drunk actors in a lover's scene

i had a court date last week.

i dressed up for it. it's funny how dressing up for a court date is such a specialized event. it's almost like picking out what you're going to wear for a blind date with someone. first impressions are everything, they say. truth be told, in a courtroom they really ARE everything considering your pocketbook, freedom, and criminal record are riding on that impression. i analyzed every thread of every article of clothing that morning. "does this color of blue make me look like MORE of a criminal?" and "maybe if i put my hair in pigtails i'll get less jail time." at least if you're judged by your outfit on a first date you know the person is an asshole and you're better off anyway. all of that energy was a waste of time because my lawyer immediately told me to come back in two weeks since the judge that day was "more stern than most." hopefully the judge in two weeks will be impressed by my punk-rock pollyanna look.

i have decided that i've moved past the phase of shame about my recent legal troubles. turning my dui experience into a form of artistic impression seems like the only way to make it worth all of this trouble. my photo turned up in "busted" magazine (a weekly newspaper featuring every mug shot taken the previous week) a week after i was pulled over. imagine the worst, and i mean THE WORST, photograph ever taken of you being mass produced and sold in every convenience store in a city of over 500,000 people. at that point, you just have to say "fuck it."

as of 9 days ago, i am no longer a licensed driver. riding a bus from 82nd ave is even more interesting than living on 82nd ave. i sat next to a sixty-something gentleman yesterday who called himself "an old hepcat". a teenage girl got on the bus, and he whispers in my ear "look at that cute one. she's a little young for me though." i think my eardrum got a buzz just from the fumes on his breath. god, i thought. is that how i smell when i drink whiskey? i fucking hope not.

i was waiting for the division bus yesterday when a spindly gray-haired metal head hit me up for light conversation. i had just gotten off work, and was in no mood for any conversational topics that went beyond the weather or how damn long the bus was taking to arrive. "what's your name?" he asked. "lacy. what's yours?" "casey," he says "casey and lacy. that's cute." uh oh... i knew i was being hit-on when he asked what my favorite color is. that's a tell-tale sign you've moved beyond small talk and into the land of getting to know you. this isn't what i bargained for, but i roll with it. eventually, he asks if i work in sellwood, and (i'm an idiot) i say "yes, at new seasons." bad move, lacy. the guy showed up at my work today to say hello, then proceded to stare at me from the cheese case for about ten minutes. of course, my co-worker thought this was all hilarious and started cracking stalker jokes. ugh. i need to learn to keep my head phones on and my mouth shut at bus stops.