Tomodachi Life Judge Judy

• Judy Sheindlin
• Judge Judy Episodes

May 07, 2014  “Tomodachi Life” has been a hit in a Japan, where Nintendo said last December it had sold 1.83 million copies of the game. The English-language packaging for “Tomodachi Life” – “tomodachi” means “friend” in Japanese – proclaims: “Your friends. Nov 27, 2012  Casey (born July 28, 1991 (1991-07-28) age 28), better known online as OhMy Kawaii  is a female YouTuber, who is best known for posting Nintendo related content, most notably Tomodachi Life. Dec 13, 2017  Tomodachi Life Funny Moments - Part 17 - Duration: 13:57. OhhMy Kawaii 370,915 views.

Summary

Tomodachi Life is compatible with Citra. The game will boot and run, with minor stuttering in some segments. So far the Mii’s dialogue cuts short and skips to the next line. The camera feature is not fully implemented yet, the game is able to load the camera and detect face from photo, however, it can’t finish processing during scanning for a mii qr code, except for when it is unable to detect a mii qr code.

(PLAYABLE)

Compatibility

Known Issues

No issues have been reported for this game.

Judy Sheindlin

Savefiles

No savefiles have been uploaded for this game.

Screenshots

What exactly do you go over after an entry like my last one, having emerged from the abyss it was so clear I was falling in to even as I published it? How do you even begin to discuss the things you went through, when you were down there?

Judge Judy Episodes

I saw a dragon and its name was Old. It was the worst beast I’d known, cast there many years ago. Wallowing at the bottom of the scum at the barrel’s base, the depths I retained only to remind me of where never to return. I visited it briefly, declared that if I could tear a sideways hole through time that I would reach out and actually touch it. And I thought YOU were bad. Hello, old friend.

The darkness did not reply, and I did not stay long. It simply resided, suddenly now, beside me somehow. One good thing, it maintained a sort of paralysis, as part of the past, not to follow me where I was going. I am so glad you never replied. 7 years, and 7 years, and 7 years, and 7 years time…

I imagine it must be what it is like, when you are sentenced to eternity.

Driving is the first thing I remember, coming out from that pit of hell. Or maybe it was my white knuckles clung to a shopping cart as I pushed it in to the coral, looking out at Party City as a woman was so, so blessed as her only focus at the time was on getting those balloons in to the car. I was wiping tears from my eyes, taking vows that had no words, sometimes excusing myself without permission to make several laps around the building in the middle of my shift because it was that or a kind of psychiatric suicide.

I’ve lost my love. I’ve lost my home.

I had to drive back there, every day, for a while. To the site of my trauma. The city, the people. Earning the same figures, having relocated to a condo in Saint Clair Shores, frightened all the time. The highway began to comfort me. I could not change the station from classic 70’s rock. The suspension between all fates was comforting, the vibration of the car, comforting, the horizon inviting as if at any time I didn’t need to go anywhere and could go everywhere, if I really wanted to.

One morning I dried my wet hair by rolling the windows down and exceeding 100 miles per hour. I was finding ways to grab the hand that tallied the minutes and slowly push it backwards. Impossible feats, one second at an excruciating time.

A job I had held for years and years, began to fail me. I’ve mentioned it briefly, afraid to ever tell the whole story in fear of what others could possibly do with the truth. I will say that not every leader is created equal. And after one of those leaders fucked with the wrong bitch, their business closed.

Those of us on the outside were the first to know. We found out before the people inside ran, scrambling for other jobs. The lease sign was set out front, and whenever I asked what was going on the naive middle waged employees would go, “Huh? What are you talking about?” Their HR representative would address them in a group some weeks later and remark, “I begged him not to set that out until I could talk to you all.”

You mean, until you could make them work as normally for as long as you could until you had to tell them at the last possible second that they were all done.

I was already in a higher paying position with a fraction of the stress. Ironically enough it was in the neighboring building and I walked over one day on my lunch and saw my supposed-friends, my only-to-your-face comrades, huddled together for security. When they turned and saw me, I simply waved that sort of wave you give as someone pulls out of the driveway.

Best Bye-Bye.

Once everyone had gone I made one last trip around the plaza and stopped in front of their doors. Quite literally, the last one standing. And I ended that chapter of my life.

Relationships are hard. Kind of like math, only without rules, which makes them even harder. I took a cold, hard inventory as the new loss prevention officer was training with me and he drew a line down the center of lined notebook paper.

“On this side, there’s you. You have,” he said, as he scribbled with the pen, “Limited. Resources.”

I thought I was going to be sick, every second, every day, for a while.

“He has,” he said, writing on the other side, “A degree.”

He wrote on my Haves, “Laptop.” Then he wrote “Car.” He was a guy in his 20’s going to school and living in Detroit, the sort of coach who knew to speak from experience having had to earn every thing he ever acquired. He was teaching me as I was teaching him, and we’d walk the floor looking for shoplifters while we spoke about how important it was that I had a future and was going to be okay if I was willing to fight.

I began taking online courses that were intended for my assistant manager. I studied that person, the things they said, the things they did. I believed that I could have her job. One day, (and we learned this later on during a confession to each other), we applied for the same job outside of the company we were working for…

and I was the one they took.

“I guess I need to learn to channel myself better during interviews,” she said. Putting my two weeks in was a blurry sort of time. I was still conducting my reports, still doing laps around the plaza, beginning to eat less and was studying business acumen when I was at the condo. Still making a long drive from there to work every time as glam rockers serenaded me with their tales of sex, drugs and rock and roll life.

One size, then another down. Every month something else in my closet became too large. The losses, the on-boarding, through all of it I maintained a relationship with the same person who had broken my heart and little by little we were finding our way back to each other, sometimes closer than we had ever been before. It felt like rising up from the edge of a cliff, turning around and helping him back up… sometimes only to slip until we were both hanging on for dear life once again.

The shock to my system was the secret ingredient to my “diet”. You never know how skinny you can get until you have the option to be skinny or die. In six months I cut myself in half. Loss is what I do. Trash bag after trash bag of treasured things carried down the staircase, and I’m still making cuts. Every little face of the My Little Pony I closed the top of the box on, every old garment, so suddenly numb to everything, I sacrificed.

Those Britney Spears CD singles I had collected since the millenium, I sold and paid my car off. My first few paychecks rolled in and I paid off every credit card. In an era of post-recession with no clear class divide I went from down THERE, to here. I spun around with dark colored hair (no one calls me Irish without my permission) and have acted like I was never on the brink of destruction.

An independent jewelry store was going out of business and I bought up a bunch of heirloom pieces for practically nothing. I hunted clothing racks at resale stores for Calvin and Anne Klein, DKNY, anything I could never otherwise afford, and revamped my wardrobe. I suddenly had money to do more things and began partaking in more events, making better memories, having better experiences. Look better. Do better. Feel better, sometimes. Work, sleep, and occasionally play. Don’t get fired. Repeat.

I was a baby when I met him. I didn’t understand the larger picture of couplehood with a widow, let alone one with undiagnosed bi-polar disorder. What I can say is, with everything that happened, the forces that are seemed to separate him from his grievence state so he could finally see me as a viable person to love. He calls me, he asks me out, he misses me, he seeks me. The tables turned. That plus my ability to forgive put us in a place where we can mutually decide how to proceed.

His counselor (yes, Mr. Former I Will Never Take Pills Or Get Help) pointed out to him, it was never unnatural for me to try to redecorate the house. It was never okay, the way his mother treated us. I was simply a bird trying to build a nest and it was completely normal. The Dead Wife, I had to find my way from her to Saint Koula, who became the mysterious accompanient when I had lost everything and the only thing that fit was a pair of her jeans…. which lovingly reside in a drawer as they have become too large. I was never “the other woman”, and it took a medical professional to spell it out for him that even with what happened, I was never “the other woman”…

“You have ‘A Wife’,” she pointed out, referring to the girl who set out his suits, made his sandwiches and kept the dark late marital house going, “And… you have a mistress now. You need to severe the snake’s head. I’ll be honest with you, if that had been me I would have left you in the dust…”

We were having a candlelit dinner at a Greek restaurant when I looked over at his phone and saw she had sent him a photo of her mother’s cabin on the lake with the caption “I will take you there next Summer.” That night I ran off on him, ran for miles like I had been practicing on the eliptical.

That other “woman”, which I say lightly, became a new figure in my life. It was his to deal with, and nothing could be changed or finalized in an instant. I suffered through all of that, her denial, her persistence, her badgering in to things that were not her business, having to choose my best distance from them every time. Play by play. They work together. She is a person too – maybe not one I have a lot of respect for – but she became a reality I continue to face as it is worked out day by day. It wasn’t about choosing one person over another, although it always felt like that. It was about mental health and the collateral damage brought on by a man who had completely gone off the rails in mid-life malaise.

There is a lot of healing to do and a long ways to go. I haven’t reached out to most of the people I knew. My mother fought cancer in the process and survived, which makes me wonder if she only found the strength in feeling like she had to save me before I would be gone, gone, gone.

“Autumn I know your heart is broken but if you do something you’ll regret I swear to God I will buy a gun, shoot him dead, and end my life with it.”

He could still lose me. Not from this world, not in that way. I have learned that. I will go on and there will be Future.

Dear Diary,

A lot of shit has happened. I still don’t really know what to say.