Is it still Monday?

Another day in domestic violence prevention is nearly behind me. Ever feel completely useless? Ever try to bail the Titanic with a chewed-up paper cup? Nope. That's just me being negative.

Spent the first half of the day helping a women to file a restraining order that she was so scared about, she came back to the office to edit it, three times. She kept saying, "a piece of paper won't stop him," and she was right. What could I say? But it was the piece of paper or nothing.

The second half of the day (after a truly crappy lunch and no -- I said NO -- coffee) was spent writing a restraining order with a sleasy-gross-bag (that's a legal term) who was hitting on me for the last half hour. When he got to the physical description of his "perpetrator," he started saying, "actually, she's exactly your height (smile)...she's exactly your build (giggle)...she has the same color hair (full-blown leer)...."

EWWWWWWWWWWW!

Like, he's lost his woman, so he can go pick one up at the corner domestic violence project?

EWWWWWWWWWWW!

If he had a success-mentality, he'd go pick on the freshly-shredded, post-traumatic-stress-afflicted victims down in the waiting room at the district court. Instead he goes after the under-caffienated advocate who's packing a fake lipstick pumped full of pepper spray. I guess that's Darwinism at its best.

Life. Then some of the other advocates were teasing me because the guy was so sleasy. It was like we were in school, or something. I think if Charles Manson had asked for my digits, they'd have been dancing around us in a circle, singing, "Charlie and Leslie up a tree, H-A-C-K-I-N-G!"

So -- is it still Monday?