I had court this morning, and I really expected to be stuck there all day--was quite resigned to the possibility, in fact. I knew I had a DWI case, and I knew it was going to trial, and I was fatally accepting of the fact that I would be in court all day until my case came up on the dockett. I even figured I was more than due to be in court for an entire day, since I have been extraordinarily lucky for the most part about having my defendants not show up for court or plead out, thus allowing me to leave court after only an hour or two.

But I must still be on a roll, because after only about three hours the ADA told me that they were going to continue the case until August since one of the key witnesses was involved in a felony murder trial across the street and would not be able to break away to testify for my piddling little DWI.

I'm not complaining. I hate court.

So I had an unexpected afternoon free. I did some grocery shopping--restocking the shelves that I had bared before the vacation. And then I sat down at the computer with the intention of simply writing a short little entry. (I'm trying to get back into the habit of more frequent entries.) But then I looked at that damn journal front page and realized I was sick to death of it, and had to do something with it.

Well, it's a bit different now, if not exactly the "different" I was hoping for. I will consider it a work in progress for a while yet until I get something that I can stomach for another several months. I am not much of a web-page programmer. I do straight vanilla html, coded directly into wordpad, therefore you will seldom see any bells or whistles. (On the other hand, I daresay that any browser of any generation can read my website. So there.)

In other, somewhat more amusing news, I was cleaning out a junk drawer last night and came across a scrawled note I'd made at some time in the year following my divorce. This was obviously back when I was deciding that I was going to be mightily picky and choosy about the next man I would involve myself with. Here is the list of questions I'd intended to ask a potential suitor:

1) Do you smoke, chew, spit, suck or otherwise imbibe any sort of tobacco or tobacco-related product?

2) Do you smoke, swallow, inject or othewise imbibe any sort of controlled substance?

3) Name five novels that you've read in the last year that you feel best typifies the type of reading you enjoy most.

4) Use the word "caveat" in a sentence. (Properly.)

5) Name three novels written by Robert Heinlein.

I was amused by the questions. My standards have changed. The first two still hold pretty true and firm, but the last three I now consider to be pure bonus if an acceptable answer comes forth. Recently I've felt that I should change the last three questions to: Have you ever been convicted of a felony? How many of your original teeth do you still possess? Do you know what a novel is?

Sigh. Who am I kidding? I'm still picky (which is probably why I've been essentially boyfriend-less since my divorce!) However, I did experience a small glimmering of reassurance in this past month that there really are a few mostly-normal, intelligent, good-looking/physically fit, single men in my general age range. (Of course I've yet to find one that lives within a 1000 mile radius of me... but that's a whole 'nuther complaint!)

In the meantime I will continue to pluck pathetically and feebly at the html that is my journal home page until I can create something that is not quite so.. lame.