. I didn’t investigate the options before I went out to buy one. Big mistake. Mine went kaput after 26 years and I just wanted to replace it. I didn’t realize I needed to study up and research this prior to purchase.

1      Top load or front load? – Who gives a shit? I guess top load so I don’t break my back bending down to front load. Does it really make a difference?

2      How many wash and spin cycles? – Huh? I couldn't care less how many cycles...How about enough to get them clean?

3      Drum Capacity – Um…bongos or steel?

4      Spin speed? – Fast enough to spin out the water…that will work. Why would there even be more than one speed? I'd prefer not to have to twist and wring them out myself so as fast as it can go please.

5      Delay start? – Delay start? Why would I need to set it to start at a later time? Who’s going to be there to put the clothes in the dryer if I wait til later when I'm not home? Do you have that option, too? Someone to do the laundry for me? A personal laundress, maybe? Yes...thank you. I'll take the laundress option.

6      Balance system? – Well of course I want it balanced…I would prefer it didn’t bounce across the house into another room. Unless it plans on picking up the other dirty clothes still left all over the floor from my kids, while it’s making the rounds of the house.

7      Noise reduction? – That would be nice. I would appreciate not having to scream over the sound of my washing machine. That may be somewhat annoying.

8      Hoses included? Don't you kinda need the hoses to deliver the water into the tub to wash the clothes? Of course I want the f**king hoses. Who wouldn't? Is there such a thing as washers that don’t utilize H₂O?

9      Agitator? – Uh…yes, yes I am. I won’t be once you stop asking me a million questions.

10   What color? - Do you still have that avocado green we had back in the 70’s? That was an interior designers dream. I'll take that one please.

11   Price? - Oh...that. How about 'buy one item, get the second one free?' If I buy a laundry basket, could you throw in the washer? NO? Okay then...Let's keep it cheap…under $500. I don't think I need the drum thrown in. I can just listen to my iPod.  

I guess $500 is not a realistic price for a washing machine if you actually want it to wash your clothes. The salesman looked at me like I was crazy and steered me in the direction of the computer. "Well, ma'am...This is what you can get for under $500...

                                                  "I wish you the best of luck."

**Please note…I have no problem with people moving to the U.S. from other countries. My problem is…if you are living in this country, and working in this country, please speak the language of this country. That language is English.

Halo or Hell-No

I know I am an extremely sensitive person. I can’t help it. I get upset when I see someone eating a meal by themselves at a restaurant. I’ve been known to tear up when I see an elderly person having dinner all alone. I rarely think it’s by choice. I don’t even like seeing one of my kids sitting downstairs in the kitchen eating by herself. Sometimes I’ll just go downstairs to keep her company. I don’t know why I get like that, but I do. I’m so overly sensitive that I find some commercials to be real tearjerkers.

I think it’s mean to train animals. We don’t know that they actually want to be doing whatever it is you’re teaching them to do. People think it’s cute, but the animal itself may not like it. I think we should train them to be safe…but not to do tricks just for human amusement. On the Today Show last week, they were showing the world’s smallest puppy that was born a couple of weeks ago. They were holding her up and she was adorable. But as I sat there watching, I had tears in my eyes because the poor little thing was shaking uncontrollably. Then they decided it would be cute to put her in a coffee mug. I didn’t think that was cute at all. I think cuddling her would have been much sweeter and not so insensitive.

When I have taken trips up north, while driving through farming areas, all I can think about when I see the thousands of cattle grazing, is that they have no clue that they are next in line to be someone's dinner. How sad is that? If they knew...they'd be running towards the freeway for a ride. And if I had the means, I would think about picking up a couple and taking them to safety.

When I was a kid and my grandparents would come to visit, my grandfather, who spoke hardly any English, would go sit by himself in the family room. Not being able to verbally communicate with him, I would go sit next to him on the couch, take his hand, and keep him company. In silence.

I like helping people whenever I can…especially the elderly and children. I know I’m not alone when it comes to doing and feeling this way…thank God. But I do get overly upset when I see any kind of suffering or bad behavior towards others. And I end up dwelling on it. That’s why I could never work in a nursing home or children’s hospital. I would be boo-hooing the entire time, not being helpful to anyone. I would be sad 24 hours a day. If I could, I would adopt every abandoned animal out there; but that's obviously not realistic…I'm just giving you an idea of my depth of compassion.

But here’s the thing…as caring and loving as I am towards people and animals…especially those in need…I can tell you this for sure. If I’m sitting in the emergency exit row of an airplane, and there is an actual emergency…there’s no f**king way I’m helping anyone else off that plane before I bail. I don't give a shit how in need they are. Sure…c’mon people. You all exit before me. Let me help you deplane first and hopefully there will still be time for me to get off before we go spiraling down or blow up and burn. Or maybe we won't really crash that hard, so I'll just stand at the exit and make sure YOU are all safe. Are you f**king kidding me? I'm going to be the first one to grab that flotation device from under the seat, strap it on and jump. I didn't sit through 18,000 hours of flight attendants boring us to death on what to do in case of an emergency, all for nothing. I'm not waiting for any person, baby or animal to go before me. My own kids will have to push me aside to get there first. Ok...maybe I would shove my own kids and dog out the exit door before me; [and hopefully they'll have on their flotation devices that I’m sure will lighten the blow of any major fall from 30,000 feet in the air…IF we are flying over a body of water]...but that's about it. Everyone else...they're on their own! I'd love to say I'm that benevolent, but who would I be kidding? It just ain't gonna happen.

Do airlines actually think if someone is sitting in the emergency exit row they are going to wait for everyone else to get off? I don’t think so. It's almost laughable. The only reason anyone sits in that row is for the leg room. I have never sat there because I'm just that altruistic and want to be sure everyone is safe. Geez...if I didn’t have long legs I wouldn’t be sitting there at all. And the other thing…if we’re on our way down…does anyone actually believe I’m better qualified to help people than the flight attendant or pilot, just because I’m sitting in the emergency exit row? And do we actually believe if we ARE on our way down…other than a miracle…that there is a point to the emergency exit anyway? And one more thing…why are there not parachutes under our seats instead of flotation devices? Wouldn’t that make more sense?

I used to work for one of the largest advertising agencies in the world. Our offices were so big that we elected fire marshals in various sections of the hallways on each floor of our building. I was one of those ‘lucky’ enough to be appointed. Each fire marshal had to get CPR and First Aid certifications before we could take on this very important responsibility. I felt honored that my group elected me. Yeah…sure I did. I’m no idiot…I realized they did that because they didn't want to have that weight on their own shoulders. I find it hard to believe that any of them thought I would actually wait for them to all exit the building before I bee-lined for the exit myself. Little did they know that I was quite the sprinter and although I knew how to save lives after getting certified, I also knew where to direct everyone in case of fire or earthquake, and could get there faster than anyone else. If there was an emergency...they would probably see me flying by them out those exits thinking to themselves…"Who was that speed racer?" Screw getting them out of there first. If I wanted to be that hero...I would've become a firefighter or police officer. But I'm an ad exec...who's quite the chicken. And who wants to live a long life.

Living in suburbia for so many years now, and being one of the lucky few who works from home, I had been chosen by my neighbors as the ‘look out’ person. Like I’m actually going to sit lurking out the window all day spying on the gas and electric company personnel, or the landscapers, to be sure they are legit. First of all…that would mean moving my office to the front of the house. Secondly, I do actually work when I’m supposed to be working. Thirdly, I have the attention span of a gnat. And lastly…if there was someone taking furniture, electronic equipment or anything, for that matter…I would look up at them, put my head back down, and go back to work. Kinda like hearing a car alarm…who knows if it’s actually a break in…and frankly…who gives a shit? They didn't really pick the right person for the job.

So there you have it. I'm quite the contradiction. I have that little Devil on one shoulder and little Angel on the other, sparring back and forth, "Save 'em" "F**k 'em", "Save 'em", "F**k 'em". And all I have to say is...it would behoove you to stay on my good side. Well...in the event you ever need my flotation device.

I know emergency exits are only used once on the ground…but a little artistic license necessary

Baby, It's Cold Inside

I am so over winter. I know it’s spring, although you couldn’t tell from the weather. I know I live in southern California, but this week has been extremely cold here and as luck would have it, on the rare occasion when we do need to use our heat, mine is on the fritz. I know you’re saying, ‘big deal…it’s southern California,’ but let me tell you…37 degrees is 37 degrees, no matter where you live. When you’re blowing ‘steam’ out of your mouth INSIDE your house…you’ve got major problems.

Have you ever sat on your toilet seat in 37 degree weather when the heat wasn’t blasting? It’s no day in the park. Well…maybe in Gorky Park. I jumped up so fast my pee almost came shooting out of my nose. My buns are frostbitten. Just the thought of baring any of my body parts in this igloo is devastating. I’m afraid what would happen if I did start peeing…could be painful. I'd probably be the first woman ever with icicles coming out of her WooWoo.

Within 5 minutes of pouring my coffee, I have to re-heat it in the microwave or dump it. I am going through a pot of coffee an hour. And quite a good workout on the stairs. I’m surprised I’m not drinking iced coffee by the time I get from the kitchen upstairs to my office. I’m basically using my coffee mug as a hand warmer for the 3 minutes it’s piping hot.

I would wear gloves but since I’m working, I can’t use the keyboard with gloves on. Well, I guess I could, but nothing I would type would make any sense. Not that it does half the time anyway. A space heater would probably be helpful, but since we don’t normally need one, I don’t have one hanging around the house. I am using a heating pad as a thermal blanket across my lap to keep my body temperature from going into hypothermia. I think they should make body suits out of heating pads. That would solve my problem. [I believe I hear “Shark Tank” calling my name.]  

I don’t need ice in my water to keep it cold…it’s pretty much icing over as we speak. My nose is running, forming icicles as it drips down my face. I just suck on those instead of taking my hands out from under the blanket to lift the iced water to my mouth; which if my lips weren’t frozen shut; maybe I would be able to sip from the cup. I have so many blankets wrapped around me I can barely lift my arms anyway. I swaddled myself so tightly into the blankets; I have to wait for my daughter to get home to unravel me.

My eyelashes have frost on them. I tried doing my make up earlier but the liquid mascara is now a solid. I sure hope I don’t have to cry for any reason…or those tears are going to be a bitch to get off my face.

I could probably take my blow dryer and melt them off. Actually…I should probably just get my blow dryer [or two or three], hook them up on the wall near my desk and let the heat blast at me. Hmmmm….that’s a thought…maybe after I invent the heating pad body suit.

My dog looks like a taxidermist got a hold of her and stuffed her. She is planted on the rug with all four legs pointing up, not moving [except for the periodic violent shaking from having doggiethermia.] Her coat of fur isn’t doing the trick for her, either. She started to lick herself and her tongue got stuck to her HooHoo.

The water doesn’t come out of the faucet anymore. Just stops mid stream like an ice sculpture. The bristles on my toothbrush have hardened like the wires in the brush you clean a barbeque with. That was pleasant to discover AFTER I started brushing my teeth. Frozen bristles and tooth enamel don’t do well together. It’s a little rough and gritty when I run my tongue over my teeth.

I use a step ladder now to get onto my bed. I put on so many additional comforters; I’ve added 18 inches to the height. Sometimes, when I want a little more exercise, I actually get a running start at the other end of the hallway, run down into my bedroom, and then fling myself onto the bed. Of course, when you’re dressed in as much ski gear as possible, looking like you're in a sumo wrestling suit, your flexibility is somewhat limited. So each time I do that, I hope I don’t keep rolling over and off the other end of the bed.

Of course with all the covers I temporarily have on my bed, I’m lucky I wake up in the morning and don’t suffocate during the night. I’m surprised the weight hasn’t pressed on my chest so hard and that I can actually breathe. I honestly don’t understand how I survived growing up on the east coast in cold weather. I’m a cold weather wimp. I freeze when the temperature is in the 60’s, let alone the 30’s and 40’s.  

Do you think I’ve lived in sunny, southern California too long? Do you think that as I’m sitting here, I’m wondering just why I haven’t called in a heating and ventilation technician to find out WTF is wrong? Gotta go make a call. Thanks for letting me ‘Vent.’

What Did You Call Me?

I have never been one who calls people by a nickname. I rarely even shorten someone’s name unless I am introduced to them using that name.  If your name is Michael, I will call you Michael. I won’t call you Mike, or Mikey, or any other form used, unless you go by that name full time. For instance, my first husband is Lawrence, but he goes by Larry, and that’s how I met him and it’s the only name I ever called him. The only time I used Lawrence was when I filed my divorce papers.

But that’s not what bugs me. What bugs me are all the terms of endearment that people use for their spouses, family and friends. It’s just not sincere. It wouldn’t bother me if they only used them for that one particular person…but they don’t. They will call others they hardly know by the same nickname.  So you’re going to call me ‘sweetheart’ but then call the waitress at Jerry’s Deli ‘sweetheart’, too? I don’t think so. And please don’t call me by a name you used to call your ex-wife or girlfriend. That would really make me feel so very special. Seriously?

It’s the same thing with people telling people ‘I love you’ way too easily now, to people they really don’t love. The kids say it to all their friends, and some they aren’t close to. It’s way overused and loses its meaning for the people you really do love. I remember my daughter asking me to tell one of her friends that I love her. I said, “But I don’t” and she said, “Say it anyway…everyone does.” I wouldn’t do it. Saying I love you is reserved for those who I really do love. That’s not a compromise I will ever make and I don’t understand why others do.

I remember when I met my first husband and he started calling me ‘honey’. It was so odd to me because no one in my family had ever used terms of endearment. My parents only used their respective given names when they spoke to each other and our given names when they spoke to us kids. Both my sisters’ names were one syllable, so you couldn’t even shorten theirs. Actually, in our family, syllables were added, instead of shortened. I think it was a Yiddish/Jewish thing my grandparents did. I was Jaimala, my sister Beth was Betāmela and my sister Pam was Pamela; although Pamela was actually her real name. But being young and naïve, or just plain stupid, and only knowing her as Pam, I didn’t realize her given name had an –ela at the end. She ‘changed’ it to her real full name about 15 years ago...from Pam to Pamela. I still call her Pam. After 40+ years it’s kinda hard to start calling someone by a whole new name. Well...new to me, and not gonna happen.

But back to the endearing terms…and my husband calling me ‘honey’. It took me quite a while to get used to that. And I just couldn’t find a word I wanted to call him. Well…at least not while I was in love. I would practice saying words in front of the mirror. “Hi honey.” “Hi sweetheart.” “Hi sweetie.” Nothing felt like it would just flow out of my mouth naturally. It just wasn’t for me. I felt so ridiculous saying words like that. I guess it’s all how you are raised? I’m not sure, but since I never heard it in my house growing up, it wasn’t ‘normal’ for it to pour out. I just wasn’t feeling it. I did get used to him calling me ‘honey’ and he never called anyone else ‘honey’ besides me, so it was ok.  But I don’t remember ever having a nickname for him. I believe it just remained ‘Larry’.  At least out loud.

My second husband had 80 gazillion names for me.  And every single one of those…he used for others, too. It bugged the shit out of me. You may not call me ‘honey’ if you’re going to call Mildred, the 70 year old dry cleaner lady, ‘honey’, too. You may not call me ‘dear’.  We are not in our 80’s yet. Do not call me ‘darling’. I’m not Doris Day and you’re definitely not James Garner and we are not living in 1963.  And one of my most despised names of all…’Babe’. Do not ever call me ‘babe’. You’re not a construction worker whistling at me as I walk by…”Yo, Babe.” I am not a pig from a movie, nor am I some 20 something starring in a big screen feature film or a baseball player from the roaring 20's. Everyone uses ‘babe’ and it means nothing when everyone is using it. And I find it kind of demeaning for some reason. I want to feel special when someone calls me by a name other then my given name. It should mean something. I don’t want to be mixed in with everyone else you’re calling by that name. You may as well just call me Shirley. (“And don’t call me Shirley”).   

I did start calling him ‘honey’ for some reason, and I kept saying it until it felt normal. Or as normal as it was going to feel for me, which still was more abnormal than normal; never natural. I do remember the term ‘shithead’ being used quite a bit. That felt natural. Would you consider that a term of endearment? Probably not, huh? Over the years there were a few other names, but nothing I would post here. But they did flow out just fine at the time.

I had a boyfriend for a while, who I called ‘Weenie’. Don’t ask me why, but that felt natural. He didn’t take to it too easily at first, but when I pointed out that it actually was MY term of endearment for him only, he grew accustomed to it. It had nothing to do with his little pecker…if that’s what you’re wondering. It had nothing to do with him being a pansy. It just felt right and it was indigenous to him only. How special would that make a person feel? Weenie...so cute. 

There are only two people I have nicknames for…my daughters. And it’s the same for both and I never call anyone else by those names…’Sweetie’ or ‘Sweetie-pie’. I don’t know why those feel right but they do. Maybe because most of the time they are sweeties and my love is so deep. Although there are times I’d like to call them by other names…not so endearing…but I refrain because I’m supposed to set a good example. Aren’t I and do I have to? My girls know there are a couple of names I will not answer to. I will not answer to Mama. We are not in Little House on the Prairie nor are we in Tara. Actually, I think Mama is the only one I don’t like. I still love being called ‘Mommy’ no matter how old they get. It will always make me feel warm and fuzzy and that’s exactly what terms of endearment should do.

People have quite a few names for me that are variations of my given name. So that’s ok and kind of sweet. I will answer to Hymie (phonetically spelled for those of you who don’t speak Spanish and who obviously don’t live in L.A. then), Jai, Jaimala, Jame…and most forms thereof. I will also answer to ‘Love of my life’, ‘Woman of my dreams’, ’20 Million Dollar Winner of Publishers Clearing House Sweepstakes’.  Or…Jaime, Jaime bo bamey, banana fanna fo famie, fee fy mo mamie…Jaime. 

And that’s the name of the game……Babe.

Filing My Frickin' Federal Tax Forms (A Fare for Frequently Using the 'F' word)

I just finished filing my taxes. As soon as my W-2 came in, I was on it. I used to have my accountant do them, but I decided I would do my own since they were so much simpler now. Simpler? That’s what they call simple? You have to be a f**king genius to know WTF they are asking. I’ve never seen anything more complicated in my entire life. I could probably cure cancer before I could figure out how to fill out a 1040 form.

I believe I am now qualified to work for the Internal Revenue Service. Ok...maybe Turbo Tax is the Einstein, but you still have to kind of have a clue what the hell they are asking. My Google was blowing up with all my questions. I couldn't even get past how many dependents I had. Seriously. In my eyes, my kids will always be my dependents because no matter how old they are...they still come to me for money. Doesn't that make them dependent on me? I believe so. But the government doesn't. I swear...I need to have a talk with the commissioner of the IRS regarding who's a dependent and who isn't.

I think I should be able to declare my dog. She costs me a fortune. They didn't ask about any pet dependents though, to my chagrin. I believe vet bills, pet food, doggie meds, grooming...all should be deductible. We ARE taking care of other living beings, are we not? I think we should be able to write them off. Obedience school should be as big a deduction as college. It's education, right? It wouldn't matter to me, though; because it’s obvious I never sent my dog to obedience school, in case you noticed how not well behaved she is. I don't want anyone disciplining my little pup...it makes me too upset. But had I, I would've liked it to have been deductible.

Some of the questions they ask are just mind boggling. I honestly have no clue what they are talking about. They start out saying "TurboTax makes doing your taxes easy, with step-by-step guidance, like a GPS." Like a GPS? I'm thinking GPS isn't an acronym for global positioning system. I believe it's saying..."Geez...Pretty [f**king] Stupid" trying to do your own taxes. But hey...I like to live dangerously. And hopefully legally. I guess I'll find out if they call for an audit. So off I went on the Turbo Tax Highway with my GPS.

I was lucky I could answer the 'Personal info' section. Just barely. "Tell us what happened to you last year." Seriously? You've got that much time to hear about my year? Oh...financially. I get it. I was almost ready to write my life story on my tax forms.

Do you think people lie on 'donations'? Like I can remember how many items of clothing I gave away, what sizes, and what price category they fell into. I've moved and cleaned out so many homes in the last few years, I've probably donated more than my net worth. But, by golly, I'm going to itemize how many shirts, jeans, shoes, purses and pajamas I donated and what were designer and non-designer. I'm sure that has to make a huge difference in my charitable donation deduction. And how many items of each? I admit...I'm a little anal about keeping records, but I have to say...I didn't itemize prior to handing my twenty-five GLAD trash bags full of clothes to the tatted up, long haired, drugged out Good Will guy, nor did he check off detailed items when he handed me the blank receipt for my records. According to my itemized receipt I filled out after I left there…I was the most generous benefactor they’ve ever seen…giving them everything I owned just short of my car.

'Did you have any medical bills?' Really? That's like asking me if I have a bowel movement every day. It's a love/hate thing. Of course I have medical bills. Unfortunately I have way too many and have frequent flyer miles at the doctor's office. Kind of like frequenting the toilet although you wish you didn't have to. This section took me a while, moaning and groaning, if you know what I mean.  

'Did you purchase any eye glasses or contacts?' Of course I did...that's how I can read this mish mosh of a ridiculous tax return. How else can I tell what the hell you are trying to ask me if I didn't purchase f**king glasses? Maybe next year I can get x-ray glasses to see through what you are trying to ask. But thank you so much for letting me deduct them. I appreciate that and find it a little strange that they are deductible, but quite pleased. May I deduct my 10 sessions at the shrink that I will need after having a nervous breakdown from deciphering my tax returns, too, please?  

Trying to figure out my filing status alone scares the shit out of me. It takes me 15 minutes to decipher if I'm still considered 'Head of Household' and every year they send me the frickin' questionnaire to be sure I still qualify. Do you see anyone else in this house who is the f**king head? And if you do...please tell me who because I would happily give up that title to them. In fact, I would be happy to become a dependent, just for a short time. But they don't consider my daughter, who lives with me full time, is a part time student, pays no rent, no food, does absolutely nothing around the house, to be my dependent because she made over $3,700? Are you kidding me? $3,700? How do they come up with that amount of money to give her independence from me? She made out like a bandit on her tax return though...while I got screwed! But again...$3,700? Why so little? $37,000 maybe...but $3,700? I'm stupefied.

The way they determine if one of your children is a dependent is if you can answer YES to six questions. Can I tell you how long it took me to figure out what the questions were asking, let alone if I met all six requirements? There were double negatives that I must have read 18 times to figure out if I did meet what it asked or not. And some of the questions were 3 parts and I couldn’t figure out if I met the one part to satisfy the other parts. And then if you satisfy that one, it had to be in conjunction with the others. I felt like I was doing a Rubik’s Cube. And believe me, I never solved it.

‘Do you own any property?’ If I still owned property I would have many more deductions and wouldn’t have fired my accountant who could figure out how to file my tax returns and charge me the $600 he charged me because he did my taxes because I owned property. Of course I don’t own property. Now I kinda wish I did. It sure would’ve made filing my taxes a lot simpler. At least for me.

Here Come Da Judge

I started jury duty last week. Well...I started the process of jury duty. I just assumed I would sit there for the 8 hours required; read or be on the computer for the entire time, without being called in to go through voir dire, then leave and be done for a year. Boy was I wrong.

Prior to going to the courthouse, I made sure I had nothing in my purse or on my being that would set off any bells or sirens when going through the security check. I’m not sure why, but I did a survey of everything as if I would be flying the friendly skies. You would think I was leaving for a month with all the stuff I packed into my purse: water, protein bars, crackers, 5 hour energy drinks, [because for sure, I was going to need a few of those]; an extra sweater, magazines, a book. It appeared as if I was going on some expedition to the North Pole, because my bag was filled with the entire contents of my house. But I made sure I didn’t have any liquids over 3 ounces, nothing sharp, clean socks on my feet, my prescription drugs in the correct bottles, etc, etc. Then I remembered that it wasn’t necessary. I didn’t have to strip down, and I was allowed to bring in my coffee mug, a bottle of water, food, blah blah blah. The superior court is much less stringent then the airlines. Go figure. But for some reason, I went into panic mode going into a government building. It’s a good thing I don’t work there because I would need to take a valium to go into my office every day. I feel like you have to be on your best behavior so as not to get arrested for something. I was just going for jury duty yet I felt like I was going to be patted down, questioned for murder and sent off to prison; so I took my tweezers out of my make up bag.

I have received a summons for jury duty every year for the last 15 or so years. Whenever I go, I never run into anyone I know and by the 6th hour of sitting there alone, I'm ready to jump out of my skin from boredom, whether I’m reading a good book or not. The plastic squeaking chairs they provide are about as comfortable as lying naked on a bed of nails. By the time I leave, I walk out of there hunched over like a 90 year old woman; unless my numb, cramped legs give out on me first.

But this time I was looking forward to being alone. I was excited about having a day off work, starting a great book, listening to my iPod, writing my blog, and relaxing at the courthouse, comfortable or not. All alone in a sea of strangers and happy as a little clam. But as soon as I had gotten into the room with all the prospective jurors, signed in, and started walking to a seat isolated in the back of the room, I heard someone call my name. You have got to be kidding me. And it wasn't just some acquaintance I could say my hellos to and walk away; it was a friend of my daughters, who never lets a second go by without having diarrhea of the mouth. She called me over and asked me to sit with her. Really? Do I have to? Please NO (I whined to myself). And the minute I sat down, off we went on a never ending roller coaster of conversation. You know how those 20 somethings talk...‘like, um, ya know’ over and over and over. I was so happy when they called my name to report to a courtroom. My eardrums would get a chance to stop banging. I’d rather sit in the courtroom listening to the attorneys and judge than chatting it up with Napoleon Dynamite.  

You know how I said I was looking forward to being alone in a sea of strangers? And you know how I said I never have run into anyone I know in the 15 plus years of jury duty? And you know how there are some days you're just not in a chatty mood? Well...forget all that. As soon as I entered the room where the jury would be selected, there were 3 more people I knew. Possible jury members on the same trial I would not be sitting in on. [Because I always get dismissed but have to sit through the process anyway, unfortunately.] So much for my time of introspection and solitude. Unknowingly, I had sat down next to one of those people I knew, and then discovered we were acquaintances. And once she realized who I was, she didn't shut up through the entire interrogation of the 18 people being questioned at the time. She kept commenting on all the questions the attorney was asking of them. It was like sitting in a movie theater where someone behind you keeps blabbing and narrating through the whole thing. "Will you please shut the f**k up, for crying out loud." I didn’t really say that but I can't tell you how much I wanted to turn to her and grab her lips shut. You would think my ignoring her would be a small hint. Uh uh. Nope. Not at all. She just kept blabbing away. I was quite embarrassed [embarrassment through association, I guess] because everyone kept looking back to see who it was. "It's not me, it's not me. Honest."

One of the other prospective jurors was my orthopedic surgeon. He was excused because he was needed in surgery the following week. Pshaw...what kind of excuse is that? Physician shit. I was thinking I could just ask the judge to discuss my issues with the doctor so he could vouch that the pain in my neck and back was good enough for me to get out of sitting on the jury. “Um, Judge…sidebar please? In your chambers?” But I didn't think that would go over too well in a court of law.

The other person I knew was a trainer at my gym. Well, she USED to be. And if you had seen her you would understand when I say USED to be. I don't think she's seen the inside of a gym in about 10 years. She’s definitely seen the inside of every candy wrapper though. I can’t imagine she’s still in that line of work.  And if she is, she may want to re-think her career choice along with thinking about practicing what she was preaching. Geesh.

So there I sat, listening to the attorneys voir diring (not sure that’s really the correct usage) the prospective jurors. All day Friday and again on Monday morning until finally they decided who they were keeping and who they were dismissing. To my amazement…they kept people I thought for sure were out the door. One was an ex-drug addict with prior arrests and jail time. You think he doesn’t have a small, little, teensy, weensy bias against the peace officers and the people of the court? I know he said he doesn’t…but seriously?

Once they had weeded out the rejects, they needed only one more person as the alternate. So they called up three more prospects. And there it was… “Will Jaime Perlov please have a seat up front?” HOLY SHIT! ME? Really? I’ve mentioned in previous blogs how petrified I am to speak in front of people. I mentioned in this blog how petrified I was to be in a government building for fear of getting accused of some major crime. Can you imagine how f**king mortified I was when they called me up? My worst fears coming true. I know, with no doubt in my mind, that you could see my pulse bulging out of my neck like some alien, and the bright, beet red blush on my cheeks. I’m surprised they didn’t have to scrape me off the floor. I could barely speak when I had to recite my name, where I was from, occupation, etc. They couldn’t have picked from the other sixty f**king people sitting there waiting?

I had memorized what I would say if I was called upon, so I gave my reasons, albeit with my voice jittering like someone was violently shaking me, but not one sentence came out of my mouth the way I had planned. And although my intentions came across the way I wanted, the defense attorney did everything she could to get me to say I would be able to give a fair verdict for the defendant. Well........NO I CAN’T. She asked me the same question worded 5 different ways and she got the same answer from me. “I can NOT be fair in my judgment.” I won’t go into my reasons for fear of offending some people and hurting others, but I used to be married to a cop. Enough said.

Every year that I am called for jury duty I give the same reasons and they dismiss me. So wouldn’t it make sense to not summons me back anymore? Wouldn’t it save everyone time and money? Aside from the fact that my attention span is the size of gnat’s brain cell? I know I wouldn’t want me on a jury if I was accused of some crime. The other jurors would have to recite everyone’s testimonies to me 18 times for me to absorb one tenth of them. So hopefully, not having me on the jury, and having the ex-drug addict who has no biases towards anybody (wink, wink), along with some other extremely unqualified, not very well educated jurors, the accused will get a fair trial. I’m so glad my life doesn’t rely upon others to judge. Although in our everyday life…aren’t we constantly being judged by some-one for some-thing?