I recently read the following quote on Hodi’s innocence page. My curiosity got the best of me, and I wanted to read “the Minions” take on the latest ruling made by “SometimesAJudge Stephens” I wasn’t disappointed in my expectations that anything written by “the Minions” would be ludicrous!

Team Jodi writes:

“The reality is, and as we all know, this was never a DP case to begin with… so the DP has never even been “on the table” to start with. The Addams family magically turned it into one based on their ability to effortlessly piss away several million dollars of AZ tax payers money. And right now — aside from their faux fund raising activities (which appear to have paid “big dividends”) — they are no further forward in their phoney attempt to get “Justice” for their dead & abusive pedophile black sheep. And they never will.
Fact. Not fiction.”

My Gramma taught me that “when you point a finger at someone, three point back at you!” Later, my first psychology professor taught me that when someone accuses you of doing exactly what THEY do, it’s called “projection” and my Abnormal Psych professor taught me that Sociopaths “project” all the time! But let’s take a look at “the Minion’s” claims!

“The reality is, and as we all know, this was never a DP case to begin with” FALSE

REALITY: On Oct. 31, 2008: Prosecutors filed a “notice of intent to seek the death penalty”. The prosecution contend Arias planned the attack and killed Alexander in a jealous rage. If that isn’t laying it “on the table”, I don’t know what is! It wasn’t until Seotember, 2010 that Arias FINALLY quit blaming the “Ninjas” and began to claim “self defense! For TWO YEARS she held on to the Ninja story!

“The Addams family magically turned it into one based on their ability to effortlessly piss away several million dollars of AZ tax payers money.” FALSE

REALITY: The ALEXANDER Family has had nothing to do with the expenditures made by the State. Additionally, I am unable to find ANY reports of how much the State has expended for the Prosecution, BUT the frivolous motions brought forth by the Defense Team, the “I’ve got a headache” delays and the “wannabe sexperts” endless, and repetitive testiphony (just to name a VERY FEW DT tactics) have cost the Taxpayers of Arizona in excess of THREE MILLION DOLLARS to DEFEND a female who has LIED at every turn and FINALLY confessed to murdering Mr Alexander! Maricopa County Attorney Bill Montgomery has refused to quote a figure as to how much the Prosecution has cost, citing a court order. So, NO ONE, let alone one of Hodi’s Minions, knows HOW MUCH the TOTAL cost of the trial has been.

“aside from their faux fund raising activities (which appear to have paid “big dividends” FALSE

REALITY: I’ve found it difficult to impossible to independently discover any “fundraising” activities by the TRAVIS Alexander Family. (Thre are fundraisers for the DEFENSE of a “Marissa Alexander”) But…even if there WERE fundraising activities, I certainly COULDNT blame them for doing so! These folks are the family of a VICTIM of an UNUSUALLY cruel murder!

REALITY: On the other hand, flaunting the “Son of Sam Laws”, numerous “fundraising activities” have been operating since the arrest of Arias! It is difficult to MISS or “not be aware of” the sale of Hodi’s TRACINGS, the sale of Hodi Wristbands, the auctioning of her “court” eyeglasses, and her parents feeble, pathetic and rather embarassing plea for money via a YouTube video (which is back up again on the HODI innocence website) “This is the only site that we can PERSONALLY GUARANTEE that the money will be used for Jodi’s appeal!” Rather premature, since she is not yet SENTENCED!

Now, I don’t want to be a cynic…BUT…if I can’t trust a WORD of what HODI SAYS…do you think I should trust a word of what her father is reading off of a paper that Hodi WROTE for him to READ? Uhhhh..no! How good is their “personal guarantee”? What does this “guarantee” guarantee?? Just how does this “guarantee” work? Who has fiduciary responsibility? Where is the transparency? How much has she already collected?

IF you feel like tossing some money away, send it to me! I will “personally guarantee” that it won’t be used for anything except paying rent, telephone, utilities, car payment, car & house insurance, doctor bills, pharmacy bilks, gas in the car (straight into the tank, I don’t keep gas cans in my trunk), dog food, vet bills, credit card bills and household necessities from Costco.!

Or send a Jackson to my friend Kelly, who keeps me from needing anti-depressants by writing such a funny blog!

and finally: “they are no further forward in their phoney attempt to get “Justice” for their dead & abusive pedophile black sheep. And they never will.” FALSE

REALITY: After Judge Stephens’ excellent MASS DENIAL of SEVENTEEN frivolous motions demanding that charges be dropped and the DP withdrawn…I would say that there were SEVENTEEN steps toward their attempt to gain Justice for the cruel, heinous slaughter of Travis Alexander. Arias is a CONVICTED MURDERER! THAT, madam, is a FACT! She has been PROVEN GUILTY, BEYOND A REASONABLE DOUBT! The accusations of abuse and pedophilia are without merit and without proof! (AND, thanks to Arias, acting as judge, jury and executioner, TRAVIS will NEVER get HIS day in court to refute the charges. And he NEVER will.

This trial cannot end soon enough! Perhaps then, the cockroaches will scurry back into the dark, the vile things crawl back under their rocks, and all the SPESHUL snowflakes who rode the short bus to school will have time to go to therapy! I’m actually hoping that they all develop repetitive stress injuries in that one finger they use to type out the tripe they hallucinate! I want to know what drugs they are doing, so I can stay away from it…it obviously causes brain damage!


Oh, what the heck, anyway…

Poor KellyMae, I write more in the “comments” section of HER blog than I write in ANY of mine…but hers are more fun…I laugh more reading HERS…and if you haven’t read ReallyBigMeanDog, get the heck over there and do it!!!

At LEAST Miss Kelly seems to have a fukkin POINT…Asleep at the Wheel is just that…very Asleep…yet, still responsible for the consequences…

I have a story this morning about Boudreaux, the Frenchie that graces our lives, makes us laugh, and keeps me from sleeping the day away on the sofa in a depressive state…

I also should tell you about the (to use Miss Kelly’s word) Fuckery perpetrated by a certain person I’ve designated “Soup”…and, to Soup, I say “I’ll meet you there in hell, you low-life, used-up c__t!” She had the NERVE to compare her four weeks of marijuana infused motherhood to my FORTY FUKKIN YEARS of motherhood…AND, I will add, MY son doesn’t do dope of ANY KIND, has NEVER been to JAIL, has been GAINFULLY employed at the same place for the last SEVEN years, hasn’t given himself to any prick that uses a size “MAGNUM” condom, and he WISHES his name was written in every bathroom from Tallahassee to Mobile along with his phone number and “For a good time, call”…but, SOUP seems to have that corner of the market all tied up!! Oh, and by the way, his MOTHER only has to help pay his rent when his LOW-LIFE, LEGAL WIFE comes traipsing “home” with her little bastard child…and expects her “husband” to support HER, HER BASTARD child, AND the low-life fukker that beats the CRAP out of her every other NIGHT! Yea, you are a SUPERIOR mother, alrighty…skimp on that poor babies food so you can buy weed and OXY!!! I wish I knew for SURE WHO reported your lazy ass to Child Services, I’d buy them a new pair of John Hardy earrings!!! Find an idiot and follow her home, and what will you find? An older pair of idiots who have been allowed to breed…and THOSE idiots have been busy breeding…so there’s an entire pit full of idiots! There’s a reason that people live in the entirely FICTIONAL state called ABaLAMa…survival of the fittest proclaims that in any other state, SOMEone would have taken mercy on them, and put them all out of my misery! And, no offense to anyone employed at McDonalds…but even McDonalds refuses to hire any of this clan! (So, you and I, Mr & Mrs Works For a Living Taxpayer, support this group of miscreants!!) Beware of anyone that still doesn’t realize that “The War of Northern Aggression (aka: u.s.Civil War) ended 150 YEARS ago! GET A GRIP! (Lucky Canada, so far away from these people!) It HAS to be due to some sort of inbreeding, or something in the water…

Now that I’ve got my blood pressure back up to normal….it appears that I’m going to have to get off my lazy ass and clean house today…I’ve ignored it for SOOOOOO LONG that not even Merry Maids will take the job…and the 15 minutes I can actually STAND and DO something…doesn’t even make a dent in the grime on the tile in the kitchen…I “think” I’m “overtaxed” when I empty the dishwasher…thank Gods for the Zoloft my DH takes…if it weren’t for the Zoloft fog, he would have divorced my ass long ago…and run back to his first wife…promising ANYTHING if she’d just keep his underwear drawer filled…no, no…don’t try to talk me out if it…I’m gonna march…well, ok…HOBBLE right into the kitchen RIGHT NOW…and then try to find the counter top underneath the detritus of a weeks worth living…(and THEN, I’m gonna order me a new pair of John Hardy earrings, cuz, I DESERVE em!). I feel much better now that I’ve “vented” a bit!

The Depleted Gene Pool Weighs in On Ebola

ILOVE this! Well done!

Life in the Boomer Lane


Anyone with half a brain (and, apparently, there are a number of folks walking around with less than the required amount of brain mass) now knows, thanks to Rush Limbaugh, that President Obama is allowing Ebola to slip into America as a payback for slavery. This is a fascinating theory, since Ebola started in West Africa, and, unless, Life in the Boomer Lane is wrong, this means that African people can contract the disease.  If Ebola were to spread to America, those of African descent would not be immune.  Therefore, many people descended from slaves would be getting a payback for slavery. Either Limbaugh is a bit off, or Obama has made a slight error in starting this whole thing. Either way, one would think African Americans would be pretty pissed off at the prospect of being descended from slaves and then being punished for being slave owners.

Laura Ingraham…

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An Open Letter To My Sister

Dear Putts:
How are you? I am fine.

So began every letter that I wrote to you…even the ones that managed to get into an envelope and find a stamp and get all the way to the mailbox. I’m ashamed to admit that there weren’t many of them that actually got INTO the mailbox in your short life. It really isn’t that I’m a shitty sister…I’m sure God has told you THAT by now..He has probably explained that I was young, self-centered and selfish…but it NEVER was because I didn’t love you.

I should have started each of those letters with:
Dearest Putts:
What have you been up to? I can’t tell you how much I miss you and how much I wish we had just a short 3 minute phone call. Look, I’m sorry I got upset the other day. Please forgive me, because I can’t seem to forgive myself. It was a stupid argument, and I was wrong…and I wasn’t LISTENING to you. I NEVER seemed to listen anymore, did I?

Aunt Mama says that you would have forgiven me long ago…just like you always did…and that I shouldn’t keep beating up on myself. Gee, after 37 years, you probably WOULD have forgiven me by NOW…Maybe I needed that lesson in life; I’ve learned to control my temper…actually, I can’t remember the last time I got upset with anyone…No, my ex-husband doesn’t count, he DESERVED every bit of my ire!

You would be very proud of me, tho…I never told our female egg donor what I thought of her, never called her out for her lies, never told her what a useless human being she is. I gave her 58 years to get her act together, to take responsibility for her actions, and still she lies to me. She is still just as clueless about anyone but herself as she always has been. I went to see her four years ago. When I called to tell her what day and time I would be arriving, she obviously pretended to write it down…then told me what bus to take from the airport to get to her apartment. When I arrived, she wasn’t home. How typical of her! I waited for over an hour for her to get home. I know that this will sound odd…but, for being so much LIKE each other, we are NOTHING alike! If it were ME, and MY child (who I hadn’t seen in 30 years was coming to visit) I would SOMEHOW manage a way to be at HOME when he arrived! She is still full of empty words and promises that she has no intention of fulfilling! When she said “I don’t KNOW why you can’t be more like Putts!” It took everything within me NOT to say “What part of her do you want me to be? The DEAD part?  So that you can make up lies about how much I loved you?” If I could feel pity for her, it would be because she actually believes the crap she says! But, I can’t feel anything for her except distain…she has used up every ounce of my “I give a hoot!”

I told myself that I could forgive her if she were able to say “I don’t know WHY I left you and Putts alone in that trailer to die. I was barely 22, It was 1955 and I was pregnant with a mixed race child, and I didn’t want to explain it to your dad. I didn’t want to face the music! Besides, you SURVIVED it, didn’t you? Someone finally DID find you and Putts! I KNEW they would eventually! And you were pretty smart for being only TWO! You knew how to get a bottle from the fridge and feed Putts! Everything turned out FINE! I KNEW it would!” BUT…she is unable to even come close to that.  Only you, because we endured the hell together, could understand everything that I feel.  Gods!  How miss you!  How I wish that I had valued you more when you were here, alive…my only excuse is that I was a naive, semi-selfish person!  At my 40th class reunion, some girl I barely knew remembered that the first thing she remembered was how I beat the stuffing outta K. Flatt because she called you a “‘tard”…them’s fightin words, obviously…but I don’t remember doing that at all…but I cannot forgive Bambi Lane…

I’ve become friends with Auntie Vee!  We never KNEW there WAS an Auntie Vee!  It was weird how it came about, but it matters not HOW it happened, but THAT it happened! You would love her, too.  Her heart reminds me of you.  She made a pinky-swear to never tell Bambi that she talks to me.  In spite of all my ire toward that self-centered female, I have no intention of ever telling her anything, of ANY communication.  The ONLY thing she ever gave me was to suspect anyone who says “I love you!”…she has no understanding if those words, other than being a tool of manipulation…she taught me that words are useless without action, she taught me to look for motives, she taught me not to TRUST.

My life is better because you were in it.  You gave me pure love.  You and I (when we weren’t having Sister Fights) were best friends, we endured together.  All the good within me came from you and especially Gramma.  I know that whatever is “after this”…you are wrapped in Gramma’s big heart…and neither of you have any pain or heartache.

I have Aaron in my life…a better son could not exist…I wish I had been a better mother….

I have found the best husband in the world…JR treats me like a queen, and there is nothing I do without.  He may not SAY “I love you!” but he doesn’t have to.  His actions speak volumes.  I know I’m not easy to live with…I have my quirks, I’m a terribly unorganized person (my lack of qualities are rubbing off on him!) and the aches and pains of being “elderly” make me even less amiable sometimes.  But, much like you and I, the superficial issues are insignificant to the deep, true love and affection we have for one another.

When you left me here alone…I didn’t think that I would be able to survive…but I did.  In fact, I thrived.  I’ve tried my best for the past 38 years to live my life for us both.  To cram TWO lifetimes into one, yours AND my own.

I hope that when you look at me now, that you not only forgive my sins toward you…but that you are proud of me.  Thank you for always being my Guardian Angel.

I’ll love you always…until we are reunited in the hereafter.


Drama Queen-Part 3

My phone rang at 3 am…it my son calling…my first thought “What’s the bad news?”


Mom, are you awake?

Well, I am now…what’s going on?

She’s crazier than a “soup sandwich”, Mom!

What’s a “soup sandwich”?

Mom, didja ever try putting soup between two pieces of bread?  That’s CRAZY! Totally MESSED UP! Just like SHE is!

Okay….where ARE you? Sounds like you are playing in traffic!

I’m on Highway 98…walking home after work…

What do you mean Highway 98? You are going to get yourself KILLED! You got off work hours ago!  Where’s your car?

Well, Soup was SUPPOSED to pick me up after work, but she never showed up! It’s the day before payday, and I can’t afford a taxi. So I have to walk home.

WAIT! WHAT? Why didn’t she show up? Where is she? Did you try to call?

Mom, she sent me a text message tonight at work. Wait, let me read it to you…

(The old “I need space” thing…He was crying now…)

Everything will be OK, Joker.  Tell me what else happened…

(Just how do you console your son when he tells you something like this?)

“Three nights ago, she got dressed nicely, put on her make-up…then casually picked up the car keys and said “I’ve got to go get a pack of cigarettes, I’ll be back in a while.  Don’t worry about me.”  Don’t worry about me? To just go get cigarettes?  An hour passed, and then two..I started to worry at three and four hours!”  

He said that his mind began working overtime.  He called the Sheriff’s office to see if there had been an accident. Five, six, seven hours had passed; he called the hospital.  He sent text messages every 30 minutes.  He called her cell and only got a recording.  After his third phone call, the cell didn’t even ring, it went directly to voice mail.  She had turned the phone OFF, obviously.  Eight, nine and ten hours.  Finally, at 11:30, she came dragging into the apartment.  Her hair was wet and full of sand.actually, there was sand all OVER her!  

“Where ya been?” he asked calmly. (She hadn’t learned in over three years of marriage that her husband using a calm, reasonable voice indicated trouble.)

“Oh, well, after I bought a pack of cigarettes, I went down to the beach and sat near the pier and just watched the waves and I fell asleep and just woke up!”

“Weird! Because I went to the pier looking for you and didn’t find you!” (He lied just as smoothly.)

“Well, I wasn’t at THAT pier, I was at another pier!  Well, I’m going to go take a nap, I’m REALLY tired!”

“I thought you fell asleep on the beach and just woke up!  You shouldn’t be tired!”

“Well the sand was hard, and it kept waking me up!”

“Okay…”  Well, obviously he wasn’t going to get the truth about where she had been and what she’d been doing.  But in retrospect, after receiving the “open marriage” text, it was pretty obvious what she had been doing!

He then told me that last night Soup arrived two hours late to pick him up.  She was ALWAYS late, but never TWO hours! She sent several text messages saying “I’M ON MY WAY NOW”. When she finally got to the store, she was dressed to go out, and gave him a hateful look when he got into the car. He said “I need to take a shower first…if we are going out.”  “ME” she said “not WE! ME! I’M going out.”

She backed the car out of the parking space, and then drove him home in silence. At the apartment she sat in the driver’s seat, just staring straight ahead as she waited for him to get out of the car. His birthday was the next day and he had hoped they would spend some time together. (THAT’S not going to happen, he thought.) He opened the car door slowly, and began to get out.  “Have fun.” He said, but she ignored his sarcasm.  “I will.” And he ignored hers.

He fell asleep on the sofa while waiting for her to come home.  The sound of a drunk tripping over the pile of shoes at the front door woke him up. “SHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!” Drunk giggling… “You’ll wake my roommate up!” More drunken giggling.  “Roommate??” He thought “WTF?”  He decided not to let them know he was awake.  Barely opening his eyes, he watched them stumbling around.  The man had his hand and half his arm down the front of her pants.  “Oh FUCK!” She whispered loudly “That fucker is asleep on the sofa! Com’on, lesh go to MY room!” The couple stumbled down the hall, bumping into the walls and doors as they went. More giggling. And the sounds of two people NOT SLEEPING together. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to hear it. He put the pillow over his head and wished the earth would swallow the sofa with him on it.

Then, today, he woke up and found himself alone in the apartment. The car was gone. He called a co-worker and asked for a ride into work. When he got the “open marriage” text, he shook his head and muttered “Happy Fuckin Birthday, Joker!”

Up next: Soup ‘n Salad



Drama Queens — One

Once upon a time, in a land not so far from here was a nice Mom and her Son.  Mom was a sweet old lady who had seen some ugly parts of life and had learned to be self-reliant, she was loving and generous to almost a fault.  She and her adult son were very much alike and able to have discussions about everything in life.  Both were fun-loving and enjoyed spending time together.  They were intelligent, they were “salt-of-the-earth” type folks and both felt great compassion for others less fortunate than themselves.

Together, they had endured physical and emotional abuse throughout their lives, which perhaps made their bond stronger than “normal” parent/child relationships, but the bonds they had formed made them stronger and able to face the trials that arise in life.  Mom was a wealth of good, solid advice…some of which the Son followed, some he didn’t…but she always encouraged him to do what was right for HIM, to listen to the “voice of experience” yet follow his own path.

At the time we pick up on their story, she was 52 and he was 32.  Both were unmarried and self-sufficient, both were emotionally ready to find their “soul-mate”, a “life-partner”, someone to share romantic adventures and build a future..

That summer, while attending a co-workers wedding, Son met Miss Soup…Son was 6’3″, and fashionably thin.  The typical “tall, dark and handsome”…but it never occurred to him that he might be classified as such.  He was drawn to Miss Soup because she was as tall as he was, he liked a woman he could “look in the eyes” while dancing! She wasn’t as “curvy” as he usually was attracted to, but she was fun to be with.  She was only 19, and the attention of a woman so young certainly fed his ego!  He didn’t know at the time that she was only “coming on” to him because she and her gay brother had a bet as to which one of them was going to drag Son off to bed that night (and neither of them knew that Son wasn’t looking for a one night stand, and wouldn’t bed either of them THAT night!)

Miss Soup would eventually “win” the bet, as Son was strictly a “straight” guy…but he had friends of all types, as most Los Angelenos do.  She was attracted to him because he was “older”, had a really nice car, a great job, a nice apartment near the beach…and he was CERTAINLY a viable way to get away from her controlling and STUPID parents who kept talking about CONSEQUENCES!

Miss Soup was finally introduced to Mom…and as wise as Mom was, she didn’t see Miss Soup for the sociopath she was.  As usual, Mom wanted her Son to be happy, so advised him to go slowly, and make sure she really was “the One”.

Mom asked if Son would be happy with a female who never acted very feminine, didn’t know how to cook, didn’t care about the disarray in his apartment, which, while not the best when he lived alone, steadily degenerated from “messy” to “filthy”.  But he assured Mom that “things are different now, Mom…not like they were 40 years ago!”  But, Son had no idea what occupied Soup’s day…she didn’t work, or volunteer in the community, or cook and clean.  Even after she decided that she was going to marry him, she made no attempts to even plan the wedding; she didn’t order invitations, or a cake…waited until the week before the wedding to buy a dress.  Mom suspected that “maybe” Soup’s heart wasn’t devoted to this whole marriage thing…especially when the Bride’s footwear consisted of a pair of white flip-flops…but her son’s happy countenance eased her fears, and she thought it wiser to just say nothing when the minister said “…speak now, or forever hold your peace…”

NEXT: Chapter 2–“I’m homesick, I want to move to Abalama!”

Chapter 2.5–“I HATE my parents, let’s move back to the Beach!”

Chapter 2.7–“The beach us crowded, let’s move to OC!”

Chapter 2.8–“I HATE it here, let’s move to Abalama!”

Chapter 2.9–“I HATE my parents! let’s move back to the Beach!”

Chapter 3.0–“I’m bored!  I want an “open marriage”!”

We return you to our regularly scheduled program “Drama Queens”!

It has been so long since I’ve posted that I’m not sure where to begin (again) nor am I even sure what name I was posting “Drama Queens” under…so I’m thinking I should just start at the beginning…or maybe I should start with the current situation and do “flash backs”? What do you think?

Although EVERYTHING I will relate to you is the PURE UNADULTERATED TRUTH (as I see it!), what little money I have shouldn’t be spent on lawyers trying to defend myself in some asinine “defamation” lawsuit brought forth by a money-grubbing low-life from the Great (but IMAGINARY) State of AB-a-LAM-a.  Also, I want my readers to also remember that ORANGE is NOT the new BLACK, I LOOK sick (well, sicker than usual) in ORANGE, and I look even WORSE in STRIPES, so after reading a chapter or two of “Drama Queens”, you will understand why I have taken the precaution of “changing names to protect the innocent” and saying “This is a work of FICTION!  ANY resemblance to ANY person, LIVING or DEAD is PURELY COINCIDENTAL!” “The author holds exclusive rights to this work, UNauthorized duplication is prohibited.” “This work will (eventually) mention drugs, child abuse, adultery and rock’n’roll, read at your own annoyance.”



My dad was the jury foreman in the Jodi Arias murder trial.

I am betting that a good portion of you don’t know or care but there is sure a sizable piece of America and beyond that knows now who my dad is—which is to say they know his name and they know he had a chance to help execute a criminal. And they know that on his watch, that criminal was not sentenced to die.

That’s where it ends, of course. The knowledge of my dad. That’s all that all but a statistically negligible percentage of the universe knows about my dad. They don’t know that my dad loved his kids or loved baseball or loves cars or loves golf or loves his grandkids or any of a million things. They don’t know that above all his weaknesses, my dad is an honorable man.

And that’s okay. No one needs to know my dad. I think before this all happened, my dad would have liked to be famous. I’m not speaking for him but I’m pretty sure that’s not the case anymore.

Today I read hate mail my dad had gotten. Some person had sent him a threatening message complete with his email address, full name, and phone number (which at the very least means that this guy should retake Hate Mail 101). I also read some comments on an article online about my dad. Surreal. They say my dad was fooled by the defendant, that he was taken with her, that he hated the prosecutor. But what was most interesting to me is how many people say my dad is a media whore.

Let me explain to you how the media works. I am a media whore. I want nothing more than an open mic, a bully pulpit, a captive audience. But no one cares what I have to say, and therefore the media doesn’t care.

But the world (maybe even you, if you are honest) wants to hear about Jodi Arias. Everything, every lurid detail about her. So when my dad showed up at his own home after the mistrial was declared, the major media were there waiting for him. They spent the night in his home. He chose to speak, but if you all didn’t care, no one would have even had a clue who my dad is. It’s poor form to consume media and at the same time complain about its availability.

One last thing, and then I’ll be done, because thinking about how my dad is suffering makes my heart hurt. A jury gets impaneled once or twice in a generation to oversee a trial like this. That means there are one or maybe two people per generation that know what my dad has just gone through. I would love to hear what their thoughts are. I’m sure my dad would like to decompress with them over cocktails. What that group alone would know, though, is that when you are a juror, you are bound by law to be impartial. What you see and what you are *mandated* to consider and not consider is different from what Nancy Grace’s viewership gets to see. They are allowed to foam at the mouth for five months with bloodlust, knowing from day one that the defendant is guilty as sin. But a juror is told to leave emotion and sensationalism at the door so that the defendant can have a fair trial.

You might say, “But Jodi Arias is a psychopath. She doesn’t deserve anything but the hot end of a gun.” You’re allowed to think that. But I hope for your sake that if you’re ever put on trial for something, you have jurors like my dad to hear you out.

I looked at my four year old son today as he was about to fall asleep. He gave me a dreamy, half conscious smile. Genuine, because four year olds always are. I told him I loved him. He said back to me, “I love you, dad.”

At that moment I realized that if I make it to the end of my life and my son can be proud of me, then I will die happy to my very bones.

So here’s my open letter to my dad:

Dad: I love you. And I am proud today, and I am proudest today, that you are my dad! 

Re-blog-written by:

Samirsdad: I know in my heart that your son will one day be as proud of you as you are of your dad! Please tell Dad that many of us thank him for his service to justice, I cannot say that my own decision, if I had been in his shoes would have been any different. I did not envy his difficult position and decision. Thanks for your post and insight!