The streak

Things have been going kind of meh for me the last month, between problems with work, family, friends, terrible losses to TCU, personal whatnot and arbitrary rent increases.  

But today, I got three pieces of good news all in a row.  I'm thinking that instead of worrying about jinxing it, I'm going to brag like hell in hopes of making it last even longer.  There will be many exclamation points.  Go team good news!  

New work assignments!  

Etsy deliveries!  

Netflix!  INSTANT STREAMING!

Happy non-rejecty email referencing potential personal and professional development!*

* Yeah, that I'm still afraid of jinxing.  Keepin' it vague.  Not nearly as confident as all the !'s would imply.

Don't buy all the hotdogs, Liz

Like most people, I hate unfairness.

Today I found out that my rent will be increasing a minimum of $60 a month (with a new 12 month lease) or $95 a month (with a new six month lease).  This is justified by the fact that my apartment "should" (in someone's mind) be rented for $1100 a month, so I am still getting a discount.  

The thing is, there is no way there is enough demand for apartments in my building to justify $1100 a month.  There's barely enough to justify what I currently pay, which I know is probably too much, but I love living within walking distance of my firm.  My building isn't full, and it seems like everywhere I go there are "For Rent" signs.  

This rent increase is predicated on one thing, and one thing only: people hate moving.  

For example, I finally have everything in my apartment exactly the way I like it.  My TV, my books, my desk, my bed, my couches, my decorations.  It took me ten damn months to get this place in order.  Plus, if I move, I will also probably have to hire movers* over Christmas, since my lease ends at the beginning of January. 

But I really ... really ... hate the idea of paying more rent on an already-overpriced apartment.   

So, I figure I could cancel my cable and continue living here.

Or move on principle, to an apartment that will almost certainly be cheaper.  

Or, out of spite, buy a condo and stop throwing rent away.  (Spoiler alert: I do not want the responsibility of home ownership, and am not entirely convinced that real estate is a good investment.  This scenario is therefore extremely unlikely.)

Any thoughts you all have on this matter will be appreciated.  I have until the end of the week (classy, apartment managers) to decide.    

* My dad suggested, once again, that I call the Elders' Quorum President and ask for church help if I decide to move.  Unfortunately, since I haven't been assigned a home teacher in going on eleven months, that seems like a dead end even before I begin.

In which I lecture all of you, though none of you likely deserve it

Today's game was not a fun experience.

And I know it sucks to watch good players make bad mistakes.

But while everyone needs to be able to express their frustration with a bad play (brief yelling, groaning, the occasional Gob Bluth "Come on!"), if you plan to boo your own team, just get the hell out of the stadium.

Who knew? I miss working at Deseret Book

I was back in Utah for a few days to be sworn in as a proud member of the Utah Bar Association.  (Yeah, basically, when I was a junior highschooler, imagining myself published and totally wealthy by 26, what I really meant was LAWYER WITH DUAL ADMISSION.) 

I love "Austin" in the Fall.  85 degrees and blue skies.  Palm trees inside, autumn-scented Bath and Body Works candles inside. (Uh, yeah, autumn has a scent.  And it comes in Bath and Body Works candles  Can't believe you didn't know that.)

But being back home - even wearing my orange coat from last fall - made me very nostalgic for when my life was broke and awesome.

I worked in a super laid back office.  Everybody was chill, even if most of them were BYU fans.  (And one of them sang at me once.  Scratch that.  Several times.)  I always finished work by 5 pm, and never felt compelled to take anything home.  I made just enough money to justify eating overly expensive sandwiches and soup every day at lunch.  (Miss you, Hagermans.)  Several of my law school homies worked just around the corner.  The boy I was dating lived within walking distance of my office.  Going to a Ute game didn't involve packing and airports.

I have very mixed feelings about living in Austin.  I love most of the people I work with, even if only a few of them are chill.  I almost never finish work by 5 pm, and I always feel like I have to do something at home.  I make more money, but I pay more taxes, and there are no fun places to walk to lunch, so mostly I drink a can of V8 (which I hate) and a can of Slim Fast (which I hate more).  I do not feel that this routine has resulted in a smaller ass size, and now I resent the case of Slim Fast I bought at Costco.  (But at least I'm prepared for the zombie apocalypse.)

I love my apartment, but I don't love my ward.  (Sorry, ward.  It's not me, it's you.)  I love sleeping with my windows open in November, I hate that there's no snow.  

Being a lawyer is not at all what I thought it would be like.  And I was expecting it to not meet my expectations. 

I'm going back again in a few days for the TCU Blackout game and to hang out with my friends and family this weekend.  (Please don't rob my awesome apartment.)  I hope I'm less nostalgic, I hope I have some magic epiphany about what I need to do to get my life in order.  I hope we kick the hell out of TCU, and I have at least three excuses to put on a scarf. 

If any two of those things happens -- particularly the beating TCU part -- I will be completely content.  For at least another week. 

Learn from my mistakes

When you volunteer to do things with crazy people, and you tell them you don't want your personal cell phone number given out to strangers all over the state, OF COURSE they will go ahead and give out your cell phone number.

And then blame it on some other crazy person. 

Come on, Gift Horse, open up ...: Addendum

I realized, thanks to a comment by Hula Buns and an email from the Mormon Child Bride, that I failed to fully explain the rest of my prom dress story.

First, I did get the dress back, and it is residing safely in my closet back at my parents' house.  I'm not sure why I'm saving it -- maybe someday I'll get really crafty and one-dress-a-day-it into a cute little cocktail number.  Maybe I'll try to force it on my daughter when she's of prom-going age.  (Hi, Lola!)

Second, the hideous t-shirt sleeves were not permanent.  It was a bolero, or little jacket, that was off-white and did not match the dress.  And unlike most hideous boleros which sport cap sleeves, this one had 3-Hanes-to-a-ziploc-bag length sleeves.  Ugh.

Now, given that the addition was not permanent, you might be wondering, "Well jeez, what's the big deal?"  Which brings me to my third, and really most insulting, point.

When the dress was returned, it was returned with the offensive bolero -- a not-so-subtle hint that perhaps I should think about covering my smutty little shoulders in the future.

Come on, Gift Horse, open up ...

Sometimes, you live to regret any nice thing you ever offer to do for anyone.

Right now, I am thinking of a pro bono project that I took on at work.  (Patience, saved drafts file ...)  But I'm also thinking of an incident that happened my freshman year of college.

I was off living in the dorms at the Blessed U, and my sister Echo was getting ready for prom.  She had a friend in her group who needed a dress.

Here's a weird thing about me - I am very "what's mine is yours" 95% of the time.  You want the shirt off my back?  Take it.  (But seriously, give me time to do some crunches before I have to walk home in my almost-altogether.)

Contrast this with Echo, who is 95% of the time "keep your filthy mitts off my stuff."  In fact, the vast majority of our fights growing up involved the fact that (A) we shared a room, (B) I was always willing to share with Echo, but she never wanted anything of mine, and (C) Echo was never willing to share with me, but I was always more impressed with her shirts than I was with my own.  (Now that we're grown ups, and live in different states, Echo is much more willing to lend out, and also much more impressed with my stuff acquisition abilities.  Ah, maturity.) 

But on this one occassion, because Echo's friend needed a dress, she finally wanted something of mine.  (Cue the Mr. Burns finger-tapping.) 

I went to my junior prom in what is probably the Top Three of Greatest Dresses I've Ever Worn.  (Top spot still reserved for Fantastic Boob Dress Tri Delt Formal Spring 2005.  I hope that's the dress I'm wearing in heaven.)  (Hey Tri Delts out there, do any of you have a picture of that dress?  I need proof of hotness for when I'm old.) 

Ahem.  Back to the prom dress. 

Unlike FBDTDFS05, the prom dress was super wholesome.  Think the dress on the left, cream and gold brocade, floor-length.  Yes, technically sleeveless, but a high boat neck and not particularly form-fitting.  I bought it because it made me feel like a seventeen-year-old Jackie Kennedy.

And Echo's friend had seen the Jackie O Prom Dress in my closet while Echo was trying on her slightly-less-wholesome-Scarlett-O'Hara-at-seventeen dress.  (Man, we had good taste in dresses.)

So Echo called me and asked if it would be okay if her friend wore my prom dress to their dance.

I'll be honest - I briefly hesitated.  At nineteen, that prom dress was the most expensive thing I'd ever bought, and yes, I knew it was unlikely I'd ever wear it again (although I did recycle it for one more Tri Delt formal), I was squeamish.  So Echo piled it on, explaining how her friend's parents couldn't afford to buy her a dress (I was less impressed there, since both Echo and I had to pay for our own prom dresses, but whatever), and please, please, please be a good Christian, okay?

So I relented and said of course her friend could wear my awesome dress to prom. 

Fast forward three weeks, when all the little Davis Darts get their dance picture packets delivered to 8th period.  I was home from college that weekend, and so I was there to see Echo's prom pictures. 

"Oh Echo, you look so prett ... what the hell did that girl do to my dress?"

Sitting on the far left of the photo was Echo's friend.

Wearing the awesome dress.

And some damn t-shirt.

"Oh ..." Echo said awkwardly.  "Um, her parents wouldn't let her wear a sleeveless dress.  So her mom made that for it."

Cue the slow burn.  "Why didn't she just give it back then?" I said through gritted teeth. 

Echo rolled her eyes.  "What does it even matter?"

"It matters because that dress is perfection, these people were too cheap to buy their kid her own dress, and they're judging me for owning a sleeveless dress by putting that hideous THING over it, and I was just trying to be a good CHRISTIAN, damn it!" I yelled.

"Dude, chill out," Echo replied calmly.  "Just be glad our parents never burkafied you for Prom."

Wiser words were never spoken.