Last week, I was nervously preparing for what I believed would be my first trial. The defendant was representing himself, and on the file there was a note: “Defendant wants a trial.” Oh boy, did he ever.

Jessica Gottlieb recommended glitter in the cleavage, Virgin said I should ice my nipples. I almost broke out my tiara. I even stayed up late last night working on my cross-examination.

This morning, I get into court, and there is Mr Pro Se sitting right up front, with his little notes in his lap. But of course, my victim was nowhere to be found. And neither was the police officer. I ran downstairs to try and get her on the phone, but only got voice mail.

When the case was called, I explained the situation to the judge. She turned to Mr Pro Se and said, “If there is no objection, I will dismiss this case. The Commonwealth is not ready.”

And then he objected! He argued with the judge a bit. But he said he wanted his day in court and he wanted to confront his accuser. In fact, he said he thought the judge should order the victim into court. The judge explained she would do no such thing. He then told her he wanted her to dismiss the case over his objection. Again, she declined. The defense attorneys in the court room were nearly jumping out of their seats.

Finally, the judge said, “I’m just going to set another date. We will see you next month.” He then protested he would have to come back! But the judge was done with him.

He then came over to me and scolded me for prosecuting the case! He said, “Is this really how you want to spend your time.” And I said, “Dude! No! I tried to have it dismissed. This is all YOU.” And then he stomped off.

So next month, I get to do it all over again.

When Jen and I go out to eat, we like to eavesdrop on the other patron’s of the restaurant. Then in the car on the way home, we discuss the couple and what we think their personal dynamic is all about, and how they can work through whatever issues they have. This is a totally random thing to tell you because Jen was at work during this incident.

But I took P to dinner at the local Cambodian place. There was a cute couple of girls one table over. One looked like a young, slender boy and the other was a femme. So of course I wanted to know what they were up too. But as I listened to their conversation, I became increasingly annoyed. They discussed spending their summers in Guadalupe and going back to Haiti. They spoke very carefully.  They talked about gender politics, and how women are objectified, and how difficult it is to reclaim your sexuality.

I wondered, “Why is this annoying me so much?” Because, this was me 10 years ago. I loved talking about the construction of gender. It was the way I flirted. If I whispered “post-structuralist interpretation of femininity” what I was really saying was, “please, let me bite your bottom lip.” I wanted to send a note over there telling them to just go home and ravish each other, since this was so obviously what this was about.

But then their conversation went south. The boyish one (the butch!) said something about her boyfriend. Her boyfriend!?! One table over, I audibly scoffed. Now I felt like sending a different note.

“Listen, girly girl who likes to tromp through beautiful downtown Port-au-Prince during the summer, I know what you are thinking.  She looks like Robert Pattinson, and she knows the difference between Katha Pollitt and Carol Gilligan. She probably is a dyke. But, please, please, watch your heart. Because if you are wrong, this is going to get messy.”

And then P threw a perfectly good piece of chicken Satay across the room, and the Cambodian waitress ran her fingers through his hair, and we left.

When I first was hired for this internship, they told me I would have my own caseload. I thought they meant that as a figure of speech. I didn’t really think they meant that I would have cases…to go to trial with.

But I actually do have cases that I have to prepare for. But now I know why they aren’t terrible concerned. It’s because no matter how much I prepare, how much I practice my closing argument, how much I look up  the case law, it doesn’t matter. Because mostly, the defendants don’t show up. I have had two cases where the defendant defaulted.

The case I prepared for today was for an Operating a Motor Vehicle after your License is Suspended. You should have heard my brilliant Opening Statement:

Ladies and Gentlemen, the Commonwealth, in order to meet its burden, must prove that the defendant was operating a motor vehicle after his licensed had been suspended. Well…the defendant’s license was suspended, and then he drove.

But I have another case on for Tuesday. It’s kind of interesting because it’s a road rage case. On the file, someone wrote, “Defendant wants a trial.”

The names of the defense attorneys are written on the jacket. I took a look to see who I was going up against.

The name read, “Prose.” I was like, “Gee, I don’t remember meeting a Prose.”

And then I took a closer look. Oh hell no. The defense wasn’t Prose…its

Pro Se.

I pointed this out to another intern. He smiled and said, “That one is definitely going to trial.”

Lord help me.

When Jen and I first got together, I was unemployed and Jen was a student. We used to go out every night.  We would dance and kiss into the early hours. Our life is a little different now. We have a 3 year old, and if we make it to the dessert course at the Outback, we are pretty thrilled.

But I still find Jen entertaining. She is reading a book that takes place at Smith. I thought this book might be trouble because we both had bad experiences with Smithies. Her girl was straight and mine was a drug addict. At any rate, she made me throw out my Smith College sweatshirt at one point.

Anyway, one of the characters in this book is writing a paper on Edna St. Vincent Millay.

Jen: Who is Edna St. Vincent Millay?

Me: A poet.

Jen: And a saint?

Me: Laughing hysterically

Jen: Didn’t she write one of the AA prayers….

Me: I don’t think so.

Jen: I am going to look her up. Taking a book of poems from the shelf. Do you think I should look under Millay or Saint?

Answer: Millay

And that is Friday night at our house (with some kisses here and there)

I’ve been struggling emotionally. Instead of boring you with the minutia of my daily battle with depression and anxiety, I’ve decided to show you the ink.

Behold, what is currently tattooed on my left hip. I know the picture not very good. Also, the tattoo is about 15 years old now. My body has been through a lot since getting it.

Below, is the tattoo I am thinking of getting. In August, I will be 13 years sober. I drank for 14 years. That means I am approaching a time when I will have been sober for almost as long as I drank.

This is the goddess Etian. She is a Celtic moon goddess. Another goddess was jealous of her and turned her into a fly. She fell into a glass of wine and drowned. But she is a bit of a Persephone, because she was reborn and spends half her time underground and half on earth.

The thing that I really like about Etian is that I discovered her somewhat magically. I used to belly dance. One night my instructor had the class do a final project. She took out a stack of “goddess cards” and we had to choose one and then create a dance around her. I pulled Etian out of the stack. And she is totally perfect for me because my life was reborn after nearly dying of alcohol. So you see, she is my goddess.

At any rate, I am thinking about having her tattooed on my back for my 13^th anniversary. What do you guys think?

(And yes, I did steal the card. If I am too well behaved, I freak myself out)

My entire goal for today was to buck up, and not cry. Even if I felt like it was warranted. I had pre-trial hearings today. Imagine me surrounded by defense attorneys who are foaming at the mouth once they heard that I am a student. I got barked at all morning long. One guy made a big deal of the fact that discovery wasn’t complete, though I had the file for all of 20 minutes. And there is a staircase. A staircase that I run up and down about 10 times looking for files, calling other courts, and contacting victims. It’s pretty crazy.

But I actually negotiated a restitution settlement between the victim and the defendant. I felt like a real lawyer. Came home tonight, went for a jog and had a giant cheeseburger delivered because I was starving.

Also, the 2 prosecutors made the interns play two truths and a lie. I admitted to having a tattoo. But I wouldn’t tell them what it was because it is big and slightly obscene. So now they are all obsessed. They keep saying they are going to get me drunk. I thinking about just telling them, but I’m not sure. I might post a picture of it to see what you, anonymous internet, think.

On the upside, I got to stand up in court for the first time ever. We have suspiciously good looking prosecutors here in lesbian town. One of the other interns said, “That ADA looks like Lauren Conrad.” And my god, she does look like Lauren Conrad. So from now on, I will just call her LC.

Anyway LC was in first session with us, and she let us do an arraignment. I actually got to say, “You Honor, Googie Baba for the Commonwealth.” I dressed all in black and felt pretty cool. And then I let the guy go on personal recognizance because I couldn’t think of a good reason not too.

But things went downhill from there. We picked out desks, and I wasn’t aggressive enough. The desk I got stuck with was literally buried under crap. I don’t know if it is important crap, or just left over crap so I am scared to throw it out.

Also, I have pre-trials tomorrow. One of them is kind of serious so I harassed my supervisor all day to go over the case with me. At 4:30, he finally had me come into his office. He read the police report. In it, the guy who bought drugs told the police that the defendant had sold the drugs to him. It says that he was given his Miranda rights. I think I was so distracted by the Miranda issue, that I totally didn’t see the obvious.

My supervisor kept asking me what was the problem with this case. He went fishing, “What is the problem with the statement?” I liked that I was being challenged, but 5 months of Evidence had somehow gone missing in my head.

Hearsay. Fucking Hearsay. Of course. The most obvious case of hearsay ever. I am actually kind of upset. I loved Evidence. What the hell is wrong with me? My supervisor actually went to the trouble to explain what hearsay is. He must of thought I just hadn’t been introduced to it yet. He is probably wondering what goes on in the Top 20 school I attend.

I made it through my first week working in the DAs office. It’s kind of a freak show. Because of budget cuts, they don’t have enough prosecutors. Plus, one girl has been out sick and our supervisor is out on paternity leave. They threw me and this other guy into the arraignment session. We just kind of looked official while the court did the restraining orders. I was terrified that we were going to have to say something. I would just dismissed every case. Free day for everyone!

I am scheduled to stand up in court for the first time ever on Tuesday. They promise that the supervisor will be back to help me. It’s for a drug dealing case that happened at my very T stop. It should be exciting.

We’ve been trying to toilet train our son for a while. We tried a gentle approach of positive encouragement, but he simply wasn’t interested. Friends of ours told us that they just took the diapers away one day. Jen thought this was a good idea. I had my doubts, but she convinced me to do it.

Jen’s working at the hospital all weekend. It’s been my worse nightmare. He is simply peeing everywhere. This morning I knew he had to go. I think he was in pain. He was running around crying. I tried to put him on his potty, but he threw a tantrum. Then peed all over the wall. We ventured out to a park, but he peed all over the equipment.

He gets the concept, he is just angry about it. I am fondly remembering the harsh parenting techniques of my childhood.

I am pretty resentful. Plus, I am dieting and I am hungry. I am almost looking forward to going to work for the first time tomorrow. Arraignments have to be more fun than this.

Today, I got to meet a family that used the same sperm donor as us for one of their children. We had a really nice day. We went out to lunch and then over to the Science Museum.

At one point, we were talking about Jen’s pregnancy. I said I didn’t think we would have any more. She gave me a look that let me know that we were definitely having more children. Imagine my surprise.

Maybe it’s for the best. We do have a lot of stuff on ice. I have nine frozen eggs, Jen has 3 frozen embryos and we have 5 vials of the hottest sperm at the bank. It’s all very high tech. We have grainy pictures of everything. This is because for some reason, the sperm banks think we want pictures of our genetic material.

When I was 25 I was friends with a lesbian in her thirties who had a kid on her own. She had a hard time getting pregnant in her thirties and she was always on my case to start young. She ended up getting pregnant and had more vials of sperm than she needed. She told me I could have them. She said they were refrigerated.

I swear to you, I thought she meant I could open up her refrigerator and take them home.