My GPS is Possessed, and other potential catastrophes

So I’m now officially a criminal defense lawyer.  I know this, not because I got hired by  a criminal defense firm and I’m defending (alleged) malefactors with neck tattoos, but because I have my very own little red book.

You know what I’m talking about.  NOW I’m for real.

So, guess what they don’t tell you about practicing criminal law (at least, practicing in Atlanta)?  You better love to drive.  This morning’s schedule included Clayton County Courthouse, Fulton County Courthouse, and Cobb County Courthouse.   Then I rolled up to Gordon County Courthouse, and topped off the day with a piquant trip to Fulton County Jail.  At each of these locations, I tried with varying degrees of success to convince judges and DAs to see things my way. Today actually started pretty strong, but my charm and persuasiveness may have worn away with my lipstick.

I have quickly developed an unhealthy relationship with my GPS.  I bought her.  I’m totally dependent on her.  I also get mad at her for telling me what to do, and repeating herself when I heard her the first time, and for occasionally telling me to “turn right, then drive to uapobaijdal.”  (I believe this is actually her way of saying “ramp”, but I’m not positive)  The extent of my dependence became evident today when she abruptly turned off outside of Marietta.  After several different attempts to revive her, I stuck her in the glove compartment and painstakingly google-mapped my way up to Calhoun.  Bad situation.  I’m not one of those people really good at reading and driving.  So I mourned GPS for the rest of the day.  I contemplated what I would do without her as I left the ever-fragrant Fulton Jail.  Then I stopped thinking about her as I finally headed home.

At which point her tinny, alien voice emanated from my glove compartment, telling me tor please drive to the highlighted route.  So my GPS is apparently possessed.

I. am. so. tired.  allthetime. (that’s your disclaimer for typos and a rambly blog)  But I’m not bored. Not even when I’m driving, thanks to  And, in spite of my vigorous support of alternative transit, I do love my little truck.  Someday I’ll write a country song about it.