Magic carpet ride. I've been looking for a Persian rug print in polyester for about 3 years now. These are Persian rugs, I think. Or are they Turkish? You tell me. And this one would fit a Stuffed Samsara. What do you think, Mom?

Not exactly appropriate for my day in court, though. That's right, my slumlord is now suing me for the rent for the days I was not able to live in my apartment, even though the building manager promised me a rent credit. They are dragging me to court to make me fight for it.

My landlord is not an individual, but a publically traded corporation. There is noone to reason with.

Sigh. But I do love a court room drama. You know, Witness for the Prosecution, that type of thing. I relish the idea of saying: "Your Honor,..." But unfortunately I don't have the money to hire an attorney. If I did, I wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

I had my day in court once before. At 16 I got a traffic ticket for an offense I did not commit. A motorcycle cop said I turned left on a red light. Why praytell would anyone do such a thing? The truth was I was already in the intersection in my little rattletrap of a Nissan as the light turned yellow and I turned, as one does. I decided to fight it in court. Everyone told me the cop wouldn't show up. That they never do. And as the judge and I waited a few minutes before starting, it looked like they'd be right. But then I heard the sound of motorcycle boots in the hallway. That's right. My fascist motorcycle cop strutted on in a proceeded to lie. Lie through his teeth. There were cars ahead of hers, he said. There was a tan sedan and a red compact in front of her, he said. I had taken pictures of the intersection, and was at that tender young age actually considering a career in law. I had a lovely little speech prepared. Who did the Judge believe?

The lying traffic cop, of course.

I had to go to traffic school where I sat for 15 hours vowing never to enter a courtroom or trust the wheels of justice again. I studied Comparative Literature in college, for crying out loud, and wrote papers about unreliable narrators.

Goslings, wish me luck. My court date is January 25th.