Sunday, May 30, 2010

Family quote of the day

Alpha, describing the fist-fight that took place in the church library today: I think Brad* was on his period or something.

* The instigator, and not his real name.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

Something adorifying, and something angeramusing

What?  Is randomly putting words together out now?

Ugh, fine.  Adorable/horrifying.  I give you smoking baby:

EMBED-Ardi Rizal - The real SMOKING BABY !! - Watch more free videos

And angering/amusing:

Any reference to a father "helping out" by adequately performing the whole fathering part of his fatherly duties. 

Though, considering that Smoking Baby started smoking when his dad started giving him cigarettes, I guess we should all stand an applaud when a man who fathered a child can be bothered to change its diaper, feed it, or glance at it occasionally while watching TV.*

* Yes, I sometimes refer to babies as its.  But I've never taught one to smoke.


So when do I have to start studying for that bar thing?

Saturday, May 22, 2010

Hello From Destination

So I love this vacation.

More than I ever thought I could.

But I will say this.

People who think we need less government regulation are kidding themselves.  Or, at the very least, are so lacking in life experience that they have never found themselves in the middle of a marketplace where people handle raw meat with their hands, where dog food is repacked into ziploc bags, where whole pig heads are on display, where people kill cats within feet of the produce section, and where you can suddenly run into a TIGER CAGE.  WITH TIGERS IN IT.

Sweet, sweet FDA.  How I have missed you.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Countdown to Destination Wedding

This may be dorky, but the thing I am looking forward to most in Destination is not the ocean, the pool, the days spent doing no doc review ... but the oatmeal.  Such oatmeal!  'Tis the stuff food dreams are made of.

I went to Destination for spring break once, and my friend recommended I order the oatmeal for breakfast ... OFF THE MENU.  It was delicious.  Best oatmeal EVER.

I may even break out my camera and take a picture of it so you all can be jealous.  (That is why people take pictures of their food, right?)

Mmmmmmmm ... oatmeal jealousy ...

Monday, May 17, 2010

It's not just the sex. It's also the food preparation.*

Sometimes I think that the worst part of being single is not having an automatic personal assistant.

Whenever I need to make a doctor's appointment, talk to an insurance company, pay my phone bill, I think to myself, Ugh, if only I could outsource this.  

I'm not saying you should treat your spouse like a servant, but there is definitely something to that whole economies of scale thing.  Sure, I want love and companionship, but I also want someone who will unload the dishwasher.

Anyway, my friend Diego visited for the weekend.  I had to go in to work at one point, and when I got back, he had assembled my new hammock, tidied up my living room and was hemming a pair of my work pants.

I know who I'm fake marrying if it ever comes to that.

* Guess the quote for an imaginary bonus point.  :)

Sunday, May 16, 2010

You suck, Jack Weyland

My friend Sandy and I have a theory that a thousand Mormon girl hearts have broken over the lessons that one Mr. Jack Weyland taught us as impressionable youth.  Now, my good e-friend MCB has already written an extensive post about the failings of Charly, Stephanie, et al, so I won't rehash too much.

As Mormon kids, we were taught a lot of things that turned out to be ... well, "false" probably isn't the right word, but "not-quite-true"?  I'm not talking about anything particularly doctrinal, I'm talking about general platitudes that teachers and youth advisors told you.  For example, "People who offer you drugs are not your friends."  Answer at age fifteen?  "True."  Answer at age twenty-six?  Well, having never run into that proverbial drug dealer who wanted to get me hooked after a free taste, I must say that I have never have offered drugs by a non-friend, and am confident most of the offers I have received were suggested in good faith.  So ... "Not really."

The big lesson that Sandy and I learned from Jack Weyland -- and I'm sure other girls learned as well -- was, "When you date a non-member or less active boy, he will convert/reactivate if you (a) are a good, shining, wholesome example of righteousness, and (b) you give that sneaky Holy Ghost one chance to reach his wounded heart."  It usually helps if, despite his non-member/inactive status, he still basically lives all the standards a young Mormon man ought to.  (I have never understood this phenomenon in Mormon youth literature.  If I were not Mormon, my innate social awkwardness and sense of the romantic would keep me from being slutty, but I'm fairly sure I would be drinking copious amounts of alcohol on a regular basis.)

Anyway, getting back on track -- having grown up and gone out into the world, girls like me and Sandy have realized that this "lesson" led us to have unrealistic expectations of the boys we date.  In fact, the real lesson has turned out to be, "Never, ever, ever listen to anything you learned from Jack Weyland."

I think I have learned this far more important lesson.  And in general, since I date inactive boys and nonmembers in far greater frequency (topic for another post) than Mormon boys, I have had plenty of opportunities to keep my expectations of a St. Augustine/Alma the Younger moment at a rock-bottom low.

Which leads me to the tale of MysteryBoy.

MysteryBoy is some combination of inactive Mormon/generic-non-member/practicing Catholic/reform Jew/technical Muslim/cultural Buddhist/atheist/videogamer/vegan.  I dated him/am dating him/will date him at some point in time.  You may have even dated your own MysteryBoy.

MysteryBoy is a stud.  He's smart and funny and considerate and charming and all those positive adjectives you want to be able to apply to the people you date.  And the chances of MysteryBoy finding his way into the Mo-Mo fold are basically nil.  Therefore, I actively did not/do not/will not expect any such change on MysteryBoy's part, and therefore will remain undisappointed when he does not.  (If by some chance, however, a combination of my shining wholesomeness -- don't laugh, people who know me -- and the Holy Ghost on the top of his game DO wind up landing MysteryBoy's bottom in a wardhouse pew, I will offer Mr. Weyland my sincerest apologies.)

The funny thing is, the Weylandism pops back up when you least expect it.

On one of our dates (jeez, this past/present/future tense is hard ...), MysteryBoy and I watched a movie called Letting Go Of God.  It's a one-woman play by Julia Sweeney that documents her spiritual journey through Catholicism, Eastern religions, and finally atheism, all triggered (oddly enough) by a visit from two LDS missionaries.  It's actually a lot funnier and more cheerful than it sounds.  I generally find atheists to be grim and (in the words of Jon Stewart and The Daily Show) "people who replace faith in God with the worship of their own smug sense of superiority."  But Julia Sweeney cracked me up with her sincere, hilarious and heart-breaking tale of spiritual growth and death.

At the end of the movie, MysteryBoy looked over at me with a -- dare I say it? -- hopeful look in his eye.  "Well, how did you like the movie?"

"It was really funny," I said honestly.  "And she said a lot of thought-provoking things.  That song at the end has gotta go, though."  (So true.  Just because it's a one-woman play doesn't mean you can't spring for a real songwriter, Jules.)

"Thought-provoking, huh?  Did it, uh, provoke any particular thoughts?"

I couldn't help it -- I started to smile.  "MysteryBoy, quick question.  Did you think a two hour movie was going to make me leave Mormonism?"

"No," he said emphatically, in a tone of voice that said 90%-no-10%-yes.

"Awwwww, MysteryBoy," I said fondly.  "You just got Jack Weylanded."

Monday, May 10, 2010

Dieting complaint No. 54

Why does Yoplait insist on producing flavors of yogurt that shouldn't exist?

Yoplait, I love you.  I love your various fruit flavors, particularly raspberry and lemon cream pie. 

But yogurt and Boston cream pie do not mix.  Neither does yogurt and red velvet cake, yogurt and ducle de leche, yogurt and anything that was never originally meant to be sour-flavored.

Every time you trick me into buying one of your new flavors.

Every time I regret it.

And now I'm really hungry.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

This is creepy and I don't care

If I ever get married, I want to be just like Eric and Tami Taylor.

I'm going to work on getting awesome hair and sass first.

Thursday, May 6, 2010


Going to Destination Wedding in two weeks and need some pool side books.


Wednesday, May 5, 2010


I know you may have thought this happened when I finished law school a year ago.

Or when I graduated 11 months and two weeks ago.

When I took the bar 9 months ago.

Or when I found out I passed 6 months and two weeks ago.

Or when I started work 4 months ago.

But actually, I just became a lawyer when I opened my letter from the Supreme Court of Texas five minutes ago.

Never thought I'd be one of those people

You know - who publicly proclaims the need for a massage?

Despite a largely sedentary lifestyle?

But jeez, all this mouse-clicking is doing some wicked stuff to my back.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Adventures in Spraytanning

With Destination Wedding just a few weeks away, I have been taking stock of my life.

A few (okay, 10) extra pounds to lose?  Check.

Pasty, pasty skin to darken?  Check.

So I've started a new diet, which no, is not fun.  But as far as tanning goes, we run into a problem.  I'm fair skinned.  No, scratch that.  I'm not just fair skinned.  I'm effing Danish.  I don't tan well.  I'm also neurotic, so the fear of wrinkles skin cancer keeps me from spending too much time in a tanning bed the sun.

Hence the need for a spray tan.

Now, I've done the Mystic Tan before, and it was a disaster.  Weird smell, weird colors, odd blotches.  When it comes to spray tanning, consider this -- you're obviously vain.  You're risking turning yourself into an Oompa Loompa in order for the chance to look like a girl from The Hills, how could you not be?  (PS - My teeth look crazy white now that my face is all glowy.)  So just spring for the extra cash and get a professional to do the job.  With a human wielding the tanning gun, you're going to come out looking far more natural than you could after a trip to the Tan-O-Matic.

So I've got my test tan going (it went well, I plan to get it re-done, in case you were wondering) and was feeling delighted with myself.

Then came the drive home.

See, here's the awkward part of spray tanning.  You can do it in your swimming suit, or you can do it in your underpants, or you can do it naked.  I opted for underpants, since I didn't want tan lines on my shoulders but also didn't want to show off my whole world to some stranger.  This meant I had to bring a loose, strapless dress to wear on the way home to minimize smudging.  I brought a dress that I thought might be able to do the job:

Think shorter and pink, and you've basically got the gist.

The lady who did my spray tan said the dress was perfect, but I'd have to leave the straps off.  No problem, thought I.  I'm just driving home, I can make it.  It's probably going to stay up, but heck, even if I have a little wardrobe malfunction in my car, who will ever know?

You know.  Aside from the camera cops.

So I drive home, mentally willing my dress to stay up.  (With so much attention focused on my boobs, I remembered a fun story from girls' camp when I was fifteen -- Sister FakeName informed all us Mia Maids that you should always sleep with a bra on because it helps the ladies stay perky.  Best thing I ever learned at camp.)    

I managed to park my car without incident, and then as I put my key into the lock of my apartment door ... my dress fell down.

Fortunately, no one was in the hall.

Flashing incidents to date: 5.

Incidents where no one witnessed my shame: 1.


Night cheese

Hey internet friends, if you want to get to know me better, all you need to do is watch 30 Rock, and picture Liz Lemon 10 years younger.  I relate way more than I should to that character.