Friday, December 16, 2005

It's the crap-crappiest time of the year!

I realize that some of you may be expecting me to dispel the "rumors" about Mr. Nina, a.k.a. Colin Farrell, being in rehab. Well, I'm not going to dispel anything. The rumors are true. Collsy, unfortunately, has hit a rough patch. But before you go denouncing him and his lack of willpower, you should know right now that it's all my fault. See, Colin is a sensitive soul. When I'm in pain, he's in pain. And right now, we're both in a lot of pain, and Colin is self-medicating.

So Colin is off at rehab, and really, it's good we're having this time apart. We both have some shit to slog through. Colin has to tear apart his psyche, stripping his emotional makeup down to its very foundation in order to find out why he turns to drugs and alcohol to numb his pain. Whereas I have to get through Christmas.

See, one day, after I've sold the movie rights to the Great American Novel that I wrote and I have my kickass mountain home staffed with deaf-mutes who I don't actually have to talk to, I won't have to deal with this holiday bullshit. But right now, I am on the edge of sanity, baby. I say this not as a Jew but as a Social Phobic: If you people don't stop shoving, driving like idiots and wearing those fucking sweaters, I am going to lose it. I don't care if you want to wish me a Merry Christmas, just STOP SINGING ABOUT IT.

I live behind a shopping center. I am unable to travel between the outside world and my safe little home without going in and out of this shopping center and navigating my way through its Traffic Light of Death. Honestly, something must happen to one's brain chemistry upon the purchase of drastically-reduced Gap denim that causes one to think making a left turn from the right lane is perfectly acceptable. Because you know what? It's not.

And if you know me personally, I would like to apologize right now for not getting you a gift. I leave the house with good intentions. I will park far away from the store entrance. I say to myself. I will not jockey for a parking spot with that lady in the minivan who is quite possibly armed. I will enter the store with a good idea of what I'm going to buy my family member/friend/co-worker/bookie, so as not to wander around aimlessly. I will expect that the cashier will have the I.Q. of a small farm animal, and I will not become impatient with him/her/it. I will not become annoyed at the background music, instead remarking, "Gosh! That Kenny G really knows his way around an alto sax!" I will accomplish what I came to do with Zen-like calm and a loving Christmas spirit. I will not, under any circumstances, disintegrate into a ball of irrational anger and vow to remain indoors until February. But it doesn't quite work out that way, and I wind up getting so overwhelmed in the parking lot that I don't even make it into the store.

No, this year, I will celebrate the holidays the best way I know how: Alone and bitter. I'd invite you over, but, you know, I'm kind of at the height of my misanthropy right now.

As for Colin and I, don't worry, we'll be fine. We've weathered a few storms in our time together, like that whole sex tape fiasco, and the eBay debacle, and the reckless persecution of the media. We're going to come out on the other side of this stronger than ever. Right now, though, I have to figure out what to do with those 13 cases of "emergency" whiskey Colin stashed in the basement before he gets home.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Honesty is the Best (Way To Increase the Premium on Your Insurance) Policy

While not the official transcript, here's what happened in court today:

I'll begin by saying that I again find myself disappointed that life is not the TV show I desperately want it to be. Instead, as it consistently does, mundane reality has bitten me in the ass. I am not sure exactly which episode of Law and Order I thought I was walking into, but this experience was a bit less...well, let's just say it was a bit less.

First, I got lost on the way to the courthouse...excuse me, the industrial strip mall in which JP Court #15 is located, because my request to appear had the WRONG FREAKING ADDRESS on it. When I finally got there, dressed nattily in my best custom-tailored polyester suit, (okay, my only custom-tailored polyester suit), I found that instead of lawyers, the JP court is peopled mostly with ladies named Diane seeking no-contact orders from weird guys who keep showing up at her job. In the conference room/courtroom, there was just the police officer representing the state, the guy who I got in the accident with representing himself, and a judge who really thought he'd be somewhere else in his life by now.

What I didn't explain in my previous post about this matter was that there was a third car "involved" in the accident, driven by Evel Knievel's crackhead cousin Darryl Knievel, whose shitty driving set the stage for the accident, and who promptly sped away before the dust had settled. I won't rehash the tedious details of what happened, but a pretty good argument could be made that Darryl was the only one at fault -- not me, and not the guy who I wound up hitting, even though he got the ticket, which is again what he was contesting today in court. Yup, apparently, and running contrary to both my deepest-held beliefs and the title of this here blog, it wasn't about me at all. No one was even entertaining the idea that this was my fault. So I took it personally for nothing. Well, at least now I can feel bad about overreacting.

Not that I don't have an interest in this case -- if the other guy is found not guilty of improper driving, his insurance company has a pretty good shot of getting my insurance company to pay for half the damages. Because in the absence of the guy who really caused the accident, (the third car), we two innocent babes must shoulder the burden. And that's exactly what happened because my stupid ass told the truth.

I backed up the other's guy's claim that this third car cut him off and caused him to veer into my path. I know it was the right thing to do. After all, I did put my hand upon the Bible and swear to tell the truth in front of God and the Delaware State Police, and let no man put that asunder. But I must say that I felt like an ass afterward, like I could have been savvier. Like I could have used my superhuman intelligence and years of legal experience-by-proxy to outwit them all and wind up not only without any financial responsibility for the accident, but with a citation for bravery issued by the emotionally overwhelmed judge.

But no.

Instead, I just went home and changed out of that goddamn suit.

Sunday, December 04, 2005


* What Would Judge Judy Do?

On Thursday, I have to go to court and I’m terrified. Not because you narc’d on my stash, silly, but to actually testify for the cops in response to a guy I got into an accident with in July.

It’s actually pretty stupid of me to be worried about going to court, given the amount of secondhand legal knowledge I have under my belt. This stems both from years of careful Judge Judy viewing and the fact that about one out of every three people I know – from family to friends to co-workers – is a dirty stinking lawyer. (It’s actually even a profession I reserve the right to possibly attempt for myself one day, and I think I’d be really good at it given my love of both arguing and money).

Besides, I’m not sure there are even going to be lawyers at this proceeding – there’s not enough at stake. What happened was that I was in a relatively minor accident where, while it was in fact my car that hit the other guy’s car, the police gave him a ticket for improper driving and not me, (he had turned right in front of me through an intersection when I had the right-of-way, and I had nowhere to go but to hit him). Anyway, his insurance company, because it’s their job, (don’t hate the player, hate the game), is contesting the ruling because they don’t want to pay for all the damage, (my faithful car, it of over 100,000 miles and countless close shaves on my part, was totaled). At first, I took the actions of the insurance company really personally. It was the first accident I had ever been in that was substantial enough to warrant the police even showing up, and I was pissed off that it happened in the first place, only to feel vindicated when the police officer gave the other guy a ticket and not me. Plus, it was a really aggravating and tense situation, as the police officer was kind of a dick, (again, it’s his job), and, up until the point where he told me he’d be ticketing the other guy, treated me like I had just run over a basket of puppies.

Anyway, my role in the whole proceeding is to be a witness for this cop, and I’m all kinds of paranoid about the whole deal. At first, it was scheduled to take place on Yom Kippur, so I asked them to move it. Not that I spent the day in temple, remorseful and starving like I should have been, but it was a question of propriety. Anyway, I started thinking that when I finally made it in to the courtroom, the opposing party would be extra mean to be because I was a Jew. You know, because my people are so underrepresented in the legal world and everything.

But the truth is that I did hit the other guy and not the other way around, and on the surface, that makes it look like I was at least partially to blame. If you look at the facts, of course, it wasn’t my fault – and that’s the police officer’s position which I am there to support – but I’m internalizing the whole issue as an attack on my character. Yup – leave it to me to make this a reason to step into a downward emotional spiral.

So, I will let you all know how it goes on Thursday. If I feel really threatened, I’ll just pretend I am Judge Judy…“On my worst day I’m smarter than you’ll ever be, Mister Slick.”

(By the way, I’ve been writing this while watching VH1’s “Big in ’05 Awards.” I mean, I’m all for pop culture self-aggrandization in the form of awards shows, but I’m having a really hard time seeing the point of this one. Although I’ve got to say, it’s pretty awesome to watch Lindsay Lohan being rightfully made fun of while she’s sitting in the audience wearing a stupid bedazzled dress. I suppose VH1 is going to really pat itself on the back for getting B-, C- and D-list celebrities to show up and not take themselves seriously, but that self-importance is one of things I actually really like about the Oscars, Emmys, etc. [I’m not saying there haven’t been films that made an impact in the world, but Jerry Maguire wasn’t one of them.] Also, doesn’t MTV already host like 14 awards shows where celebrities don’t take themselves seriously? VH1 is really grasping at straws with this one, but that’s kind of their m.o., and they also just ran a commercial for their new show, “Flavor of Love,” in which actual human women compete to win the affections of Flava Flav. I really wish I had made that up, but I in fact did not.)