Kidnapped!

I've been kidnapped. Starting next Monday I'm on jury duty in Mercer County New Jersey for a week, or a trial, whichever is more excruciating.

Every other county in New Jersey, and probably all the rest of the counties in the country, have a rule of "1 day or 1 trial" and then you're done. Not Mercer County. For, although the county is the home to Princeton University, it also has the misfortune of being home to the state capital, Trenton. And Trenton has some pretty unsavory neighborhoods, if you get my meaning, if you catch my drift.

With any luck I'll get some gangland killing but I've done this before and I know they hate having people on juries who work at law firms. Even if they are just measly assistants.

I'm hoping that jury duty ends at a decent hour every day next week because I have an appointment to see Every Man of a Certain Age's Best Friend, his urologist, next Thursday evening at 5:45 p.m. I see him once a year (I got another midriff x-ray last Saturday), so he can see how my kidney stones are doing. So far, so good. I haven't passed any and they seem to be benignly growing with no intent to escape.

Next Friday, if I live that long, will be my penultimate birthday in my 50's. I'm trying to decide between having birthday cake or cyanide.

My 50's really flew by, unlike my 40's. My 40's dragged, mostly because I was so drunk and unhappy. It turns out that the happier you are, the faster time flies. It reminds me of the very un-PC joke about the guy who was told by his doctor that he had six months to live. "Well," the guy said, "I guess in that case I'd better marry a Jewish American Princess and move to Duluth. At least it'll be the longest six months of my life."

My 50's, though, were all spent in recovery. And although there were days which I thought would never end, the years flew by.

So I'm trying (seriously now) to decide what to do for my birthday. I'll be in court that day, but I won't be in court next Saturday, and I'm thinking about doing something I really love to do.

Go to Six Flags/Great Adventure and ride Kingda-Ka until I puke! (My buddy Jake did a shout-out regarding Six Flags/Great America, boyfriends and roller coasters the other day.)

Nothing says "STILL A TEEN AT HEART (but not the knees)" louder than riding roller coasters until one needs a couple of hip replacements.

Or maybe I'll just schlep down to the gay beach in Belmar and lie, like a beached whale, upon the sun-drenched sand for hours on end, ogling the golden youth of NooJoyZee.

And if I see something I like, maybe I'll kidnap HIM and force him into a life of wanton debauchery... or debauched wantoness, whichever comes first.

It's a very good time for kidnappings. It brings out the "kid" in all of us.