Hobbies, We All Need Them

Seeing as how I’ve recently taken up cycling and I’m quite…..not very good….at it, I thought it was the perfect time to add another hobby into my life.

Self, I said to myself, what is another expensive hobby with great levels of frustration but occasional glimpses of triumph for you to torture yourself with? 

The obvious answer I think, is photography.

I’ve been saving for my very own shiny DSLR camera (so I can say adios to my point and shoot) and my Mom, knowing I was very close to hitting the “order” button on my Amazon cart signed us up for a photography class when she was in town with my Aunt. The class was an amazing learning experience, even on a borrowed camera and I learned SO! MUCH! INFORMATION!

Of course it doesn’t hurt that I arrived at the class with the basic ability to turn a camera on and use the auto setting to take a single photograph of something in front me. I don’t think we can even attempt to classify that as advanced beginner.

Of course with my new found knowledge I was quite sure I was coming home with a memory card full of keepers. Framed images decorating our hallways (we only have one hallway so please, keep in mind how very fanciful this dream really was) and me telling friends “Well you know, you just have to take some classes and keep an eye out for great shots!”

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Behold, my mediocre yet not-shot-on-auto photos!



I think the good news for all of us is that I plan on taking more classes.

The bad news being you are probably wondering what will be left to write about if I’m always chronicling bike riding and photo taking.

I’m sure I’ll find something. I mean after all…..

…we will always have Rhett Butler.



So I Heard There Is This Test Called the Bar Exam?

In July of 2007 my husband took the Illinois bar exam. (We had just kind of sort of started showing interest in each other.)

In July of 2008 I took the Illinois bar exam. (We were firmly and seriously dating at this time.)

We both passed. Neither of us are experts on the bar exam itself, not one teeny tiny bit, but I suppose we each have a bit of perspective on the time leading up to the exam and waiting for results, after each going through it ourselves and then watching/supporting the other through their own little personal nightmare of the exam.

I’ve written all about the bar exam in years past. Most aptly at this point in time, some tips for a current examinee the week of the actual bad boy. Perhaps a bit late for this year, but tips for loved ones of a bar examinee. For future reference, I once talked about the fun fun day when results come out and all the hysteria that follows. Then of course there is my post that I didn’t even write myself (and of course disclosed that I didn’t write it myself) in which I shared a few bar exam jokes. Don’t worry, unless you have taken a bar exam that post will not be remotely funny. If you have taken a bar exam you will probably laugh really hard, unless you don’t care for profanity, and in that case, well, shit out of luck I suppose.

The only reason I link back to these is that I’ve been made aware that the posts are making the rounds of the current examinees. I can only assume they are enjoying them because I’m averaging an email or tweet a day from someone saying “So my friend from law school linked to your blog on Facebook today…” and more than half my current search engine traffic is coming in the form of the following types of searches:

Bar exam, funny

I think I’m going to fail the bar exam

Help for the Illinois bar exam

Bar exam, I’m dying

Oh sweetie. I know. It is awful but the good news is that you are in the home stretch. So to reiterate points from posts past:

  • You can not and will not know it all. Neither does anyone else. You need a C, not an A to pass.
  • It is almost over and no matter what happens to you on Tuesday or Wednesday, Thursday will still arrive as scheduled. I promise.
  • Your wrist will hurt if you hand write. Milk it for all it is worth.
  • Don’t get your wallet stolen when you are out celebrating/drinking/sobbing when it all ends. No really, I speak from experience. 
  • Don’t take your cell phone to the exam.
  • I’m not kidding, don’t take your cell phone.
  • You know the urban legend of the person whose Mom calls with 10 minutes left the second day and their phone rings and they get automatically failed? IT ISN’T AN URBAN LEGEND. Don’t take your phone.
  • No one really followed the Bar/Bri outline 100% the entire time and if they say they do they are lying. I promise.
  • Same goes for people who claim to completely understand federal tax, commercial paper and secured transactions. They do not. They are just psyching you out. It will probably work.
  • Remember that thing I said about the cell phone? I meant it. Don’t take it.


Pin Me

Like many others on the internet, I have fallen and fallen hard for Pinterest. You can read all about “how” it works over here, but today I just want to share some things I’ve found on it that I’m digging. Or enjoying. Whatever the cool kids are saying these days….. And if you want to be cool like me (I say with a laugh) just leave a comment with your email and I can shoot you an invite. I’d love for you to join in the pretties.

Source: piccsy.com via Daisy on Interest


What have you seen lately that motivates, inspires or gives you the giggles?

Super Secret Single Behavior, Now With Less Light Switching

There comes a point in every child’s life where they are told that brownies are not an acceptable dinner choice (and if they don’t straighten up dessert isn’t happening either) and they inform their parents, with great disdain and authority that when they are grown ups, they will eat brownies for dinner thankyouverymuch.

Oh eight year old self. Meet your twenty eight year old metabolism.

Life’s a bitch.

That isn’t to say that once that slightly sassy eight year old (who most likely didn’t get dessert, go figure) doesn’t grow up and gain some of their own thoroughly authentic grown up behavior. Brownies for dinner do happen every now and again, it just isn’t with the regularity you envisioned as a wee one with zero regard for things like nutrition, calories and looking good at your best friend’s wedding because your ex is going to be there. You gain your own set of quirks when you grow up and live alone. I for one have zero issues with never folding clean laundry, a task that is so boring and mundane it makes me want to cry. The chaise lounge in my bedroom is a perfectly acceptable clean clothes holder, thanks.

With all the sailing B has been doing lately I’ve been left to my own devices (formerly discussed as Super Single Secret Behavior or S-S-S-B) and obviously this means I’ve been eating entirely too much sushi for dinner.

That said, it has come to my attention I’ve grown up in more ways than one, and no, I don’t mean foregoing a brownie dinner. As it turns out I find myself adhering to certain ways B likes to do things even though he isn’t home and even though some of the ways he likes to do things are absurd.

Case in point: he doesn’t think everything can go in the dishwasher. I do. This is a great point of contention so you’d think that while he’s away I’d be gleefully tossing anything that isn’t breathing or nailed down into the sucker, but no. There I am, hand-washing pots and knives and grumbling, if at least to say that sushi sure would have been easier than this thankless stupid task. Or brownies! Why didn’t I think of that?

Our living room lights have three potential switches one can use to turn them on and off and yet B insists that one of them should never be touched. I have yet to fully grasp the reasoning behind this becuase it is so incredulous – HELLO IT IS A LIGHT SWITCH AND THEREFORE IT IS MEANT TO BE SWITCHED BACK AND FORTH BACK AND FORTH, VOILA- something about things not being up or down the right way in accordance with what the light is doing, zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz huh, what honey? Anyway. I haven’t been using that switch while he has been gone even though the eight year old in me wants to march up to it and switch it back and forth as many times as possible, perhaps while jumping up and down and singing “neener neener boo boo.”

Don’t worry. I haven’t touched the switch.

B is also rather picky about what happens to his pants when they come out of the dryer, namely he wishes I wouldn’t let them get wadded up in a wrinkly pile (clean!) becuase then he has to iron them. I want to lift one eyebrow and silently point to our super fancy iron, or perhaps our professional grade steamer, you know, WE HAVE WAYS TO DEAL WITH WRINKLES HONEY, but, no. There I am, hanging them up for him when he isn’t home, silently cursing the laws of physics or science or whathaveyou that allow wrinkles to happen in the first place.

All I’m saying is: growing up isn’t all I had considered at age eight, and not only in regard to brownies.

I mean seriously, I’m pretty sure I was supposed to have a stable of ponies by now.

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