Weird point #1: My old dermatologist is now giving skin advice on Oprah.

Moving on...

Today I went to court to contest my $148 speeding ticket that was (un)rightfully bestowed upon me the 6th of June of this year. (I sent in my not guilty plea right away, and this is the date I got)

Since I'm such a straight arrow, I was excited to be a lawbreaker/hoodlum/Gangsta for a morning.

My court time was 10am, and I got there at 9:45 (part of me was still straight arrow this morning) to find a line extending outside the courthouse. It was worse than going to the DMV or Christmas shopping. I hung out in line. The people in front of me were speaking Spanish, so I was trying to see how much I could understand.

Once I went through courthouse security, I stood in another long line, and we ended up chatting about the line itself. Lots of people brought their kids, so it was really beginning to look like the mall.

The courtroom was a little room. I gave my name and took my seat. It looked like a dingy old courtroom and not like the ones on the Practice. Much to my disappointment, Dylan McDermott was nowhere to be found.

The courtroom was divided into 4 sections and each person went to the lawyer who was done with someone first. So it was all in order.

My chosen one was a nice, white young man. Being that I was in the courthouse of the town with one of the highest crime rates in the country, he cut to the chase.

"So where were you going?" he asked.

"Home," I replied.

"Were you speeding?"

"Not really," I said.

"You were going 80 in a 55. How fast did you think you were going?"

"65." (which is a complete lie)

"Since you were so honest with me, I'll reduce your ticket to $50 (from $148)."

In less than 5 minutes, my first court experience was all done.

The fun part was when I was waiting in line to pay. My courthouse buddy from the first line was there, and another guy with a $300 reduced to $100 ticket was there, and 3 other women. We all ended up talking about our tickets and complaining about where we were stopped, why, and the cost of the ticket. A prime example of misery loving company.