A tightwad's worst nightmare

I sort of thought about wedding planning this weekend. This whole industry is such a scam. My parents got married at a church and had punch and finger foods at grandma's house. Now, we have somehow been brainwashed into thinking that you just simply can't do it right for under $20,000 ($40,000 on the coasts). I must admit, it's brilliant that the players in the industry have managed to do for the wedding what DeBeers has done for diamonds. I visited theknot.com, a website that's just not for people like me. When I searched for "casual" or "inexpensive" or something like that, there was some article about how smaller weddings have to be even more perfect since a smaller group means more chances for people to notice all the little ways your wedding sucks. I was sitting there trying to think if, out of all the weddings I've been to, anything actually horrified me. Deciding that, no, nothing ever had horrified me, I determined that my friends and I are either really laid back or just total white trash. Either way, it's cool with me.

I found a place where I could probably get in and out for under $10,000 for maybe 60 guests. Then I laughed at the fact that I was sitting there thinking, "hmmm, not a bad deal." And then I wanted to cry. But I did find a nicer version of the classic party barge and thought to myself, "this is perfect." So we'll see. If the party barge idea is a no-go, I might end up on an island somewhere. The only thing keeping me from eloping is the fact that I want an awesome dress that I look great in, and I want people to see me in said dress. A little self-centered? Absolutely. But my shrink said that the twenties is a totally appropriate time to be a little selfish. As soon as I have kids, I can see this being a problem.

A random parting thought. Okay, so I understand that there are some sickly looking ladies walking the catwalk. And it's pretty disturbing to think of someone being 5' 9'' and weighing like 110 pounds. But why is the phrase "size 0" code for anorexic bitch? I think it was Spain that's telling stores that window displays shouldn't have small sizes in the windows. Um, what about those of us who are just small? Like for real - just eating normally and not working out (or hell, eating healthy and working out in normal doses). I realize that no one is shedding tears for the hurt feelings of the naturally small. But, still...

Randomness

OK, so it's not like I live in Alaska, but the wind chill is zero and it's snowing. When I moved here, I was sort of excited about a winter experience different than that of Austin. Turns out, I don't like snow. When I have to walk in it, it feels like I'm walking through cobwebs or something. Snow getting all in my eyes and mouth. Ick.

Too lazy to make green chile sauce. Bought it in a can. Really, really bad idea. Who new that green chiles can be made to taste like liquid cardboard.

I realize that pharmaceutical companies are required to put all the disclaimer language into their commercials. But why do they try to integrate it into the conversation happening in the commercial? Like the ladies sitting around talking about birth control and the one's all "Yaz can increase the risk of blood clots or stroke, so women, especially women over 35, shouldn't smoke." It's not like I'm generally blown away by the acting happening in commercials, but this is a new low. Why not just say it really fast at the end like everyone else who has to include required language?

Sleepsurfing

I posted something last night about some dillweed who sent a nasty e-mail criticizing my citation manual. I basically called this guy an an idiot because his complaints clearly showed that he didn't know what he was talking about, despite referring to himself as something of a citation guru. I even called his law school fifth-tier.

I deleted that post at around 3:30 or 4 this morning. All week long, I have been waking up at around 2 or 3 a.m. obsessing about something that I otherwise don't think about. And I mean like straight-up awake. Not tossing and turning. Awake. And it's a new topic every night. Last night/this morning I was convinced that my karma would be tarnished if I totally made fun of this asshat, so I deleted the post. I was compelled to get out of bed, put on my glasses, walk into the living room, and get online to delete a blog post that five people would read. So weird. But you don't fuck with karma, especially when it's keeping you awake in the middle of the night. Of course, the other weird stuff that keeps me up has nothing to do with the state of my state. But you still don't fuck with karma; better safe than sorry.

I hate living in a state with an income tax. I must admit that I'm a little baffled. Although the state claims to allow e-filing, TurboTax told me that I couldn't e-file my return because there's attachments and schedules involved. My returns aren't complicated; if I can't e-file, I don't know who could. And I'm not even embarrassed to say that some of the instructions on how to calculate my deductions and credits when I've only been here part of the year are totally nonsensical.

Hazard pay?

Sometimes oral argument has the same effect that taking a handful of sleeping pills would. Especially when you're freezing your ass off. And then you have to get in the car and drive home, which strikes me as dangerous.

And lawyers from Tennessee have an interesting habit of noting for the court that they are either a member of the Tennessee bar or, more specifically, what city's bar association they are a member of. I think I have seen one lawyer from Ohio do this, and I think it was because he argued after the Tennessee people and maybe thought he was supposed to tell the court that he is in fact a member of a bar somewhere. Fascinating.

I have been watching the new salary pissing match taking place in New York. Crossing my fingers for a little spillover. But not holding my breath. Since I don't want to die.

I heard Wilson Phillips today. I sang along and it was awesome. Hold on for one more day. Werd.

New Year's Resolution, Take Two

Apparently, I am a difficult person. "Dr. Bramson lists seven difficult behavior types: Hostile-Aggressives, Complainers, Silent and Unresponsives, Super-Agreeables, Know-It-All Experts, Negativists and Indecisives." These categories seem pretty broad - you're "difficult" either because you're super-agreeable or because you're a complainer. So, basically, you're difficult if you talk? But then if you don't talk, I guess you're a Silent and Unresponsive. Nonetheless, I think I may fit into like six of them, depending on the day. So I guess I'll try to be less of a difficult person; like every day, I'll be sure not to be at least two of the types at once. Tomorrow I'll probably be a Complainer since I have to work. But at least I won't be a Super-Agreeable.

Monday I get to drive the boss's minivan. Sweet.

Thanks, mom!

I love the beginning of every new season of American Idol. It makes me want to thank my mother for always telling us kids that we could be whatever we wanted,* except singers, since no one in my family can sing. Oh yeah, and once we found out that I was bad at math, I think she said that maybe astronaut was out of the picture (and mathematician). Sometimes I feel bad for these people, but not like bad enough to stop watching or to avoid laughing. I am not as horrified by the people who can't sing as those who tell them that they can. Why would you do that to your kid or your friend? Why tell them they're good when it's clear that they're not? I mean, I think Britney Spears has shown us the magic of digital, but the people who suck on American Idol aren't as hot as Brit was like 10 years ago.

Shout out to my sister for running her first marathon! And to Ellen for running the half! The pride I feel is like what I felt when took the stairs leaving work the other day. Big milestones all around.

And to every asshat who thinks a super-loud car is awesome, you're a douchebag. If you drive a Geo or a Sentra or a Kia, you're a double-douchebag.

*I was having a conversation with my mom back when I waited tables and I mentioned the good money that a friend of mine made cocktailing at a strip club (one of the "nice" ones). I joked about working in a strip club. Clearly not connecting the waiting tables part of the conversation with the strip club part, my ever-supportive mother said, "Honey, I'm sure you'd be good at the dancing [she clearly has never seen me dance], but aren't you a little small on top?" Now that's love. Pure love.

Happy day off! What do I do?

I always look forward to holidays until the holiday actually arrives. Then I realize that I don't have much to do and there's nothing good on television. I did buy some books this weekend, so I guess I'll read. I finally finished Anna Karenina. I feel smarter now that I can say I've read Tolstoy. Maybe I'll tackle War & Peace when I retire. The weather here has been crappy for the past few days, which I think has been contributing to a funk I've been experiencing all weekend. I wasn't sad or in a bad mood. I was just existing. Which got me a little worried. Then I realized that two days of feeling blah probably doesn't mean anything about the state of my mental state. Besides, I'm guessing that it's not normal for people to be actually happy like all the time. That would be creepy.

I did experience a moment of happiness on Friday when the airline, after keeping me on hold for like 45 minutes trying to find a dinky $20 credit I have, asked me about a $200 credit from last summer. I was told back in November that this credit was lost to me and that I couldn't use it. Naturally I was pissed at the time since I was essentially giving $200 to the airline. But now I can use it, so I'm happy because I feel like I beat the airline. Maybe the person that told me I couldn't use the credit before was just lying, who knows. But I felt like I stuck it to the man on Friday, which made me smile (even if I am the man, in a skirt). Despite my happiness, I am a little mystified at the fact that the airline has to mail me the voucher and then I can call to use it. Um, you know I have a credit, you know the amount, you know I can use it for the flight I am trying to book. I know, let's add a layer of incredible inefficiency to this process by using snail mail. I'll admit that I don't know enough about the economics of the airline industry to really understand why airlines can't seem to make any money even though they're good at ripping people off. But if my experience is an indication of the inefficiencies in this industry, then I think I may get why it totally blows.

Austin, here I come!

Maybe for good in 2007. I still don't know what I am doing after my current gig ends, but I don't think I can handle a big production involving trying to replace what I lost. Besides, I am clearly tainted with bad ju-ju. Which is weird because I consider myself to be karmically sound: I don't litter, I'm polite, I almost always offer to push the elevator button for someone else even though I think pushing the button is totally unnecessary, I give to any charity that sends me free address labels, I give really nice clothes to Goodwill. Have I pissed off some higher power? Is it because I so enjoy the gossip mongering of celebrity tabloids? Is it because I spend too much time concerned with inane things like my highlights or the fact that I am an assless wonder whose pants tend to be ill-fitting? Of course, there's the possibility that this is one of those things where a door closes and a window opens, blah, blah, blah. I shouldn't be so quick to take stock.

I will have feelers out in a limited area and if nothing pans out in that area, then I'm headed back to Austin to become a Crackberry addict a year earlier than planned. I have started to look at the bright side (three words: nice ass television; and my other half). Will a firm that pays relocation expenses pay to move you from your crappy law school apartment into a nicer one in the same city? I figure the firm should accommodate such a request. It's not like I'm some Harvard punk costing them thousands of dollars to haul my stuff from Cambridge.

Onward and upward.

The travails of living alone

I cooked tonight. It took me like 30 minutes to get the lid of the jar of salsa and I got so frustrated that I cried. I normally don't like to to do the whole weak woman thing asking her neighbor to open her jar, but tonight it was necessary. Of course, no one was home. So, I cried. But then I remembered the leather gloves (thanks, Barbara!) and that was the key.

I cooked enchiladas and I have a shit ton of leftovers. Looks like it's Mexican for the foreseeable future. Yet another reason that living alone sucks - no decent way to make enchiladas for one that I have discovered. I guess I could freeze the leftovers, but I don't like post-frozen food. It's never quite right to me.

Still no word on what I'm doing next year. I'm not looking on the bright side. I know it's there, I just don't want to hear about it.

Better now

Not like good, as in "I know what's going on," but better. I have decided to lay all the blame on a certain evil prof who has cursed me with some bad ju-ju. But I shall march forward and figure it out. It's all I can do.

Fuck you, 2007

I am tossing the resolution to be happier until this weekend. My life just blew up in my face. This, I could handle. But the explosion has also affected the plans of my other half, which breaks my heart. I believe that when something bad happens, people should get at least a day or two to mope and bitch. Then you have to get out of your funk, start looking at the bright side, figuring out next steps, blah, blah, blah. I'll think about the bright side this weekend. For now, I'd like to thank 2007 for starting off in an extremely shitty manner.

Resolution for 2007

I normally don't make a new year's resolution. But this year, I resolve to be happier. I know, I know. It sounds like some non-resolution resolution. But my plan is to facilitate this goal by not comparing myself to other people. When I do this, I pick the top .005% of people out there and end up feeling like a loser.* Unless it's Britney Spears. I always feel like a winner when I read about her. This is a wuss resolution since I generally subscribe to the view that one should be happy with oneself and accomplishments, blah, blah, blah. So, it's more of resolution to stop doing something that I don't do that often, but when I do, makes me depressed.

In other news, looks like my long habit of skipping lunch explains my brilliance. "Facing the LSAT, a final exam or a half-day job interview [or, trying to figure out some dicked-up area of the law]? Go in mildly hungry, not carbo-loaded for endurance, and snack to maintain that edgy state." See, yogurt and animal crackers - the diet of champions.

* You may be wondering, "top .0005% of what? Well, anything. The chick in the Pantene commercial with dreamy hair; the hot chick who jogs down my street and manages to have a tan in the winter that doesn't look like the result of fake tanning; anyone with healthy, strong fingernails; Supreme Court clerks; people who live with hardwood floors and cats who have managed to solve the age-old problem of litter tracking. And for those of you thinking that I am a malcontent who should be medicated, I don't actually spend that much of time worrying about other people and how I stack up. It's just that when I do, I manage to pick the wrong people.

Shopping = good; cooking = bad; hair = awesome

I spent all my Christmas gift cards on Thursday. Shopping was glorious, especially since I didn't have to spend my own money. Good thing, since my efforts to get out of debt don't appear to be paying off. It's like being on a treadmill - I pay and I pay and my balance appears to stay exactly where it is. Again, I have no idea what I've been buying. Nothing cool, that's for sure.

I tried to cook dinner last night. It did not go well. Turns out, I can't cook rice. Who knew?? I keep thinking that if I actually cook, I will come to enjoy it. Nope. Which is probably good since I'm not very good at it. I end up eating a little bit and then tossing the rest of it. What a waste. At least when I eat a frozen pizza, nothing goes to waste. Although I will be attempting a few enchilada recipes sometime soon since I miss my Tex-Mex.

And, for those of you who haven't seen me in a while, here's me and my hair. It's like officially girl-length. Sorry about the piss-poor editing. I felt weird about posting a picture of myself online, so I attempted something along the lines of the "fashion don't" line in Glamour. And I decided to whiten my teeth while I was at it. Compliments please - the highlights are fierce (trust me on this, even if you can't tell). Thanks to Kate for allowing me to use the Chi, resulting in an ultra-smooth look. Mark my words, I will own a Chi.

Post-holiday crash

Coming back to work after vacation should really be a gradual process. Like maybe four hours the first day, then up it to six for a day or two, on and on until you're back to a usual 10-hour day. I mean, I love the job and all, but returning to work after a few days off is always depressing. As is leaving the fiancé behind for a few more weeks.

Christmas was super. My family was in Houston at my sister’s, so my better half and I were able to spend quality time with both families without running all over the state. I planned my Christmas well. I decided to just be straight with people when they asked me what I wanted and told them that I really wanted to gift card for a certain store. I haven’t really been shopping in months and I miss it. So part of the gift is the shopping experience. Anyways, using this method, I was able to get a pretty good haul, which should make for an excellent shopping experience. I did leave my book at the future in-laws’. Which totally blows since it’s like an 800-page book and I have less than 100 pages to go. Hopefully, the future m-i-l can mail it to me.

The low-light was when the present exchange with the future brother-in-law and his wife. The better half and I got them a gift. They got everyone in the family a gift. There was a gift for my future s-i-l’s fiancé. And for me? Nada. Nothing. Zilch. At first I didn’t think much of it because I just assumed that the gift to my better half was to the both of us. No, it was just to him. And not to knock the fiancé of the future s-i-l, he’s super, but I’ve been coming around a lot longer than him and he got something. I was totally snubbed. Now I know what Scorsecse feels like. I didn’t take it too personally, but it was a little weird. I’m just glad the discovery wasn’t made (at least by me) until after they left, because that would have been super-awkward.

I did get multiple pairs of fuzzy slipper socks. Which is good because the rising price of gas means that I keep my apartment pretty cool to avoid a gas bill that tops $120 a month.

What I learned this week

I learned that "inane" is not pronounced with a long "i." It's one of those words that I don't think I had ever heard spoken out loud, so I always went with the long "i" because I really didn't think it would be pronounced any other way. And then I got called on it in a somewhat embarrassing way. That sucked. I mean, what's the point of calling someone out in front of other people and being like "did you just say I-nane?" just to highlight that I've said it wrong. Maybe it's how we say it here (is it?), maybe I was accenting the "i" sound to really highlight how inane something was. Anyways, I guess that's the last time I say something out loud without checking the pronunciation key in the dictionary.

I learned that my fiance rocks. I mean, I knew that before I got here, but it's nice to be home with him and his awesomeness.

I learned that Talladega Nights sucks. I was really looking forward to seeing this and I got, at most, a few chuckles out of it. In other news, I really liked The Devil Wears Prada.

Nice timing

Part of my horoscope today: "it's best to avoid participating in capitalism." Well, thanks. This is the advice I get five days before Christmas?? I have one present to go. Unless this lucky person wants something from the dumpster, I guess I'll have to ignore the advice of the stars.

I have writer's block. I keep trying to put a thought into words and then I delete what I just wrote. And then repeat this process over and over again. I'm getting a little frustrated. But then I try to picture Einstein pulling his crazy hair out and feeling like an idiot when coming up with the theory of relativity or whatever, and I feel better. I'm not saying that what I do is akin to what Einstein did (hey, I don't even know what the theory of relativity is), but it lifts me up a little. Thinking of geniuses feeling stupid always makes me feel better when I feel stupid.

Cool wedding

So the reason I am in town so far ahead of Christmas is because a good friend of mine got married last night. It was a cool wedding, very laid back. I wore a dress. I could have worn jeans and I wish I had. Anyways, I was supposed to be a bridesmaid in her wedding, but she got fed up with the whole wedding racket and just said "screw it." For example, when looking at a venue, she discovered that it was $3,000 for a wedding (just for the keys to the space) and $700 for any other event. What the hell? So her judge married her in her backyard (Reason 101 Why Texas Rules: a backyard wedding in December).

Anyways, I decided long ago to screw the whole traditional wedding thing. I'm still deciding how I'll do it, but I won't be giving $12,000 to some country club just for the keys to the room, that's for sure. My friend has a house in the boonies and owns the lot next to it. So we have been thinking about having the wedding at her house. Plenty of parking; plenty of space; it doesn't cost $40,000. I think my friend is into it; she said last night that she's been really thinking about it. So I apparently have some kind of built-in wedding planner. Sweet.

Happy Holidays, whoever you are

I got one of those Christmas letters in the mail. It was addressed to the 2-bedroom apartment my fiance and I used to live in, and delivered to the one-bedroom we started living in around the start of law school. Along with the letter was a lovely picture of three blonde kids wishing me a Merry Christmas. But I have no idea who the people are that sent it to me. It came from Charleston, S.C. and for the life of me I don't know why they sent me the update letter. I was a little annoyed because (assuming the last name of this family is "Smith") the thing says "Merry Christmas from the Smith's." What's up with the possessive? I was like, the Smith's what? Their dog? But then I started to like the Smiths because the letter was awesome. I started reading it and rolled my eyes because it was the typical year-end spiel highlighting how the oldest kid cured cancer and the youngest is an Olympic bobsledder. Then I flipped over to the back and it said that if you know them, you know the letter on the front was a joke. Well, of course I don't know them, so I didn't know it was a joke. But then I reread the letter and it was pretty funny. So, Merry Christmas to you, too, stranger family.

I am back in Texas. I woke up really early yesterday to get here. I then slept for like six hours. I am such a baby when I have to wake up early. I flew through Cleveland. Bad idea. The airport there sucks. It's like Highland Mall - like weird off-brand food that's twice the price of what the offerings from a regular fast food place would be. And then I had to fly in a little plane all the way to Texas. I always have to take a little plane to wherever my connection is, but I don't like the little planes. I don't like flying in general, and being in a little plane makes it worse. You can feel every bump and I think the plane even shudders when the pilot farts. Just makes me nervous.

Shout out to my sister for running 20 miles yesterday. She's training for a marathon (don't even get me started on why people will pay like $30 to run 26 miles). She's insane. But good for her!!!

It's the little things

We got new computers this week. The smaller CPU is nice, but the best part is the dual monitor set-up. After 2 days with dual monitors, I am not sure how I ever lived without them. I am debating on whether to set one of them vertically, so that I can see more memo at a time. Yes, maybe it's sad that this is the highlight of my week. My life is relatively uneventful. Sue me. Really. I dare you. I am getting really good with the bullshit detector, so bring it on.

It will be the death of me

I don't know why I can't seem to manage my back stairs. I have managed to stumble or fall up or down the stairs several times in the past few weeks. Maybe the steps are too small or something. But if I die here, I am pretty sure I will be found at the bottom of my stairs. Or I'll go to some holler somewhere and some nutjob hillbilly will kill me. I think that's what has surprised me the most about living here. I totally thought the news would be painfully boring, which it generally is. But it seems like crazy white people from the boonies are killing each other off. Like every other night there's a story about how Bobby Jean killed Billy Ray and there's always a trailer behind the reporter who is on the scene.

So, I'm not shocked that Nicole Richie got busted drinking and driving. I am shocked that she is apparently a little over five feet tall and weighs 85 pounds. I don't even know if I could manage to get down to 85 pounds if I tried. Oh yeah, just for the record, if you see or hear her described as a "size 0," don't believe it. No way she's a size zero. We're not that small.