So, the connoisseur of poor decision-making thing. People continually seem to get a chuckle out of that line. But a connoisseur? Really? Since I’m a fan of dictionaries (and had to look it up anyway to see if I’d spelled it correctly), here you go:
con·nois·seurˌkänəˈsər,-ˈso͝or/noun: a person who knows a lot about something: an expert in a particular subject
I would say I qualify. Clearly, since I am not dead or in prison, I can laugh about most of my poor decisions. And, because I enjoy humor at my own expense, here is a sampling, in no particular order:
1993 – At 20 years old, deciding to drive to Vegas to marry a guy I’d only known for 6 months…because it seemed like a good idea at the time. (Yes, I know that I said “in no particular order” and that sure as hell seems like it would be “Number One,” but let’s just say it seems to be the first one that comes to mind.)
- 2008 – Deciding to go to law school at 36. Point of fact, I love my job, but that is because of the people I work with and not the whole “being an attorney” thing. It’s not bad, but it will definitely not hold up to a cost-benefit analysis…or a return-on-investment analysis…or even a pro-con analysis. Oddly, this also seemed like a good idea at the time.
- 2008 – Taking off my diamond rings on a beach in Mexico to apply sunscreen.
- 2001 – Quitting Intel. But, who knows, if I’d stayed, perhaps not quitting Intel would be on the list. But if it were on the list, No. 2 would not be. Dizzying logic.
- 2008 – (2008 was apparently a busy year) IM’ing a co-worker to speculate as to whether our boss looked pregnant…without being certain I wasn’t accidentally IM’ing my boss instead. Thankfully she was, in fact, pregnant. And she didn’t fire me.
- 1991 – Quitting my job and moving to Utah. Yes, Utah (where I had no family, friends or job). Still scratching my head over this one.
- 1988 – Bangs. I had curly hair. That was never going to end well.
- 2000 – Thinking ‘go big or go home’ applied to tattoos.
- 2002 – The series of events that led to me almost being arrested on Bourbon Street in New Orleans.
- 1991 – Jumping off that bridge over the river because, damn it, if my guy buddies could do it, so could I. No, I don’t recall which bridge…but it was high enough that you had to hide if the cops drove by because, surprisingly, you weren’t supposed to jump from it. My (painful yet) superficial injuries from this brilliantly ill-conceived move did not require medical attention, but a kick in the ass may have been warranted.
Honorable mention goes to the dozens of times I have stuck my nose where it didn’t belong, overshared at parties, and failed to keep my mouth shut when wisdom, logic, or propriety called for it.
This is just a small sampling. And no, I don’t obsessively catalogue and record all of my mistakes for future reflection. My OCD takes care of that for me.