Once upon a time, I was a high schooler and I dated a very fun, slightly insane boy. And that boy had a best friend. And then ydelek and I got involved and the next thing any one knew, they were not friends anymore.
There was lots of vicious teenaged gossiping happening on every side of this equation. It involved three-way-calling, on several occasions and in many configurations, as well as an array of highly unreadable e mail.
Possibly, the boys did not gossip viciously about us to each other and that's why they're not friends anymore.
And I've kept in vague touch with my high school boyfriend and she's kept in vague touch with his former best friend over the million years since all this went down. It's become a very comforting habit to gossip, once or twice a year, slightly less viciously, about them.
So, I'm totally going to JournalCon. Really. I made hotel reservations and I promise to sign up once I've been paid (tomorrow). Steady is coming with me; we're driving. Pratt and I are planning to play some Scrabble in order to prove once and for all that I do NOT cheat and I do always beat him fair and square. Defending my honor is reason enough for me to go.
Closure on the traffic court thing.
So, you arrive and you go through security and you wander aimlessly before asking at the information desk. Before you can say anything really, the woman at the desk hands you a number and tells you to wait for it to be called.
Eventually, the number is called. Then you go to a window and you are given a paper with a courtroom number on it. You go there and wonder if you're just supposed to barge on in. You barge on in and wait to be called.
I spoke with the judge, explaining about the duplicate title and the need for an extension. I was permitted my extension, but they wanted to know if I could pay the entire fine for the whole violation right that day, as though he hadn't just given me another month.
Never mind if I could or not, I said no, because obviously I do not want to give them more money than I have to and then try to get it back.
You are told to have a seat and wait to be called. When the clerk calls you up, you are given a packet of information. "Fill this out and wait in line for window 33."
You don't have a pen. There are tables with papers but no pens. There are other tables with chains for pens and no pens. There's a pen over by security!
"Excuse me, ma'am, may I use this pen?"
You are told to go to the information booth and you will be given a pencil. You fill out five pages of information about where you live and work and how much money you have and the contents of your bills.
You get in line for window 33.
At window 33, they give you a number and take your paperwork.
Eventually they call your number. You sign a piece of paper and say you can pay the reduced fine today. As you reach for your checkbook, you are given a number. The cashier will call you.
The cashier takes all of the numbers you have gathered along with your payment and acutally sends you on your way.
That is what happened to me at traffic court. I have until October 31. There has been no progress since Friday on that front...
The ankle is not doing any better. It's not awful. It doesn't hurt if I don't put any weight on it. I think it'll work itself out.
Because I can't stand up comfortably for very long, Steady cooked us dinner. It was very nice of him. On the topic of very nice things, he also did the grocery shopping all by himself on Sunday without even being asked...