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Monday, August 30, 2010

Is $50,000 not good enough?

OK, I'm just going to ask it.

Why don't five contestants on Bachelor Pad all team up and agree to split the $250,000 five ways?  Are they really all too greedy to not see that as the best possible resolution in a game where everyone is literally too dumb to spell "strategy"?

Shameless plug alert part 2

Vote for Kristen!  She's currently in second place, and today's the last day to vote!  Click here, it takes like five seconds (really).

While re-reading Mockingjay...

I noticed a line that stood out EXTRA BIG the second* time around:

"The very notion that I'm devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given the current circumstances, is demeaning." - Katniss Everdeen

Look, I thought I was done writing (even obliquely) about Mockingjay, but I guess not. Never fear, this post will contain no spoilers, because that is not my bag.

But I have to say, this whole "Team Peeta" versus "Team Gale" nonsense has to stop.

Look, I like both Peeta and Gale. They're great characters, and not just because they're both enamored of our gal Katniss. They have their own motivations and psychology. Their points of view are not intended to simply bolster or contrast Katniss' opinions and actions, but to reflect that they are two different people, separate and apart. They have their own reasons to rebel, rage, to express compassion or determination, affection, humor. I've read various complaints that this boy or that boy should have just supported Katniss, he should have just agreed with her because he cared about her, he should have done this, he should have done that … and I can't help but wonder if the complainer (a) just didn't get it, or (b) is so narcissitic that she (it's always a she) believes love means inevitable capitulation, or (c) they're so na├»ve that they believe love means sunshine and kittens, and it always ends well.

But that's enough about that. I mostly find myself baffled that a story that is about rebellion, the nature of war, and humanity could be so fundamentally misunderstood that all that matters is OMG WHICH ONE IS SHE GOING TO PICK?!?!?! Even when Katniss, Peeta and Gale each take a turn patiently explaining to the reader that, PS, it's a secondary consideration.

But Blogwriter, you say. If it's all about rebellion and war, why did Suzanne Collins even include the ooey-gooey stuff?

Well, I'm no mind reader, I say with sufficient false-modesty, but I'd imagine for the same reason she included flashbacks to Katniss' childhood, anecdotes about her father and sister, lyrics to songs, jokes, details about fashion and makeup. Because life isn't all blood and guts, even when it's mostly blood and guts. Because Peeta and Gale have their own interests in the big battle. Because they're important to Katniss ASIDE FROM any romantic entanglements. And because if you eliminate humanity from a story about war, you might as well be watching your own Hunger Games, just betting on various character to win.

So it doesn't matter who she picks? you say, sure I've painted myself into a corner this time.  (Who knows, maybe I have.)

Of course it matters, I reply, getting annoyed with my own internal debate at this point. But see quote above? Even KATNISS knows it matters less than other things. Unlike a certain "saga" (and yeah, I read it, and enjoyed it on a certain level) where the romance was the main plot, so much so that you kind of forgot that there were supposedly some bad guys out there somewhere (and some really lame action scenes to muddle through), the romance is just one thread of many because that's how life is. Sometimes it's the most important, but sometimes it's not. Yes, Virginia, there is life outside of bridal edition fashion magazines.

Sorry for the rant, folks. But I find myself stunned to see how many readers of this fantastic series resemble Katniss' prep team of Octavia, Venia, and Flavius, characters so ridiculous that Katniss can't even be bothered to think of them as people.







* I usually read a book twice because I have a tendency to subconsciously skim the first time. I also have no qualms re-reading a book I've read many times before, much like I have no qualms re-hashing the same old gossip with my friends. I am a creature of multi-faceted redundancy.

Sunday, August 29, 2010

Church rules

Look, I know I'm not the best Mormon ever.  But the key point is, I think, that I'm also not the worst.

But I'm curious about something.  I mentioned the other day to a friend that I have certain rules when it comes to church attendance.  I can stay home if it has the word "conference" in it.  I can stay home if I'm on vacation -- and since my new home is Austin, "vacation" includes time spent back in Salt Lake City or Kaysville.  And I can stay home roughly once every other month or so, just for a personal break.

The first two habits were instilled to me by my parents, though I am sure they will deny this.  The third was suggested by my first RA in college, who said that she made it a habit to skip one class a week on principle.  Since she was a physics major on scholarship, I trusted her advice and it worked out fairly well.  I have merely extended this principle to all other areas of my life.

In general, this means that my church attendance hovers around a comfy 82%: a B-minus, if you will.

However, my friend was SHOCKED and APPALLED at this admission.  Really, you would have thought I said that I don't like frilly aprons that cost more than dresses.

Anyone else out there in BlogLand have a special church rule they use to maintain sanity?

Saturday, August 28, 2010

I'm not a prude, but ...

... is there a point to all the discussion of Lisbeth Salander's new fake ta-tas in The Girl Who Played With Fire?

Or the extensive explanation of Erica Berger's open marriage?

Or the inclusion of the least-sexy come on in history: "I think you should start polishing something else?"  I believe there was also some sheet re-arranging involved with that one.

Or the least-sexy intro-to-sex scene in history: "They looked at each other.  Then Mimmi bent and gave Salander a deep kiss.  Salander responded and threw her arms around Mimmi.  The coffee was left to get cold."

Is there a sarcastic version of "rawr" out there?

In general, I'm not a huge fan of the book sex scene, and not because I'm all high minded (we certainly know that's not true).  It's because it's awkward.  If you're not going to be arty and obtuse, at least just be funny.  ("And then they banged." - Copyright, this blog.)

Look, Mr. Stieg Larsson, I know you're up in heaven now, but if by any chance you're reading this post from your cloud, you better get on with the MYSTERY part of this SUSPENSE novel, because you're in serious danger of boring me to death with sex scenes.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Advice about advice

My cousin Abby, on why I shouldn't especially always listen to my dad:

At our age, we have to realize that parental advice is not always treating us as adults, but as children who have somehow escaped their grasp.

Sigh.

So true.

Still love you, Pops.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Update number three

Look, I know this makes me a bad person, I just don't care.

I really, really hate it when dumb people like the same things I like. 

It's like the phenomenon where hipsters only like a band until it goes mainstream and gets "too popular," only even more petty.  And believe me, I don't like admitting that a hipster could be superior to me in any way. 

Take It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  I think it's hilarious.  When I find out someone else I like watches it, we share a well-deserved (albeit smug) little moment of, "Yeah, we're awesome people, it's good to be us." 

This principle applies to many TV shows, even more movies, and about a gazillion books.  It's like a gateway to Insta-Friendship.  We may not actually have a lot in common, but we both know who Rickety Cricket is. 

But then sometimes it backfires, like when a person I otherwise know to be dumb and/or lame starts quoting Arrested Development.  I have a little moment of nausea (ps - I have to look up the spelling of "nausea" literally every time I write it) and want to scream, "You are not nearly awesome enough to even KNOW about that show!"

Yeah, like I said.  More petty than a hipster.  Not proud of it. 

The strange thing is, unlike the hipster phenomenon, I want awesome people to know about awesome things, which is why I blab so much about Modern Family and Cougartown and Mad Men (and see above where I threw out It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia, which is totally not appropriate for children or the non-potty-minded, don't-say-I-didn't-warn-you?)  I just don't want lame people to know about the awesome things.

Because I can't help but suspect that the lame people don't truly get it.  That they are laughing at the wrong things, or misintrepreting the symbolism, or whatever.  Or even if they do get it, but then they go too far, like some douche saying "Friday Night Lights is the best television show EVER MADE," and I just start squirming because (a) I love Friday Night Lights, (b) I'm not sure why this douche agrees with me and (c) I am now in the uncomfortable position of wanting to explain that while I love Friday Night Lights with all my heart, and would heartily recommend it to anyone, it is not the best television show EVER MADE, season 2 murder plot anyone?  And honestly, who goes around saying, "The best EVER" about anything, other than sobbing thirteen-year-olds clutching a well-worn copy of Twilight?  (I forgive you because you are so young.)

I imagine this is some small approximation of how someone who saw the original Star Wars as a kid felt, sitting in Episode One a few decades later, staring numbly up at Jar-Jar Binks, surrounded by screaming teenagers having joygasms over the special effects.  That moment must have basically been the Platonic ideal of "WTF."

Anyway.

In the future, I will attempt to get over myself.  In the meantime, please continue to suggest to me the awesome things that I don't yet know about, and I will try to do the same for you.

Whoa

Update number one: Mockingjay was waiting by my door when I got home tonight.

Update number two: It kicked a phenomenal amount of ass.

Monday, August 23, 2010

I didn't think that through ...

Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins comes out tomorrow.  FYI, the first two books in this trilogy (The Hunger Games and Catching Fire) were the bomb.com, so I seriously expect good things from this one.

I ordered it on Amazon a month ago to ensure that my copy will be delivered straight to my door, thereby facilitating my laziness, one of my more significant character traits.

But I didn't think about another trait of mine -- the desire for instant gratification -- and the fact that ordering a new anything online guarantees that it will arrive two days after the actual release date.  So now I'm trying to decide whether expending the effort of going to a bookstore tomorrow will be worth being able to read my new book immediately.

Impatience versus laziness.

An eternal struggle.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

I know everyone loves this book, BUT ...

... anyone else find the ending of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo super anti-climatic?




(For the record, I still liked it.)

Friday, August 20, 2010

Random thought inspired by dieting

Am I the only person out there who was briefly under the delusion that Nutella is good for you?


I know there are those commercials with the mom saying, "I love Nutella!  It gets my kids to eat stuff that kids normally hate, like toast!"  Um, first, what kid doesn't like toast?  And second, Mom, you never tried peanut butter?  And third, of course a kid will eat something smothered in chocolate hazelnut cream.  That's like motivating kids to go play soccer by rewarding them with puppies afterward.  Puppies that contribute to childhood obesity.  



(Yeah, I really want some Nutella right now.  Damn commercial.)

Those weird little buttons at the bottom of my posts? Yeah, those.

Those are there because blogger keeps bugging me to put them there.

Do I expect any of you to "like" a post of mine on facebook?  No.  (Though I would be insanely flattered if I did.)

Do I want any of you to "tweet" my blog?  No.  And I would probably lose respect for you if you did, as Twitter is the Fad That Won't Die, I Hate It I Hate It I Hate It So.

Just wanted to clarify, in case any of you out there were wondering if I'd gotten too big for my britches.  (Well, yes I have, but not figuratively.)

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Um, so how is that money-saving thing going?

Several weeks ago, I promised to host a Mary Kay party at my apartment.  That party came and went last night, and with it, my resolution to spend no money.  (C'mon!  Those products are GOLD!)

On the plus side, I'm back on the no-spendy wagon, and had a second success yesterday -- after dieting for two and a half weeks, I was at my desk and realized for the first time in roughly twenty days, I WASN'T HUNGRY!  I knew that self-control thing had to kick in at some point.  So you win some, you lose some.

But speaking of makeup ... my friend Kristen (of all the blog stories involving a person whose name begins with a "K") is a finalist for Stila's Girl of the Month!  If she wins, she gets $500 of Stila products, and really, you should vote for her for this comment alone:

From Papa Kristen, regarding the other finalists:  "You're way cuter than those tramps."

I love dads.

So if you feel so inclined, go here and vote for Kristen!  She'd vote for you.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Modesty Shmodesty

I just want to put it on the record that I hate modesty -- both the word and concept.

Ward pool party!  ONLY MODEST SWIMMING SUITS WILL BE ALLOWED!!!  (Because the act of running around in swimming suits can be, in some way, modest?)

Karate night for Family Home Evening!  There will be kicking, SO MAKE SURE YOUR SHORTS ARE MODEST, LADIES!  (For all you girls who don't wear underpants?)  (Oh, and how about you just point out the fact that there will be kicking, and assume people aren't too stupid to realize that those who prefer to go commando better not on this particular occasion?)

Are we not adults?  Do we really need hall monitors measuring the lengths of our skirts?  If I am not capable of dressing like a classy adult at the age of 26, guess what -- no amount of modesty disclaimers will ever help me.

Perhaps this is an issue if you're raising or teaching teenage girls, and would prefer they not show off their whole world.  Fine.  (Though, it must be acknowledged, you most likely wore something scandy back in the day yourself, and you never went on to make a porno.)  But I take real exception to the idea that grown women feel the need to lecture other grown women on what they choose to wear.  (And while a tangent, don't get me started on, "I just hate seeing flip flops in church, it makes me feel like I'm at the beach!" because sweetie, if you can feel like you're at the beach after three hours in a meetinghouse, GOOD FOR YOU.)

I have been in too many meetings that devolve into a gripe session on modesty, which I feel has the same spiritual relevance as figuring out how many angels can dance on the head of a pin.  (Though, again a tangent, I wish I could have been in my sister's Relief Society a few months ago when a lesson on modesty began with the teacher taping magazine pictures of scantily clad women all over the room as a visual aid.  YAY OBJECT LESSONS!)

In Sunday school and seminary, these gripe sessions sometimes involved boys.  Boys usually have no genuine feelings on the modesty issue, until clothes get into the DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER! zone, and then their strong feelings range from strongly positive to strongly negative.  However, there's always one boy (who kinda talks like a General Authority, even though he's seventeen) who raises his hand and says something along the lines of, "A young lady dressing immodestly makes me uncomfortable, and I don't think it's attractive.  I want my future eternal companion to dress in a manner befitting her divine nature.  And besides, seeing shoulders really just makes it difficult to feel the Spirit."

I always found this discussion helpful, because the boy who makes that comment is either (a) closeted gay, (b) plans to only have sex for procreative purposes or (c) will soon be addicted to hardcore porn.  DO NOT DATE THIS BOY.  The actual modesty stuff?  Totally unhelpful.

But for the love, I thought I had left these passive-aggressive discussions behind when I became a semi-grownup, going to a semi-grownup ward.  NO MORE MODESTY DISCUSSIONS.

Here are the simple rules I think we should substitute for all these ridiculous pronouncements on modesty.

1. Don't dress like a whore at church, at work, or in your daily life.*  Dress any which way you want at home.

2. If you feel like someone else has broken Rule Number 1, keep it to yourself unless they asked for your opinion.  If someone else's shirt, skirt, or shoes are seriously damaging your ability to feel spiritual or productive, you really need to work on sanctifying your inner life.  Go see a Zen master and learn to get your focus on.  This ain't Iran, ladies and gents.



* Unless you are a whore, in which case I hope you're just doing it to put yourself through med school, young lady.**

** Obviously a joke, jeez.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

What's a clever way of saying "fat"?

So I've been thinking for awhile now (basically the last two hours) that my travails with the scale deserve their own tag, and I finally came up with one.  However, I also wanted to share the three runners up:

Ann Taylor Loft Size 6 (Tragically, this is the only store where I remain a size 6, and it's only because the Ann Taylor people know I will be more inclined to buy their clothes if they make me feel skinny, so they put 6 labels on 8 dresses ... and sometimes 10s.  Tear.)

My Squishy Middle (Accurate, but makes me sound a bit like a Three Musketeers Bar, which then gets me hungry for a Three Musketeers Bar.)

Damnit!  Do these "designer" jeans not fit because they were made in China, or because I'm really not a size 29 any more?  (That one is kind of long, but a thought I have at least weekly.)


PS - I know this is a lot of whining coming from someone who is not "fat," but merely "overweight," but really.  The more I look like a Hobbit or teapot (short and stout) the more concerned I get.  When your own father drops you off at the airport and says, "And kiddo, next time I see you ... let's make it a smaller version of you, okay?" you know things have gotten OUT OF HAND.

I guess a more experienced shopper could have gotten more for your seven cents*

I take most of my financial advice from Oliver Stone movies. Greed is good. Leverage is bad. Follow the money. (I think that one was Oliver Stone …) When they gave me the 401(k) forms to fill out at work, I first shuddered as I remembered what happened to my mutual fund post-2008 shitstorm, and then got sleepy as I realized how much effort it would be to research which 401(k) option I wanted. I mean, jeez, there are TWO!

I figured that as a semi frugal person by nature, I could meet my goal of saving X in 2010 just by grit and determination--a 21st century Bette Davis, or at the very least, Punky Brewster. Just put everything in savings, and watch as that sweet, sweet 0.75% interest kicked in. Monthly. And compounding. 

Alas, it is mid-August, and I am less than halfway from my goal. I have no idea where all that money went (aside from buying furniture and paying off student loans … oh, and "utilities" are expensive here in "Texas.")  (And when I say "utilities" here, I mean shoes and utilities.)

So I'm instituting a new thing. No Money Month. It's really simple. For the next thirty days, I'm not buying anything except for groceries.**  That way, thirty days from now, my ass will be smaller and my bank account larger. 
 
Wish me luck ... or laugh uproariously when I fail.  Up to you. 
 
 
* Not an Oliver Stone quote, but still awesome. 

** And that one trip to Cafe Rio I've been thinking about for awhile now.  But just the one!

Sunday, August 15, 2010

"I'm sorry"

I claim to hate a lot of things on this blog.

But I think I've finally found the one I hate the most.

It's when I'm in a group of people and someone asks what I do, and I say, "I'm a lawyer."

And one smirky, unoriginal, self-important jackass says, "I'm sorry."

Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

So in the course of trying to lose some of this chub ...

... I began investigating my local Gold's Gym, and what kind of classes they offer that might motivate me to do more than 30 minutes of half-hearted eliptical while watching Grey's Anatomy re-runs. 

But I'm really stressed out by all the exclamation points used in the titles.  The thought of spinning already overwhelemed me -- not sure I can handle SPINNING!

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Bahahahahahaha!

So, I saw this video the other day and felt the need to pass it along.  It's full of valuable life lessons.  Like, if you don't want to take on a certain case, have sex with opposing counsel.  Conflict!  Or, if you're running late for a date where you're about to propose, pick a fight with your girlfriend about ethics.  That way you can still be the good guy when you fail to take things to the next level.  Also, "what will the seven-year-olds think?" is a solid position in an argument.  Criminal defense and medical malpractice are basically the same thing.  And that "lawyer-client confidentiality" thing also extends to people in a sushi restaurant.  Hey casual on-lookers, lets keep this convo to ourselves, shall we?

The Responsibility Project

For those of you with lives, I will sum up this masterful little video.  Burger from Sex and the City is about to propose to his girlfriend with an awesome ring. You know he's extra moral because he's a public defender, and he's into family values, since the ring was his grandmother's.  In the DVD extras, you find out that in a deleted scene, he assures his colleague that the diamond is still conflict-free.

Burger's colleague is not moral, because he slept with opposing counsel, which means Burger will have to defend meth dealers.  Don't worry, Burger is not really going to give them a vigorous defense, he is merely going to use their tragic life circumstances to argue for a lesser sentence.  Way to hold the government in check there, public defender.

Burger is late for his date with his girlfriend.  The fact that he is running late and has chosen to propose in a conveyer-belt sushi restaurant are, I assume, meant to foreshadow Burger's thinly veiled contempt for his scum-sucking amour.  He makes fun of her shoes--which, to be fair, do not appear to be that cute--and then gets passive aggressive when she takes a phone call at the restaurant. Sure, he was late, but she's going to take a phone call?  That bitch. 

Burger then puts the ring on the conveyer belt of love so all the other restaurant patrons can see the size of the rock he didn't pay for.  His evil corporate girlfriend is talking about her case with someone who apparently can't function without her, because they keep calling back every thirty seconds.

Then he's like, yap yap yap.  And she says, blah blah blah.  (Hey, that's kind of like this blog!)  Ethics.  And the girlfriend who works too much?  SHE AIN'T GETTIN PROPOSED TO.

Now, I know we're supposed to be on the guy from Office Space's side, but really, all I want to do is yell, "Run lady lawyer, run! Don't worry about your expensive shoes and run for all you're worth! A self-righteous douche is about to ask you to marry him to you via conveyor belt!"

You know Liberty Mutual, I love your commercials.  But taking ethical advice from an insurance company is kind of like taking dieting tips from Kirstie Alley.

Monday, August 9, 2010

PIRANHA!

I loved the movie Piranha when I was a kid.

The close-ups of the chompy little muppetized fish.

The camp counselor dragged down into the depths of the lake.  Tragically, her life preserver was not that helpful.

The lone loser in the canoe, rising to the occasion and saving other campers.

And the fact that everyone in the movie--and I do mean everyone--apparently already knew that "piranha" is plural for "piranha." 

"Sir, piranha have infested the lake!"

"Piranha, you say?  How many?"

"At least ten thousand piranha, sir!"

Not one single character ever says "piranhas," but I imagine if they did, someone else would say, "Oh, didn't you know?  Piranha is plural for piranha.  Like moose."  At which point a grateful audience says, "Ahhhh, I got it."  

I'm very excited for the new 3D movie, in case you can't tell.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

I sense no love in your heart

I have wanted a puppy for awhile now -- since my 1L year, actually.  While I was in law school, common sense, my dad's advice, and a restrictive covenant in my lease convinced me that it would be best to wait until school was over.

Then school was over and I was studying for the bar, so that seemed like a bad time to start house-breaking a pup.  Then the economy deferred my job and I spent the fall living with my folks, who already owned one dog and thought he was quite enough.

Next thing I knew, I was starting a new job and studying for ANOTHER BAR.  But I promised myself as soon as the bar was over, I would start buying squeaky toys and puppy pads.

(It didn't hurt that when I was visiting SLC after the bar, I met Nelson's roomies' new puggle puppy Maggie.  Adorable little motivator, that  one.)

While I was concerned about the idea of not having enough time to take good care of a dog, some people at work volunteer with animal rescue groups, and they convinced me that it would be better for a dog to live with a busy attorney than spend its life in a cage (or worse).

So I applied for two different puppies yesterday.  Yeah, you can buy a puppy outside of a Cabellas, inside a mall, or out of a newspaper, but if you want to take in a rescue dog, they want you to fill out two pages worth of questions.  (Including the directive to write a paragraph about the "qualities I love most in dogs.")  While I knew my application would probably get second-fiddle to anyone who had a more flexible work schedule, or a spouse, or kids, or a fat check to write to the rescue organization, I figured with 420 available rescue puppies in my area (according to Petfinder.com), someone would be grateful to intrepid Lawyer Girl, always willing to sacrifice her shoes and furniture to the greater canine good.

How wrong I was.

Today I was rejected for both puppies.  The first rejection was harshest--a tersely written email that didn't even bother to thank me for my interest, but instead lectured me about how someone who works 40-50 hours a week "is incapable of assuring a puppy that it is loved." This email also made a point of saying a "puppy's human" instead of a "puppy's owner"* (gag) and ended with, "We just do what is in the best interests of the dog."

The second was a phone call, with the rescue society's worker at least being nice to me.  She turned me down not for my work schedule, but for the fact that I live in an apartment and don't already own a dog.  I tried to buck up, but honestly, I had gotten my hopes sky-high that I would get one of the puppies.  (One of them had a crooked spine and couldn't run, for crying out loud, I thought they'd like an applicant with disposable income to buy a doggie wheelchair.)  "Well, I'm glad that you found someone else to take Pip," I said honestly.  "He looked like a real sweetie."

"Oh, we haven't found anyone yet," the woman replied.  "We just don't think you're a good fit."

As of tonight, both puppies are still listed online as available for adoption.

You know, there's really nothing that will make you feel like a bigger loser than being told you are unsuitable to own an unwanted puppy.




* Look, I love animals, so please don't attack me animal rights people, but seriously.  I agree, the dog becomes part of your family, but I am not the dog's parent.  I am not its "caregiver."  I am its owner.

Although, actually, I am none of those things, since I work full time, live in an apartment, and don't have a stay-at-home hubster to lovingly wash my delicates and be the human to my adopted puppy.  So, whatever.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Semantics

Ahem.

"Margin" does not mean the total number of something.

It means the difference between something and something else.

So when something (let's not say what) wins by 52%, that's not a margin of 52%.  It's a margin of 4%. 

Just wanted to clarify.

Why do I blog?

 I was thinking about this question today.

Undoubtedly, I started because of universal acclaim -- wherever I go, people tell me I'm witty, charming, hilarious and wise, and I got sick of everyone asking, "Do you have a blog that I can follow?"  What can I say, I'm a giver.

Really, I started because I missed writing on a regular basis from my days at The Daily Utah Chronicle when I was an undergrad at the Blessed U.  (Yup, still going with that.)  Also, I love complaining.  (Which I did a lot of at the DUC.)  And bitching.  (A distinct artform from complaining.)

But recently, I've come to realize that it's because when I start a morning here at work and think, "What shall I do with my day today?  Shall I start with doc review?  Or organizing discovery files?" all I have to look forward to is (1) the few minutes I spend posting one of these bad boys, (2) the google alerts letting me know one of you all has blogged a blog and (3) the red blinking light on my Blackberry, alerting me that someone has commented, wahoo!

(Not begging for comments, but seriously, you have no idea how much I love that red light.  It really doesn't even matter what email prompted it.  I COULD EARN 5,000 MORE DELTA MILES?!?!?!?!?!  THANKS, DELTA!)

What? 

You didn't know it was all about self-gratification?

Silly reader. 

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

And this may be part of my problem

I got an email today from someone at work, informing me that my help (and the help of another 1st year associate) would be needed over the weekend.  "Would you please make arrangements to be available.  Thanks."

My first thought (after, "Mother Eff!", of course) was, "Would it kill him to put an exclamation point or smiley face in there?"

And then my second thought was, "Oh.  That may be why my mentoring partner suggested I attend the professional women seminar."

Tuesday, August 3, 2010

Monday, August 2, 2010

Frilly red underpants!

Um, so remember that post (from, like, one post below this one?) about how sometimes, I only have one memory of someone?

Here's another.

One time my friend Rick was at the Blue Boutique (here's a link for those who are unfamiliar) picking out some stuff for a bachelor/bachelorette party.  He saw someone from our law school come into the store, and immediately ran to the dressing rooms to hide.  (Not out of shame, but out of a lack of desire to interact.)*

Then he proceeded to watch as this fellow attempted to return the frilly red underpants his wife had bought him because they were too small. 

The girl at the counter refused to take them back.

He pointed out that the tags were still on.

She continued to refuse.

He said he hadn't worn them.

She said that wasn't the point.

He threatened to report her to the Better Business Bureau.

She said it was store policy to not return underwear of any kind.

He asked if she thought he was a liar.

She said it didn't matter, and what part of YOU CAN'T RETURN UNDERPANTS did he not understand? 

He looked annoyed.

She offered store credit.

To this day, I wonder what he decided to buy with it. 

And then I shudder.




* Um, YEAH he told everyone at school about it immediately afterward.  Just like I tried, and failed, to keep my story about the urinator to myself.  They lecture you so much about keeping confidences at law school that you just can't help but blurt out everything that isn't privileged.

(Or that's my theory, anyway.  Really, Rick and I are just big gossips.)



PS: I tried to find a google image to spice up this post ... alas, they were all TOO spicy.  (Shocking, right?)