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Your Day Sucks! No, YOUR Day Sucks! No, YOUR.... - Blather. Rants. Repeat.
A Møøse once bit my sister ...
Your Day Sucks! No, YOUR Day Sucks! No, YOUR....
Yeah, one of those. At least until we both got home.

We awoke following yesterday's late-day OMGSNOWPOCALYPSE  to find the roads plowed, the sun out, our world seemingly back to normal. Then we left the house.

I got the first warning sign: the BLINK BLINK BLINK of the garage door that refused to go down.  Clearing snow from the sensor path didn't help. Then I realized what had happened: the plow guy had bashed into our garage door and knocked the opener sensor off the door frame, so, there I was, in a suit, out in the near-dark putting it back on.  Amazingly, I got it working on the first try; usually it takes hours to line those beams up.  So I got to work on time, only to get a text from my beloved: Eleanor's store has no heat.

After crunching tons of electronic paperwork out, and realizing too late that I'd misidentified the name of a corporation in one of said filings, I left my office for some real-estating. Instantly, my tire pressure gauge went off, nothing visually wrong other than it's TWELVE F (for Farenheit, and Fucking) DEGREES OUT HERE.

Made it to the county clerk on time. Closed. Despite me using the wrong form (an obsolete TP-584 with the word "LLC" crossed out and the word "cat" written in in crayon). Even got my bill for the closing in to the payor on time (barely) by hacking my own billing account from a downtown Law Library computer.

Another text from the missus: they're still freezing, and of course this is the day that the State chose to do an unannounced inspection of her store.  At least they weren't likely to fail any tests based on the fridge or freezer cases running too warm.

Then, for me, a quick shot up to suburban criminal court, where I occasionally dabble for minor traffic offenses.  This one, briefly, appeared to be over my head: the prosecutor recommended the usual single parking ticket, but the judge was having none of it. This offense was SEEERIUSSSSS. He grilled my client on why he hadn't responded to three prior notices, tossed the prosecutor's recommendation back to me and said, "Go talk to her again."

That's when I realized the water level I'd sunk to.  This was an actual CRIME.  With possible pokey time involved. Shit, the client had had to post BAIL.  All of that had been lost on me when I accepted the referral.  Fortunately, though, as soon as I told the prosecutor what Hizzoner had said, she instantly changed the "parking ticket" plea to "two parking tickets," and learned that "Go talk to her again" was an established code which meant exactly "double the fine."  It was a shakedown, pure and simple, but he couldn't say that in open court.  Once my client agreed to it, it all went fine.

After that, nothing bad really happened. (Well, I forgot to bring home wine, but that was quickly remedied.) We finished watching the documentary done by Leonard Nimoy's son about the career and fatherhood of his dad, which was lovely and tearjerkery.

And now we're falling down after long, occasionally cold, days.  I have two cars to deal with tomorrow but no court; Eleanor works relatively normal (and hopefully warmer) hours.

I have been, and always shall be, your friend.
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