Author: Judged by Jenn

Friend Contribution — Court Dress Code

I am working on a new post, but in the meantime I am sharing another court dress code. My attorney friend Matt sent this to me last week. Note that once again, it is necessary to tell people that pajamas are not appropriate courtroom attire. I also like that it necessary to tell people that tobacco products are forbidden. This sign comes from juvenile court. By definition juveniles cannot legally possess tobacco products. (Yes, I understand that parents, guardians, etc, also attend juvenile court.) It amazes me that people need to be told these things, and yet I know they do.

Fifty-Fifty Shot…

There once was a time one could ascertain whether another individual was a male of female based solely upon his/her clothing.  Women wore skirts/dresses and men wore pants.  While I am supremely grateful the days of having to wear a dress all the time are behind us — I love my jeans and my pantsuits — there are days when this causes, um, confussion. 
More often then not, the mere act of wearing pants does not create confusion for the observer.  After all, I’m hard-pressed to say I’ve ever seen a man in a suit — or even jeans, for that matter — that look like mine, and I’m pretty certain no one has ever called me “sir” because I had on a pair of pants.  Additionally, there is usually a shape difference that gives it away, even when the wearer’s attire includes something that is pretty gender-neutral, like jeans and a sweatshirt.  Sometimes, though, it’s a tough call.  (By the same token, I have encountered a few skirt-wearing men in my time.  Usually, it isn’t hard to tell, but every once in a while…)
I remember a day in court several years ago when a now-retired judge got bent out of shape at a criminal defendant who appeared before him because the defendant was wearing small stud earrings.  This person had on jeans and an orange polo-style shirt, had very short, closely cropped hair, and earrings.  The judge in question got a case of the ass and told the defendant not to appear in front of him wearing earrings again.  Imagine the judge’s chagrin when he learned that the defendant was not a male, as he presumed, but a female.  Oops!
This week in court, I watched as the judge summoned a defendant forward.  It was not my case, and I was seated off to the side talking with another attorney who was present.  All the sudden the attorney I was speaking with said, “That is a female?”  I’d scanned the room for blog-fodder, but had clearly overlooked that individual thinking she was a guy.  I immediately reached for my phone and went into covert-photographer mode.  These are not the best photos I’ve ever snapped, due in part to the attorney whose arm is stretched across them, but I think they clearly convey the “Pat-esque” nature of the subject.

Although you can’t see them, the defendant had on a pair of black jeans in a decidedly unfeminine cut and a black belt that was very androgenously styled, to go with her shapeless, black button down shirt.  She had a slight spare tire around them middle, and nothing about her shape that would have caused me to guess she was female.  Those of us in the peanut gallery looked at the docket after agreeingwe would have called her “Sir” or “Mister”, and saw immediately how the judge knew the difference: her first name was decidedly feminine.  (I’m not going to tell you her real name, but it every bit as much of a “girl name” as “Angela” is.)
Look, I am not knocking the girl for how she was dressed.  I’m not.  It’s not a look that I would go for by any stretch of the imagination, but she has the right to dress however she pleases since her outfit didn’t violate the court’s dress code in any way.  (Note: As evidenced by my other posts, dressing as one pleases does not in any way exempt one from being photographed for this blog.  Just sayin’.)  I don’t know the girl, I don’t know her background, and I don’t know why she dresses the way she does.  All I know is this is how she appeard in court.  Stick a gender-neutral name on her like “Pat”, and what looked to be a pretty smooth court appearance could have been far more interesting.  Granted, if you are a female and you have a figure that honestly could go either way, and you dress in a manner that completely obscures your femininity, you are probably accustomed to being called “sir”.  But how awkward is that for those who are dealing with you?  And why do you want to look like that or put others in that position? 

Hair ‘Dos and Hair Don’ts

It is really funny how different hairstyles one and go. Think about it.  Many years ago the beehive was popular. 


How women teased their hair so as to achieve that amount of height and volume and how they kept it from wilting throughout the day is beyond me, especially on a consistent basis.  Heck, my hair fixes differently from one day to the next, even if my styling technique is the same.  That it is different from day to day is good on days like today when I am having an unfortunate hair day; one stellar hair days, however, I wish it could look the same every day.  

Some years later, the mullet became a popular style.  

 



How in the work a hairstyle described as being “business in the front, party in the back” became a popular style eludes my grasp.  Likewise, how a style that was the same for both men and women gained such popularity bewilders me.  Even more bewildering are the days when I encounter someone wearing a mullet.  It always inspires me to ponder what self-respecting hair-stylist would agree to cut a client’s hair in such a style.  I mean, really?  My hair-stylist would not only refuse, she would probably consider dashing up the street to the courthouse to file a mental commitment alleging I was gravely disabled or a danger to myself if I sat down in her chair and asked her to give me a mullet.  (She should consider this my formal permission to do so in the vent that I ever make such a request.)

Well, today while waiting my turn during court, I glanced around the room to see if there was anything I deemed “photo worthy” or “blog fodder”.  Imagine my delight when this young woman stepped up to the bench.

That was a serious 80’s look she was rocking.  I’m not sure I could tell you when I last saw someone wearing a banana clip.  And paired with the letter jacket?  Well, I might have guessed that it was Spirit Week at the local high school and she was dressing in theme, except the docket for the day dealt generally with breach of contact cases, which clued me in that she had to be at least eighteen years of age.  Folks, this banana clip ‘do wasn’t haphazardly done.  This ‘do was done!  It appeared she put some real work into styling her hair this morning.  After all, she even has the curly little tendrils handing down in front of her ears.  Oh, and those bangs that are spritzed within an inch of their life, and that wouldn’t budge come wind, hell, or high water.  Wow!

Being me, I forwarded this photo some a few friends before posting it here.  One of the girls who is too young to have lived through banana clips back in the day said the following:  “Haha haven’t seen one of those since the last time I watched an 80s movie.”  I informed her that I actually tried to wear such a thing back in the day, and it was not a good look for me.  Mercifully, as I told her, I am reasonably certain that no photographic evidence exists to document that lapse in hair-styling judgment.  

I’m not sure why this young lady appeared for court looking like a blast from a 1980’s Brat Pack movie.  Nor am I sure where she acquired such a hair accessory in this day and age.  I continue to marvel.  Just please tell me the mullet isn’t going to come back around…


My eyes! My eyes!

So, today was yet another court appearance for me.  For a change, I didn’t see anything eye-catching  or horrifying in the Courthouse, but if I’d had a citation book and a Commission from the Fashion Police, I could have and would have issued tickets all around town.  Here are some of the highlights.






















This young lady was walking down the sidewalk in front of the courthouse.  I’m not sure what, if anything she had on under that very large, very long, white t-shirt.  I do know that she was parading up and down the sidewalk in said white t-shirt and a pair of flip-flops smoking a cigarette.  As my friend Shelli would say, “Klassy with a K.”  I’m going to suggest that when wearing a t-shirt that is clearly not intended as a t-shirt dress, it is best to wear bottoms, whether they be shorts, a skirt, capris, leggings, or pants that can be seen under said t-shirt.  Heck! Even jeggings would be preferable to this look.  This t-shirt, I am confident, was not sold as a t-shirt dress.  In fact, I’d wager this one has a couple of identical buddies somewhere that came from the same plastic package at the local dollar store.  This is not a good look, and a cigarette is never an appropriate accessory.  Just sayin’.  

After seeing the Plain-White-Tee chick, I drove literally half a block down the street — half a block — before I found myself longing for the citation book again.  Here’s why:

In addition to standing slightly in the street yapping on her cell phone, girlfriend was rocking the aqua blue bun.  Wow!  And from the rest of her outfit, I’m hard-pressed to say she looks like the type to go with “cotton candy” when selecting her hair color.  It was quite a day for unnatural hair colors though.  Just a few blocks away I spotted a girl I wish I’d been quick enough to get a picture of.  She had on a black shirt with bright pink polka dots, and her hair was a very vibrant pink to match. Speechless.  



A few more blocks down the road, I observed this gentleman outside what may have been the hospital.  Look, I’m not knocking the guy for being a patient.  I don’t know what ails him, but I certainly wish him the best.  What caught my attention where his printed pajama/lounge bottoms, his hospital gown, and the cigarette he was smoking.  I’m sure his physicians are just tickled pink he is stepping outside breath of fresh, I mean smoke-polluted, air.  Gross.  The way he was sporting the gown, he was showing a good bit of skin, especially when the wind blew.  Oh, and are those paper gowns flammable?  I’m not being hateful; I’m just trying to figure out how taking a cigarette break in a paper hospital gown on a windy day is a good idea.  Okay, maybe the gown isn’t paper, but really?  Someone bring this guy a real robe.  And again I say, cigarettes are never appropriate fashion accessories.

And finally, we have what is most assuredly the most egregious fashion disaster of the day.  And lest you think she caught me snapping her picture, let me assure you she was looking at the folks making noise coming off the elevator directly behind me.  


As I explained to a friend, this deserves more than a citation from the fashion police; it deserves full-on incarceration, with the sentence to be served at fashion boot camp.  There is so much wrong with this outfit, I truly don’t know where to start.  Oh, wait!  I’ll start with this: she was wearing this as a dress!!!  While it might have worked as a dress on someone whom it fit properly, I’m going to go out on a limb and say this young lady was not such an individual.  The fact that every unsightly bump and bulge covered by this dress is also emphasized by this dress, the fact that the cellulite on her legs is on full display, the “matching” house slippers, and the fact that her posterior is just barely covered were among my first clues, bless her heart.  (Note: In the South we say “Bless her heart” to temper whatever unflattering but exceedingly truthful comment we just made.  Throwing out a “bless her heart” is intended to take the sting out of any unking words one might have said.  This seems like a “bless her heart” moment.)  I am pretty sure this “dress” (to use the word loosely) was tighter than her actual skin.  I can’t imagine that such a thing could have been even remotely comfortable or easy to get in and out of.   

After this one, I opted to take refuge in my hotel room for the remainder of the evening.  At the rate I was going, each “sighting” was worse than the last, and I honestly didn’t want to risk seeing whatever might be worse this that last one.  I’m not sure my eyes or my camera could have taken it.  

"1 Like = 1 Respect": A Rant

I am not someone who ordinarily does things just because someone else says I should, or because someone guilts me into it.  I won’t lie; my mother still has the ability to coerce me using guilt tactics on occasion, but otherwise, I’m not overly susceptible to such nonsense.  Maybe that’s why I bristle at what I consider to be the adult version of the old “Step on a Crack, Break your Mother’s Back” bologna from elementary school that often rears its head on Facebook.  (Note: There are sooooo many things that irritate me about Facebook that it is a wonder I maintain an account.  The thing is, it also has a uniquely train wreck-like element that I have a difficult time turning away from.)

Come on.  You know what I’m talking about.  Those ridiculous status updates that drone on and on about how the poster loves his or her mom/child/dog/left-striped-knee-sock-with-the-hole-in-the-toe, and how if you love your mom/child/dog/left-striped-knee-sock-with-the hole-in-the-toe, too, you should repost this as your status as well, and if you don’t, well, must must not that knee sock so much after all.  Seriously?  The fact I don’t repost your nonsense status doesn’t mean I have anything less than the utmost love and respect for my left-striped-knee sock-with-the-hole-in-the-toe, or any of the other options listed above.  (Okay, not my child, but that’s because I — perhaps wisely — don’t have kids of my own.)  It just means I don’t have to behave like a sheep in order to demonstrate my feelings to a bunch of folks who honestly? Don’t care if I love my knee sock or not.  Same thing with the status updates that challenge the reader to repost this status as their own for one hour if they support whatever the cause de jour happens to be?  Really?  You think the only way to know if I support that cause or respect someone fighting a particular illness — or the only way for me to show that — is by my facebook status?  Wrong. 

Lately I’ve been seeing a new one.  It usually includes what is intended to be (and often is) a thought-provoking photograph, and states that “1 like = 1 respect”, or something similar.  I swear, sometimes I don’t click “like” just because the whole idea of these posts offends me.  Yeah, I know; I’m showing them, right?  But these statuses annoy the living daylights out of me.  And it is not like I can escape these posts by “defriending” or “unliking” something I follow on facebook, because none of these things are entities that I follow.  Instead, they pop up in my news feed because someone I am friends with “Likes” or comments on a given post.  I’m not going to defriend someone just because they “Like” something I find annoying.  Consequently, here we are.  

I mentioned this to a friend the other day and she indicated she had not seen what I’m talking about.  In case you haven’t either, here are a few recent examples I took screenshots of.

This one irks me.  So I should “Like” this status if I will always love my child.  Does that mean if I don’t click “Like”, I won’t?  So lest others think you don’t love your kid (unfortunate-looking, ill-behaved, and bratty though he/she may be), you must click “Like”.  Or, here’s an idea: perhaps you could, I don’t know, get the heck off of Facebook and show your kid you love him/her by spending some quality time with the little troll.  Or if you child is older, pick up the phone and let him/her know he/she is on your mind.  I’m pretty sure that’s more effective than “Liking” a random Facebook status.

The next couple of screen shots happen to be military-related.  Before I post them, let me just say that I have the utmost respect and gratitude to those who have served, and those who are serving, in our military.  These are just examples of what I call “shame/guilt posts” that make me want to bang my head against a brick wall, not an indication that I don’t respect the subject of the post.

Or, we could find ourselves a quiet moment and actually say a prayer for the safety of those who are serving.  (And I don’t mean post that prayer on Facebook so everyone knows you’ve done it; I mean log the heck off of the internet and say one the old fashioned way.) I’m guessing that would be more productive than telling someone on the other end of a Facebook account that you “like” their status.  

Next we have:

Really?  The poster — whose screen name is “Bitch, Please” —  thinks if I “like” this photo, I am showing respect, and if I don’t “like” it, I “don’t care”.  To this, I say, “Bitch, please.”  That is ridiculous.  It’s a picture of a soldier carrying a German Shepherd.  If you care about our Troops, maybe send a letter, or a care package, or do something else to actively support them.  If you care about the dog, maybe make a donation of food or your time at the animal shelter, or make a donation to the Humane Society.  Again, these are things that will be far more lasting means of support than simply clicking “like” because someone named “Bitch, Please” posted a photo/status that shamed you into it.  

Before I get to the next two, I should tell you that they are religious in nature.  As with the military-related examples, let me say that I am not in any way disrespecting God or religion.  These are simply examples of posts that make me cringe.  For example:

Okay, I have several issues with the first one.  First of all, I have serious doubts that Jesus Christ has a Facebook page, so for someone, even a religious entity, to so name a Facebook account is something I find offensive.  And really?  The “Jesus Daily”?  Then, to solicit “likes” for the “Father, Son and Holy Spirit”, and to suggest one should “Like” this status if one is a believer, or if one accepts Jesus, is just inane.  Here is my thought on this: If you are a “Good Christian Person”, you shouldn’t have to “prove” it by clicking “Like” on a facebook status; it should be evident in your actions.  I once worked with a woman who went around constantly telling us what a “good Christian” she was.  In reality, she was a stark raving shrew who was a backstabbing, judgmental gossip.  She could click “Like” or tell me how good and pious she was all day, but I knew her, and her actions suggested otherwise.  

Here’s the thing: Just as I don’t believe bad things are going to befall me if break the chain by failing to forward a chain letter or chain email, I don’t believe failing to click “like” makes me a bad person, someone who disrespects the military, someone who doesn’t believe in God, or someone who doesn’t support a worthy cause or individual.  I do, however, believe that if I want to show support for an organization or a cause, there are ways to do so that will actually bring a benefit to that cause or organization that just aren’t achieved by clicking “Like” on some entity’s Facebook page.  Also, “Liking” a Facebook page is not going to convince me that you’re a good person any more than telling me what a good Christian you are is going to convince me you are, in fact, a good Christian.  Liking the page just convinces me that you give in to guilt/shame statuses.  Actual actions speak louder than facebook clicks.  

Beach Hats are for Beaches

I was out of town modeling today.  No, I am not going to share photos, primarily because it was a nasty, gross, wet, rainy day, and the photos serve as evidence that I looked like a drowned rat.  I’m not sure what I expected.  That “humidity blocker” I put on my hair, while fantastic, can only do so much.  Especially in a downpour.  And when the “runway” includes a trip out one of the store’s doors, down a sidewalk, and back into another door, well, that’s lots of exposure to humidity.  I’m pretty sure the “runway” wasn’t to  blame, though; I’m pretty sure it was due, at least in part, to my refusal to use an umbrella.  Instead, I pulled the hood on my hoody up over my head, unibomber-style, and hustled from the house to the car, and then from the car to the store.  Yeah, I’m guessing that didn’t do a whole lot for the curls I fairly hurriedly put in my hair, foolishly thinking that would stand up to the weather better than straight hair would.  Oh, well.  Guess my instinct that today would be better as a yoga-pants-and-sweatshirt-on-the-couch-with-a-book day was correct.  


Clearly, my approach to keeping my hair under control was not the correct one.  I’m not sure this one was the correct approach, either…

Ladies and gentlemen, that is a beach hat, not a rain hat.  She wasn’t trying this on at an end-of-the-season beach accessory sale; she was in the Coach store, and she was wearing this gem when she came in.  I’ll give her that she was quite color-coordinated, but I’m not sure how Miss Thang here thought that floppy-brimmed straw hat was appropriate protection from what was, at times, a torrential downpour.  (I am also not entirely certain that I got away with taking this photo without being caught; I am, however, quite certain I don’t care.)  I saw lots of other folks going the hood-up-on-the-hoody route; there were numerous baseball caps; I saw rain ponchos; and of course, there were oodles of umbrellas.  This was the only beach hat I saw.  I suspect that is because most of us had more sense — both fashion and common — than that.

Amusement in Everyday Life

I have seen so many people do and say so many amusing, odd, and/or unexpected things in courtrooms that you’d think I wouldn’t be shocked or entertained anymore.  Thankfully, the fun-factor associated with that has not yet worn off, even after 13 (sometimes very long) years.  (Hey, one has to find ones amusement where she can!)
Several years ago when I was a deputy prosecutor, I observed a young woman attempt to get herself out of going to jail by “fainting” in the courtroom.  It was quite spectacular and dramatic.  She locked her entire body and fell over timber-style.  She was fortunate she wasn’t standing an inch or two in back of where she was, or the back of her head would have smaked the glass-over-wood-topped counsel table that was positioned behind her.  Once she fell backward and no one in the courtroom went into an appropriate level of hysterics, she remained still and prone for a few moments, then began attempting to peek out of one eye to see what we were doing.  Of course an ambulance was called to check her out, but once it was ascertained that she was fine (and faking), the she still needed to use the phone to call in incarcerated to work.

A few years ago when I was in private practice, I represented a very sweet lady in a divorce.  Her soon-to-be ex-husband had consented, so she and I showed up at the courthouse to go through the required process for obtaining a default divorce.  As we sat in the courtroom awaiting our turn, my client looked around wide-eyed at the other people who were also waiting for their respective cases to be called, and asked if all of those people were there to get divorced.  I explained that a lot of them were, but some were likely there on other matters.  My client then remarked that maybe she should hang around in the lobby after we finished in the hope of meeting some newly eligible men.  This was before the ink was even on her divorce decree, much less before it was dry!! And I still chuckle to this day when I think of the judge’s face when, as he was signing the copies of her divorce decree, my client piped up out of nowhere and asked, “Judge, do you know anyone?”  He looked at me with a puzzled expression as I managed to somehow choke out, “Judge, nevermind”, and rapidly usher my client out of the courtroom without losing my composure and busting out laughing.  You just never know what people are going to do.

This week, I watched what looked to be a fifty-something year old woman standing in front of the judge having a case continued to another date.  The woman asked the judge a question, and as he is prohibited by law from giving her legal advice, he told her, “Now, I can’t answer that.”  Immediately following his words, she cocked one hip to the side, tilted her head, stuck her bottom lip out, and pouted to the Judge.  It didn’t do her a lick of good, and he somehow managed to refrain from commenting on it.  I thought I would crack up.  Here’s the thing: this was not a woman most would call attractive, or hot, or even really average.  She was kind of short and dumpy, and had features that suggested she might be depriving a well-deserving bridge of its troll.  That should not have been a factor in this situation, since the judge cannot advise the attractive any more than he can advise the unfortunate-looking, but I just cannot imagine when in her life that pouting routine successfully obtained whatever it was she was seeking with any degree of success. 

The attorney next to me in the line to appear in front of the judge and I were getting a kick out of her antics, however, and when he stepped up to call his case, he said he was going to try that pouting maneuver if he didn’t get his way.  Um, yeah… Good luck with that… I’ll just wait over here and watch.

Gosh, I hope the entertainment value never goes away.

Rhinestone Cowgirls & Courtrooms

Sometimes people show up for court and there is nothing inherently wrong with what they are wearing other than the fact they simply look as if they are dressed for something other than an 8 a.m. court appearance.  I give you the following as an example.  I call her the Rhinestone Cowgirl.

This particular defendant showed up in court wearing her Western cut jeans, a Western-style blingy belt and hair barrette, large silver jewelry, and a bejeweled Western-style blouse.  She looked as if she’d be more at home on the range than hanging out in a courtroom.  Again, there was nothing really wrong with her outfit; it just didn’t really blend with the rest of the characters in the room.  The fact that a glance at her started, “One of these things is not like the others” from Sesame Street running through my head made snapping and sharing a photo necessary.
As you can see from her body language, she was doing a fair bit of swaying to and fro, and she seemed a wee bit on the attitudinal side.  When she sat down, the bailiff said to the attorney who had been speaking with her, “this is your brain on drugs…” Hmm… Maybe that explains the outfit.  She heard there would be judging and in her drug-addled stated mistakenly assumed she was headed to a rodeo and livestock show. 

Hospitals and Handwashing

So last evening while hanging out in the ICU waiting area at one of the local hospitals with my sweetie and his family, I excused myself to go to the ladies’ room.  The ladies’ room in that area has two stalls.  It also has two soap dispensers, two sinks and one paper towel dispenser.  When I walked in the restroom was occupied by one other person.  She was washing her hands, and left about the time I got the door locked on the first stall.  Another individual came in as I was finishing my business and went into the other stall. 
Upon concluding my business, I stopped at the sink to wash my hands.  I was doing just that when the other individual came out of her stall, making a beeline for the door without giving so much as a moment’s hesitation to consider washing her hands.  As the door closed behind her, I said one word — “Seriously?” —  to her retreating back. 
Yes, I’m probably fortunate she didn’t come back to confront me (although I think I could have taken her) but I meant what I said.  Seriously?!  She was in a hospital where people are often sick — and contagious.  She utilized a public restroom that had been utilized by who knows how many people prior to her occupying it, and who knows what those individuals had been exposed to, and she didn’t even stop to wash her hands?  Seriously?  Gross.  Even if that isn’t something one does normally — I’m not discussing that right now other than to say “gross!” — I would think one would take the time in a hospital of all places.  I swear, people scare me.

You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

A few weeks ago I attended court in Missouri.  It was a day on which I was scheduled to appear in two divisions of the Court at the same time. I appeared in my “usual” division on the first floor of the courthouse, and in another division on the third floor.  By the end of the morning, I felt like a little kid playing on the elevator, I was up and down so many times.  (Sorry, but I don’t do stairs in heels and dress pants with any width to the legs after getting such a shoe caught in my pantleg a year and a half ago and pitching forth from the sixth step up to the ground below where I landed solidly on my posterior.  Serious OUCH!) 
It was a criminal docket day in the courtroom on the third floor, which meant my case, the lone civil case on the docket that day, was going to be the last thing to be heard.  (Criminal takes precedence over civil, if you didn’t know.)  As a result, I ended up sitting through numerous arraignments and plea agreements, none of which were particulary interesting, before the judge arrived at the last case to be heard before mine.  It was a preliminary hearing, so there was going to be witness testimony.  While we waited patiently (or impatiently, as the case may be) for the witnesses to make their way up to the courtroom from their holding area (aka, the victim/witness office), I hoped the judge would take up my case and I could skedattle on out of there.  (I only needed one little bitty order signed.)  As luck would have it, that did NOT happen and I ended up continuing to wait my turn through the preliminary hearing.
Let me just say, for those who don’t know, I used to be a deputy prosecuting attorney, and once upon a time, my primary area of prosecution was in domestic violence, so when I tell this story, please understand I am in no way minimizing or making fun of what the alleged victims in this case went through, nor am I judging the validity of their statements to the police or their testimony in court.  I’m just telling you what I heard and sharing my commentary.
Without going into the whole long story, the gist of the situation is this: Defendant hit on Victim #1 in the parking lot of the Kum & Go, and when she rejected him, he “pulled out his penis and hit [her] on the leg with it”.  Okay, SOOOO didn’t see that statement coming from the context of her earlier testimony.  Then on a separate day, Defendant hit on Victim #2 as she walked down the street.  She went in the Kum & Go to get a soda — Memo to Self: Stay the heck away from the Kum & Go, as it is apparently the root of all criminal and deviant behavior in Springfield — hoping to lose the Defendant.  She was unsuccessful and he continued following her.  She testified that he eventually got out of his vehicle and approached her from behind and “tried to grab [her] boob off”.  She also testified that he stuck his hand up her shorts and touched her ladyparts.  When asked by the prosecutor if there was penetration when this happened, she responded, “Umm…. Not that I know of???”  (Okay, I’m not going to touch this statement other than to say you’d think one would know!!)
The kicker came on cross-examination when the defendant’s attorney asked if she was sure his client was the guy who did these things.  She affirmed that she was sure, and he asked how she knew.  She then stated, “I mean, I’m used to it.  Guys look at me, the talk to me, they show me their penises, but they usually go away when I tell them to.”  I’m sorry, what???  Where the heck does this young woman go that what naturally follows a glance or a pickup line is the brandishing one’s parts to her?  Did she actually just say that?!  The defendant’s attorney was recording her testimony with a micro-cassette recorder, so I’m pretty sure that phrase is going to be rehashed at some point down the road.  I don’t think I have to tell you that the defendant was bound over for trial. 
I think the guy, who had an entire courtroom pew filled with his cheering section, is a complete schmuck, and hope he enjoys those stripes he was wearing because I predict — and hope — he is going to be wearing a siminar outfit for a long time to come.  Meanwhile, I’d really like to know where Victim #2 goes that guys look at her, talk to her, and show her their parts.  I know already to stay away from the Kum & Go, but I’d like a list of the other location(s) so I can be sure not to frequent them…