Things I cannot care about

I've come to a realization that, if I want to keep learning and trying new adventures, or even if I just want to hold on to the stuff in my brain that's really important, there are some things I just will never learn. What's more, I don't really care to learn them.

Without further ado, I give you The Stuff I Never Intend to Learn:

The difference between lie and lay

It has gotten to the point where, if someone tries to tell me about the difference between lie and lay, I will mentally shut down. I'd try to find a gif that appropriately represented mentally shutting down, except -- too late! -- I started thinking about the difference between lie and lay and now I can't do anything else but move on.

How to use "whom"

I've got a gut instinct for that one, and since no one ever died over the misuse of "whom," I feel like that's good enough for government work.

Plural/singular verbs in reference to groups of people

Is it, "The Jazz are 3-0 on the road" or "The Jazz is 3-0 on the road"? Does it make it worse if I use The Clippers? Either way, I plan to use the one that sounds better for the rest of my days, no matter what anyone tells me.



Anything involving the Eleventh Amendment


Wikipedia would lead you to believe that the concept of state sovereign immunity is a simple one. But it isn't, and now that I'm out of law school, I have no intention of even pretending I know what's going on there.

Bonus category: Something that I, strangely, care very much about

Differentiation between levels of formality of dress

To be fair, I often go to work dressed like a hobo and scare the bajeebers out of all my coworkers. On days where I am dressed like a hobo AND fail to do my hair? It's like the troll from all those fairy tales wandered out from underneath her bridge. So feel free to take this one with a grain of salt:

Black tie -- formal -- cocktail/semi-formal -- business -- business casual -- casual

This is the hierarchy of formal dressing. It is relatively simple to understand. If you are confused about any given outfit or event, just think about the hierarchy and try to decide where it would belong. However, do not try to wedge "Sunday best" into the hierarchy. It doesn't fit unless you're an elderly Episcopalian.*

If you are going to specify that you're holding an event where the dress code is Whatever, and someone asks you, "Hey, what does Whatever mean?", do not reply with, "Meh. It's not really important."

First of all, it is important. Second of all, if you don't care (which is different than something not being important), then you never should have specified.

And remember: Just because you're successfully in formal wear, doesn't mean you aren't also a sloppy mess. Take a look at some of those Oscar pictures if you don't believe me. 



* For anyone who intends to dispute my assertion that Sunday best does not belong on the hierarchy, take a good, long look at any given church event. Even the ones that remain steadfast on the NO CASUAL WEAR TO CHURCH front fail to establish a dress code that makes sense. Typical male LDS Sunday best fits somewhere around (baggy) business, typical female LDS Sunday best can range from cocktail/semi-formal (yes, I know some would dispute that those are the same category, but I'm right), skipping business, and moving all the way down to casual (denim jumpers, anyone?)

Hence, Sunday best is a strange little concept all its own.

bone crushing disappointment

For the last two weeks, I have woken up on a Thursday and thought, "It's Friday!"

I know that's upsetting for everyone, but believe me when I say--it's extra upsetting for me during this time of year.

Who's excited for a CONFERENCE?!

For any of my writey peeps out there, I heartily recommend LDStorymakers this May. It's not just for LDS writers and they have some great national talent coming to teach classes and host pitch sessions. Not a writer? There are also tickets available to see Anne Perry's keynote address.

Need more info? (Or wondering why I am blogging about this?) Go here to read about the Show Your Love Contest that's drumming up some business for Storymakers.

Hope to see you there!

Party weekend, whoooo!

The roommates and I played dress up with the dogs, and then we went over to Diego's Grandma's house to watch The Walking Dead.

How about you?

Russian grandma

Tupac

Bandit

O Valentine

The best part of my job is that by 11:30 today, I have eaten a LOT of candy-based SWAG.

Nothing like riding the coattails of more powerful people. Kind of (and by "kind of," I mean, "does not remotely") makes up for all the rest.

thoughts on a third winter

Have you missed me?

I suppose that's irrelevant, because I've missed me.

Prepare for some serious word vomit. I'm going to do my best to just get it all out there without deleting anything but serious misspellings and Tourettes-like swears.

This is my busy season at work, and while the last two have been somewhat doable, this one has just been an unmitigated nightmare. Last night I left work early (after only 10.5 hours!), got a chicken sandwich, fries, and milkshake from Smashburger (which is delicious, but crazy expensive), ate it all while watching an episode of Hoarders and fell promptly asleep at 8:35pm. So yeah. MARDI GRAS! I know how to party.

I made a goal of giving up Diet Coke for Lent -- I've semi-participated in Lent ever since college when a Tri Delta sis encouraged everyone to tag along for Ash Wednesday. Is it disrespectful to glom on to some other religion's tradition? Maybe. But since then, Lent and I have been like ... well, I was going to say like this, but really, we've been more like casual acquaintances who were actually pretty mad at each other in 2009 when Lent meant we ate fish tacos for every lunch and dinner while on spring break.

(I was reminiscing about that Lent with Diego the other day, and he seemed surprised that the reason for all the fish tacos was because of our friend Andrea's commitment to giving up dairy and meat for Lent. "I just thought we were on a big fish taco kick that week." NO ONE IS ON A FISH TACO KICK THAT LASTS FIVE DAYS, DIEGO.)

 Anyway. I find Lent to be good opportunity to try to reflect on the bigger things in life for forty days. "Oh, you want some of that thing you vowed to refrain from? Better pause to consider the atonement of our Lord."*

In that sense, I think it's best to give up something you truly love for Lent (like me and Diet Coke -- I plan to get a domestic partnership with Diet Coke someday), because that way, you're ALWAYS a mental hop, skip, and a jump away from the Bigger Picture.

At the same time, this probably isn't the best choice I've ever made. I mean, me? During my busy season? Without the thing I love the most? Danger Will Robinson, indeed.

This morning, as I woke up again before the buttcrack of dawn, I paused to consider all the things I could be doing with my life instead of lawyerin.

I could run a doggie daycare. I imagine they make quite good money. I would need to find a lot that's properly zoned (thanks, law school!) in the downtown area, because let's be real -- only guilty professionals utilize a doggie daycare. A big yard in the 'burbs might be the "best" location for such an establishment, but no ad exec is going to drive out to BFE to deposit precious Mister Doodlepuff at an acre-sized dog daycare before their 8:00 AM conference call. Please. It would have to be downtown so they could drop him off on the fly. But assuming I could get 15-20 people who consistently would drop off their dogs, at $10 a dog per day, that's ... pretty close to worth it, once you figure in taxes and the cost of rent of my properly zoned business establishment. But maybe I'd convince people to pay in cash so I could engage in some questionable tax practices.

I suppose the only downside to federal prison would be that they wouldn't let Spence come with me. And they probably don't have unlimited Diet Coke. Which, unlike the 40 days of Lent, I figure a few years without Diet Coke would probably lose its religious impact. Every time I wanted a Diet Coke, I'd probably think, "Should have paid my taxes." Which is also a good thought, so not a total waste.

I could work at a Starbucks. Have I ever mentioned that was my if I can't hack it in law school plan? Starbucks gives every employee who works at least 35 hours a week health insurance. (Or, at least this was the case in 2006). I was going to move to Hawaii, find a crappy apartment that probably cost about $1500 a week to rent, work at Starbucks, learn to surf, and get a really great tan (with a really pale face, since I am far more scared of wrinkles than skin cancer BECAUSE I AM SHALLOW.)

Other than doggie daycare and Starbucks, I actually don't have any other backup plans, so lawyerin better work out. And speaking of, I realized today that all my suits are pretty wrinkly, and my dress shirts as well. I am either going to have to find a husband who knows how to iron, or convince Diego to do my ironing for me and never move out of my house.

So. These are my thoughts this Ash Wednesday. Please share yours.



* And if you're a smug whatever-religion person thinking, "I don't need a petty reminder of my religious commitment as I am always thinking about the Bigger Picture" -- well, jolly good for you! I hope you get canonized soon.

Holy smokes! I guest posted!

And I totally forgot -- thank goodness I submitted it early. That's how crazy things are right now at my work.

Go here if you would like to read it and show Cassie Mae some love for hosting even a giant flake like me.