Another Year.

Another birthday come and gone. And it was…um…there are no words, actually. I received a few shocks that, frankly, I could have lived without.

But at least I got my pen.

pen-type-a-doodle

I’m quite excited about it, and I think I have an unhealthy obsession with taking the pen out of its holder just so I can watch it slowly slide back down into it–it really is that cool—and I’m grateful to the fine folks at CW&T for making it all possible.

When my life calms to relative normal and after some renovations of my stationery addiction site, I’ll post a proper and full review of the pen.

When Criminals Waste Your Time and Disrupt Your Family Ties

Well, I showed up at the courthouse on Thursday only to find out the sentencing was delayed and when we finally did get in to see the judge one of the defendants decided to reevaluate his guilty plea. In Plain English, it means that the criminals who broke into my home are also hell bent on wasting my time as well.

Luckily the judge didn’t care too much for it either, and it was written all over his face, so he declared that when it was time to reschedule their sentencing (if, and when, the moronic burglar decides that a jury trial would not be in his best interest considering I saw his face only moments before he and his friends, who will testify against him, broke into my home) it will be rescheduled at our convenience (mine and the neighbour’s who was also burglarized).

When I think back to that day, it just seems like a comedy of errors to me. Each of the two defendants had separate lawyers. One of them was ready to have himself sentenced; he even had his lawyer come and talk to us about what they would ask from the judge. Then, there was the other lawyer, who was put into a sticky situation by the other defendant’s family. Apparently, someone in the family was a lawyer and decided—that morning—to cause a stir.

I was sitting on the waiting bench next to them so I could overhear everything they were saying. Mind you, I tried not to listen, but it was difficult. All I can say is, I’m not a lawyer, but even I know what they were thinking was idiotic. Then when that poor lawyer had to go in front of the judge and say, Sorry, but we need to postpone again (I’m paraphrasing), the other lawyer made sure to get in there and mention his client had nothing to do with it and was ready to take his lumps.

Long story less long, I’ll be going back to court some time in Sept.

To make this whole situation more unnerving, my daddy yelled at me. He told me I shouldn’t be going to court over any of this. I told him that they were mandatory subpoenas and that I would get in trouble for not going. He told me to pay the fine. What it came down to was my daddy being worried about my conscience. Although I did nothing wrong—they were the ones to break into my home—I would still feel guilty when the judge sentences them to prison. And I’ll admit that with the first one, I did feel somewhat guilty.

I mean, a year and a half of this kid’s life is going to be spent in a place where men will most likely be treating him like their bitch, and that is due in part to what I said to the judge although I only spoke the truth. It’s like these kids didn’t just take stuff from me, they put me in the worst possible position when it came to their own lives.

Still, I eventually got over it. After talking to multiple people, each telling me that while I can mourn for them and their families, I shouldn’t feel guilty because they made stupid choices. I told this to my daddy, but he wasn’t buying it. So, now my daddy’s mad at me, too. All because three boys decided to break into my home and steal my stuff over a year ago.

Another Day in Court

It’s the night before I have to go to court, again. And I’m nervous.

I’m not sure why though.

The last time it was an interesting experience. We sat in a courtroom (um…looks nothing like on T.V.) and waited for a few hours while the judge worked through all the other people who were up for sentencing. Then, when it was my turn, I went up and told the judge how I felt and what I thought the punishment should be.

When I left the courthouse I was in a mild state of shock. The kid seemed so contrite (but I have to wonder if he would have been that contrite if he’d not gotten caught) and he was in tears when the judge handed down the sentence: 18 months in prison. That’s a year and a half of his life that can’t be spent dropping the SOAP in the shower. All because he and his friends were stupid and broke into my house.

Still, I must remind myself that he did, after all, commit the crime and should be willing to do the time. Another part of me is still frightened that he might retaliate.

And I get to go through it all again tomorrow morning.

The other two boys deferred as long as they could and it will be their turn to stand in front of the judge, beg for leniency, and then get shipped away to the big house.

And again I will feel the same incongruous feelings. It’s such a shame that these boys wasted their lives on what? A couple computers, a sword, some jewelry, DVDs, and a few other knickknacks and bric-a-bracs. Unfortunately, that wasn’t all they took: They took my sense of security and for that, I feel they deserve whatever they get.

*sigh*

Lazy Days and Random Shizzle

It’s Sunday. And it’s a miracle I can even function. Seriously, I used to lounge away the entire day listening to music or watching movies. It was like my body physically precluded me from doing anything productive. Today seems to be no different, except that I’m in the upright position and haven’t turned on my iPod or DVD player all day. So what have I been doing?

  • Reading. Oddly, I woke up with a desire to read a book that I received a few days ago from Amazon. It’s leisurely, but in the quietness lurks something that seems sinister…in a twisted way. That made no sense now that I’ve re-read it, but meh. It’s called Broken by Karin Fossum BTW.
  • Writing. Before I went to bed last night, there was the beginning of a story scratching at the inside of my head and it refused to let me sleep until I took up a pad of paper and wrote it down. It’s about a girl who wakes up from death. Morbid, I know. But interesting. Today more of the story is coming to me. What’s stressful, though, is that I still have three other stories which need finishing.
  • Drawing. Well, I haven’t technically drawn anything yet today, but oh goodness my hands are quivering to. I have the picture in my head and it wants to get out so badly. I must make some time to do that. (I will only share that it’s along the lines of my taste in reading. Darkly quirky.)
  • Laundry. What were Sundays made for if not laundry? ‘Nuff said.

And I did mention there would be random shizzle, didn’t I?

  • I spoke with an ex-boyfriend who I hadn’t spoken to in nearly six years. That was…um…there is no word for what that was. It made my brain go numb for a little while afterward. There was so much to catch up on and not all of it good. I think my brain is still a little numb from it.
  • CSS Goddess is now set up on its own hosting account and I’ve installed WordPress 3.0 and I’ll be setting it up with BuddyPress and developing a custom theme in the weeks to come. Complete truth be told, I’ve been a bit lazy with the development, but I’ll course correct come this week.
  • Torchwood totally rocks. OK, I’ve been a fan of Doctor Who for some years…since before I quit T.V. and I was elated when I saw that Netflix had it in stock, so when they recommended I watch Torchwood because I liked DW, I decided why the hell not? Turns out the spin-off is pretty cool, and a lot more homoerotic than I expected.

I think that’s about it for today. Now I must go draw something.

Apparently I Majored In The Right Subject

You scored as English. You should be an English major! Your passion lies in writing and expressing yourself creatively, and you hate it when you are inhibited from doing so. Pursue that interest of yours!

English
100%
Dance
92%
Psychology
92%
Linguistics
83%
Journalism
83%
Art
75%
Biology
75%
Anthropology
67%
Sociology
67%
Theater
58%
Philosophy
58%
Mathematics
42%
Engineering
42%
Chemistry
33%

What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3

Valentine’s Day Edition

Since it’s almost Valentine’s Day and since I haven’t changed the header on this site in a very very long time, I’ve decided that it would be the perfect opportunity to dust off my sketch book.

The header image is actually my first Photoshop painting using my new Wacom Intuos3 Special Edition graphics tablet. I scanned a sketch I made, then worked in over until it had the feel I was going for. It’s not exactly as I want it, but I’m happy with what I have so far.

In time, painting with the tablet will become more natural (I’m already in love) and I’ll probably start showcasing my sketches and painting here. It’s the perfect place and a perfect way to revive my long neglected blog.

Back from Europe

For the last week, I’ve been traveling through Europe with my sister, niece, and cousin. Very late last night, we finally returned home and it feels good. The places we specifically went to were Frankfurt, Germany for one day, Prague, Czech Republic for a day before venturing to Milan, Italy for a whole day before jumping back to Prague for the remainder of our holiday. We had our problems and off days, but I try to focus on the positive; to say the trip was amazing would be an understatement. Pictures will probably be up the day after tomorrow considering that tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I won’t be spending much time on the computer.

Free Juice and Cookies Rock!

As if I really needed an excuse to eat oatmeal raisin cookies and drink apple juice, I was finally able to donate blood. After the last incident I had, both the donation lady and myself were holding our breath as she tested my blood’s iron levels and wouldn’t you know it, my iron pill kicked in. :D

Here are some fun facts for you…
My vital stats
My blood type is O+, my blood pressure is 114/80, my temperature is 98.8°F, and my resting pulse is 60 beats per minute (which, oddly, is higher than usual).

If you’re squeamish about blood, you may want to stop reading now. Here’s what the process looks like:
My arm with the needle

The bag with my blood
I gave the lady a chuckle when I finally opened my eyes roughly half-way through. I really can’t stand watching the needle go in.

I have a couple other entries I want to write, but damn I’m tired. I truly didn’t think I’d feel this flushed afterwards, so, I’m going to eat a big meal (read: order a very large pizza) and take a nap.

P.S. If anyone wants a couple free passes to the Florida Marlins game on Oct. 1, please let me know. I’m not a huge baseball fan.

On a completely unrelated note, I’m really having fun taking pictures of random stuff with my cell phone.

I’ll Save You Mommy!

I like reminiscing with my daddy. He always tells me the most lovely stories about my childhood.

If you’ve never met me in person, or been close enough to inspect my lips, you may not notice the small scar on my lower one. But, I see it everyday when I look in the mirror and was curious about how I got it.

It seems, it’s a result of my two year old heroism — I wanted to save my mom from a hot stove. You see, she was holding me with one hand and cooking something with the other. The stove had caught fire (or something) and I instinctively jumped out of her arms to protect her from it. (At least, that’s how my dad tells it.) It resulted in me hitting my mouth on the stove and slicing it open. Then I cried and my mom needed to save me.

I’m Fortunate

Growing up, I spent a lot of time wishing my parents had enrolled me in piano lessons when I was two or taught me a second (or even, third) language when I was three. In fact, I resented them.

Despite being on the dean’s list, in honour society, and first chair in the top band, I always felt inadequate, especially when the other kids were bragging about playing an instrument for ten years when they were only 12 years old. They started me in everything too late. How could my parents curse me like this? I’d often wonder.

Then, sitting in my bedroom and looking around, I realized that I am fortunate and my parents didn’t curse me — they gave me a fighting chance.

Jamaica, the country where I was born, is akin to a third world country (though not as bad as some third world countries). There are two main classes: the very rich and the very poor. Flipping through my photo album, it’s fairly obvious which class we were in, but it didn’t deter my parents — more specifically, my mom.

My mother traveled to the states for a single purpose, to bring her family here because, after all, America is the land of opportunity. She worked for a year to bring me, my dad, and my two sisters here (and she had to do it individually over a period of another year). She single-handedly plucked us from a destitute future and gave me and my sisters a head start.

I only had to live in a metal shack (yea, like the ones you see in those feed the children commercials) for the first three years of my life instead of the first twenty-something. For that alone, I forgive my parents for not starting me in everything early. Instead, I’d like to thank them for the opportunities they made available to me.

They did the very best they could with what they had, and I have everything I do because of them.

Addendum: Actually, after speaking to my daddy, I only had to live in a metal shack for roughly the first 6 months. The rest of my life, we did live in a real house (I actually do remember it, too).