Tag: Criminal Minds

Courting Studly

The title is deceptive. I have no intention of detailing my dating years with Studly Doright. Suffice it to say we made out a lot in parked cars, and at one point he asked, “So, you want to get married or what?”

To which I answered affirmatively, and the rest is history. Ancient and yet present history. No, this post is about Studly answering a summons to report for jury duty here in Gadsden County, Florida.  

I get all excited when I’m selected for jury duty. I’ve gotten the summons many times, but was chosen to serve just once. I think maybe my bright pink Pick Me! Pick Me! banner is a bit off-putting to attorneys. I can’t imagine why.

Studly does not share my enthusiasm for performing his civic duty. In fact, his response to the summons included a string of colorful curse words, and he seldom swears. 

After he calmed down I assured him it was unlikely he’d have to serve. “They call up tons of folks! What are the odds?” I offered to let him take my lucky pink sign. 

Apparently he should’ve taken my sign or purchased lottery tickets this week because he came home from the jury selection on Monday with the grimmest expression I’ve seen outside of a Criminal Minds episode. Another string of imaginative swear words accompanied his telling of the story. I fed him dinner and patted his hand. 

Curious, I asked him if they’d been given any idea as to what crime had been committed. He nodded, thoughtfully chewing an extra savory bite of roast that I’d lovingly prepared, but said he wasn’t able to tell me. 

Now it was my turn to say something colorful. “Son of a biscuit eater!”

So I changed my tack. I cajoled and flirted. Flashed a sexy thigh. Seductively bent over the laundry basket and wiggled my backside. But he wouldn’t spill the beans. 

This morning I sent him on his way with an admonition to be a good little juror, and a husky whisper promising all sorts of naughtiness if he’d just give me the scoop. But, still he refused. 

There’s a reason I call him Studly Doright. Dammit!

Peace, people!

  

Dipstick and a Movie

I went by myself to watch the new James Bond movie today. Our newly renovated theater is cushy, featuring oversized reclining seats and assigned seating. Since I decided on a whim to see the movie my seat choices were limited. There were a couple of seats way up front and one near the top. Of course I selected the one furthest from the screen and settled in to watch the endless procession of trailers.

My seat was at the end of an aisle next to a man and his pre-teen children. Not long after I took my seat I realized the man was looking at me. I gave him a brief nod and a smile and put my attention back on the screen. 

Through the movie he’d periodically make a comment intended for me to hear. Once he told me he’d driven in Rome. Another time he told me Daniel Craig’s suit was too tight (as if THAT could happen, duh!)  I’d nod or say, “hmm,” hoping he’d get the message. But during a lull in the action the man leaned into my personal space and asked, “So what’s a pretty lady like you doing all by yourself at the movies?”

The creep-o-meter spiked past ten on the dial. I couldn’t get my seat back into the unreclined position quickly enough, so I simply scootched to the edge and left. At first I intended to pretend I was going to the bathroom, but then I thought, “screw it” and found an unclaimed seat in the front of the theater. 

I left as soon as the credits began rolling and made a beeline for the car. Disgusted with myself for letting some random stranger get to me I sat and wondered if I’d overreacted. Maybe I’ve watched too many Criminal Minds episodes….

Peace, people!

Dipstick and a Movie

I went by myself to watch the new James Bond movie today. Our newly renovated theater is cushy, featuring oversized reclining seats and assigned seating. Since I decided on a whim to see the movie my seat choices were limited. There were a couple of seats way up front and one near the top. Of course I selected the one furthest from the screen and settled in to watch the endless procession of trailers.

  
My seat was at the end of an aisle next to a man and his pre-teen children. Not long after I took my seat I realized the man was looking at me. I gave him a brief nod and a smile and put my attention back on the screen. 

 

Too bad creeps don’t dress the part.
 
Through the movie he’d periodically make a comment intended for me to hear. Once he told me he’d driven in Rome. Another time he told me Daniel Craig’s suit was too tight (as if THAT could happen, duh!)  I’d nod or say, “hmm,” hoping he’d get the message. But during a lull in the action the man leaned into my personal space and asked, “So what’s a pretty lady like you doing all by yourself at the movies?”

The creep-o-meter spiked past ten on the dial. I couldn’t get my seat back into the unreclined position quickly enough, so I simply scootched to the edge and left. At first I intended to pretend I was going to the bathroom, but then I thought, “screw it” and found an unclaimed seat in the front of the theater. 

I left as soon as the credits began rolling and made a beeline for the car. Disgusted with myself for letting some random stranger get to me I sat and wondered if I’d overreacted. Maybe I’ve watched too many Criminal Minds episodes….

Peace, people!

Criminal Minds

I’ve shared glimpses of my mild addiction to the television drama, Criminal Minds, on a couple of occasions. 

By “mild” I mean that I’m ok if I go a day, even two without watching an episode. By “addiction” I mean that if I’m home and an episode of Criminal Minds is playing on any channel, regardless of the number of times I’ve already seen said episode, I will stop whatever I’m doing and watch it again.

And if I’m lucky enough to catch a re-airing of an episode I’ve never watched before, a feeling of euphoria sets in–it’s a high, I admit it. 

I wouldn’t call this a disabling addiction; I mean I function fairly well in my normal life except when CM is on the telly. The problem is, one can pretty much find an episode playing anytime, day or night. So, if the dishes stack up in the sink, or if the beds go unmade, Criminal Minds is most likely the culprit.

Now, if you’ll excuse me I have housework to do, but first I might need to check the TV listings.
Peace, people!

  

It’s the Little Things

Like…

Finding an episode of Criminal Minds that you’ve not seen before

Having fresh guacamole made to your taste right at your table

Opening up a fresh loaf of soft bread

Discovering a new author whose books speak to your soul

Listening to a song that lifts your spirits

Identifying with a character in a novel

Having that aha! moment when working on a project

Completing a less than fun task in a fun way (you should see my toilet cleaning technique)

Singing in the shower and sounding like a pop star

Clicking through the channels and finding “Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope,” already in progress

Getting an old-fashioned letter in the mail

Snuggling with a kitten

Kayaking with my Studly on the lake behind our home

Getting surprise calls from my youngest and oldest grandchildren on the same day (thank you D and Ninibelle)

Having a cup of coffee or a glass of wine on the patio with a good friend

Dancing

Finding peace within myself if only for a moment

Having a good dream about loved ones I’ve lost (Mom, thanks for your “visit” last night)

Hearing the words, “I love you, Nana!”

What are your little things?

Peace, People!

One Should Never Ever…

Binge watch “Criminal Minds” when one’s spouse is out of town.

Eat a double helping of refried beans before bedtime.

Text while driving.

Text while drunk.

Make small talk with crazy people.

Return to the scene of a crime.

Investigate things that go bump in the night.

Look when someone tells you not to look.

Take a sedative after eating prunes.

Spit into the wind.

Spit, period, unless the dental hygienist tells you to.

Pass gas in an elevator.

Piss off a grandmother.

Forget that all babies are beautiful in their Momma’s eyes.

Cut one’s own bangs with cuticle scissors.

Get a fit of the giggles at a funeral.

Wear hole-y underwear.