It's Not You...oh wait, yes it is

Dear 2011,

Listen, I don't know how to say this, but I'm over you. Our year-long relationship was great, but it's over. I'm sorry. I'm moving on.

I know, I know. We had some great times together. You introduced me to some great friends like Pinterest, my iPhone, Club Project, and my awesome new job. And you brought some really wonderful things to the table, like my nephew Alec and the niece I will meet in March. That trip I took to Alabama was great, and I had so much fun celebrating all the birthdays and happy hours you brought me to.

Haha, remember that time I went shopping for skinny jeans? That was hilarious.

But you were also pretty mean to me. I had to move, Geo moved to Alabama, and there was that one wretched night that resulted in a trip to Urgent Care because my toe was trying to kill me. It was just a lot for one girl to deal with.

Your lack of commitment was daunting as well. It's almost like you weren't focused on ME. You were all about helping other people. Not once did I win the lottery with you. I still don't have that teacup piglet I want so badly, either. Everyone and their mother got engaged or had a baby or bought a car with you, but not me! You totally left me out of everything.

You made empty promises of new houses and lost pounds, but nothing. And our relationship was just unhealthy. I got so fat while I was with you! And despite my best (read: absent) efforts, I am no closer to looking like Jennifer Aniston than I was at this time last year. Oh, and need I remind you of the two months I skipped shaving? WTF? You really held me back, 2011. I want more.

And I guess there's no easy to way to tell you this, but I've met someone. His name is 2012. It actually feels a lot like when I first met you. I'm hopeful and excited to be with him. He makes me think that anything is possible. I know a lot of people say he's bad news, and he's just going to dump me because of that stupid Mayan calendar thing, but I'm optimistic.

Sure I might be a little nostalgic tonight, and I'll probably just spend the night drinking too much and texting people. But it's just right that we break up.

I hope you know I mean it when I say that I'll try and think of you fondly. I'll try to have only good things to say about you if anyone ever asks. But beyond that, I just think it would be best to never speak to each other again. You go your way, I'll go mine. Let's try and not look at this as the End of something, 2011. Let's instead focus on moving forward. You know, new beginnings.

Good luck to you, and thanks for all the good times, 2011. I don't know who it was who said this, but it seems pretty relevant in this case: Auld lang syne, 2011. Auld lang syne.

A Commercial Success

You know those horrible commercials where Sarah McLachlan sings about dogs with one eye or cats who lost all their fur or whatever? The overly-obvious point of the commercial is to make people feel sad and weep at the sad music while viewing pictures of adorable abandoned critters. It's like a thinly-veiled attempt to recreate that creepy scene in A Clockwork Orange. You know, when they pry that dudes eyes open and brainwash him in the hopes of making him a better youth?

Sorry, Lady McLachlan, but it's having the opposite effect on me. First, the commercials are too long. I'm a busy gal, ASPCA. I don't have time to watch 30-minute commercials (unless it's about the Forever Lazy), and therefore I obvs don't have time for a pet who clearly needs lots of love.

Second, the drippy, gooeyness of the commercial is a little too...uh...pandering. I'm no idiot. I know you're trying to sell me a needy pet, and I'm not buyin'. This, in and of itself, is a major fail. Need I remind you that I am the same girl who buys Smart Water solely because Jennifer Aniston drinks it?

Anyway, the ASPCA needs to take a lesson from Google. Why? I'm glad you asked. I hereby declare that Google has The Most Emotionally Effective Commercials Ever. You know the one where the new dad sets up an email account for his new baby, and writes her emails all the time, which she supposedly reads when she gets older? That one gets me every single time.

Then just now, I saw a new Google commercial. It's just clips of computer screens. People are searching and clicking their way into new beginnings. You see someone has purchased a one-way ticket, people learning new things, googling ways to be a better dad, a friend emailing an apology, and someone starting to write a new book by typing simply "Chapter 1".

There is no sappy music. No pathetic narrator. Just some chirpy happy music, and YouTube clips of people saying things like "You can do it," or "We can save the world." And after the commercial, I'm all misty-eyed and I feel like 'You know what?! I CAN save the world! And I WILL be a better dad from now on!"

THAT'S a response, dudes. It's like the time I saw one of those "Farewell to Wimbledon" montages after the tournament ends. They show clips of agony and defeat balanced against joy and triumph. When I saw that like 10 years ago, I sobbed uncontrollably. "They tasted victorrrrrry! But couldn't beat their biggest competition...themselllllllvvvvessss! Waaaaaahhh!"

Anyway, that's how I feel about commercials. I'm sure you'll want to write about this in your diary tonight.

Side Note: I will be posting a SPECIAL EDITION blog sometime this weekend. I make no promises when it will be, but I had plans to write a very awesome blog about the end of 2011, but obvs had to bump it for this super important topic on commercials. It'll probably only be relevant until Sunday, so prepare yourselves for a special weekend post! Go ahead, add that to your diary as well...

Dear Crabby

Sup dude?! So, I was all stressed and anxious today, and I responded to a text from Geo asking me a question and I said "I don't know. I just don't know. The one thing I DO know is that I'm going to dye my hair tonight." He didn't know what to do about that, and just went with it. So, I dyed my hair tonight. I had a fleeting thought in the hair color aisle, as I picked up the "Brown Black" color I was going for. In the back of my head, I heard my mom say "Don't EVER color your hair with anything even REMOTELY black again! No 'Ebony'. No 'Midnight'. Nothing referencing Medusa." But, I bought it anyway (sorry Mom!) and came home to dye my hair. Spoiler alert: Apparently, my hair is ALREADY "brown black" because there is no change in color. Dumb. Anyhoozle, let's move on to this week's questions!


Dear Crabby,
I know you've addressed Facebook etiquette before, but this is a little more specific. I have friend who is not a mother who shares EVERY LITTLE THING going on her life. Last week, she described - IN DETAIL - her latest, uh, bathroom event. She checks in everywhere, always is tagging people, and posts some of the most pointless status updates EVER! "Lost another sock in the wash. What is UP with that?!" Seriously, that's a real "status". That's not a STATUS, that's a brief, fleeting thought. I'm too good of friends with her to block her or hide her. Periodically, she'll address me specifically in a post, so I know she knows I'm there. What can I do? She's making me not want to check FB anymore!

Thanks for the help, lady!
-Wall of Shame

Hey Wall of Shame,
That's a touchy subject, yo. Clearly you are good enough friends with her that she references you on a frequent basis, but not good enough to pull her aside, buy her a shot and say "Hey, lay off posting the Worst Posts Ever on Facebook. You're ruining it and making me think seriously about cancelling my account." I say the next time she posts some lame-o comment, you fight fire with fire. If she loses a sock in the wash, you comment that you found hair in your drain. She talks about her bathroom habits? You comment with a very lengthy description of how blisters form and break. You'll become the star of HER Facebook page. Eventually people will tune in to her page to hear your comments, and then you've won. Make it a game. She'll either totally not get it, thereby giving you permission to keep doing it, or she'll get mad and you can be like "Sorry, dude! Just trying to spice up your posts a little!" It'll all work out. Or, just hack into her account and spam the crap out of people and her account will be deleted. Best of luck!

Dear Crabby,
I think I have a piece of glass stuck in my foot! I stepped on a broken glass like WEEKS ago, and my foot still hurts! What should I do?

With Sincere Gratitude,
Trouble's afoot

Hello TA,
First? I would not ask ME about anything involving feet. GROSS. My gut reaction would be to just chop your foot off now and call it a day. I guess, though, you're looking for a less horrific solution. Hmm...I asked Geo what he would do and he said "Scrape it with a tweezer or something until she can see the glass and then pull it out. If that doesn't work, leave it alone. Her body will probably reject it." I asked "And what if it doesn't?" And he said "I don't know, hopefully she's up-to-date on her shots, I guess." Helpful. I say: Go to the hospital. Run into the ER demanding help. Sure, they'll be mad, but they'll probably help ya out.

Dear Crabby,
My husband and I have been married for three years. We've lost the romance, obviously, but we're also just kind of like around each other, you know? I'm super crazed at work and have no time to spend trying to be all hot and crap. My husband just doesn't really try anything romantic anymore because he's busy too. Are we lame? What should we do? Do you think maybe he's cheating on me or something?

Thanks a lot, Crabby!
-Three Year Itch

Oh my dear, dear reader,
I have no clue if he's cheating on you, I'm sorry. Do you think he is? In your heart of hearts, do you believe he is? My best guess is that he's not. It sounds like you are just busy dudes, and the concept of long, romantic dinners followed by emotional chats by the fireplace bore the bejeebus out of you both. I don't know what to tell you. I DO know that you are by no means alone. I know loads of people who are going through the same thing. Also, I'm pretty sure there a bajillions of books focused on this exact subject, so I think I'd probably consult one of those experts if I were you. All I can tell you though, is that it sounds like everything is totally normal, if not ideal. Sorry! This is like, a REAL problem, and I have no REAL advice for you...good luck, though!

Well, cats and kittens, that ends another weekly installment of Dear Crabby. Think you know better? Meh, you probably do...but if you have some advice of your own, slap it in the comments. And don't forget! You can always email your own problemos to pharonsquare@gmail.com. I'll catch you on the flipside!

What's in the boooooxxxxxx?!

Dudes, I'm back! I took a much needed blogcation (what?) this weekend. Sorry if I left you hanging. Fear not! I'm back and I've spent several days with family, which restocked my material for my blogs. Pretty stoked about it.

Well, I had a positively wonderful Christmas. My family was incredible, we all had a great time, and it was really one of the best holidays ever. I got loads of awesome gifts, and everyone seemed to love what I got them. For those of you who are not friends of mine on Facebook, I will show you one of my favorite gifts:

That up there is a CRAFT CART! My parents gave it to me, along with all the stuff that goes in it. Ribbons and Modge Podge and paint brushes, oh my! It rules. I'm obsessed with it.

Okay, so moving on. Hey, everyone...guess what! Could you guys do me a solid and STOP FREAKIN' GETTING ENGAGED? In the past, oh, month or so, at least 10 (TEN!) people I know have done this. I've read all about it on Facebook, heard about it in emails, and have seen it written in the sky. Can I let you guys in on a secret, though?

It's annoying.

I mentioned this latest uptick in proposals very casually to Geo and he basically sets his arm on fire to get out of the conversation. And I've realized something.

You guys are making me crazy. Seriously. I've had a few moments to myself this weekend and I'll start thinking crazy thoughts. "Is it me?" "Do I really want to get married, or are all these a$$holes making me THINK I should be getting married just because they are?" and "Maybe I should brush my hair and train for a marathon." See? CRAZY THOUGHTS.

On Christmas night, I gave Geo his present. World's Biggest Duffle Bag from Patagonia. He'd been talking about for a week, and even emailed me a "Free 2-Day Shipping" thing from Patagonia. Needless to say, he knew what he was getting.

Then I got nervous. The only thing I told I him that I wanted was a pair of earrings I pinned on Pinterest. We discovered, however, that said earrings would set a dude back $5,400. I assumed I wasn't getting them. And I didn't.

But I was sitting on the couch and he handed me a Settlers of Catan game box. "I suck at wrapping, sorry. It's inside," he said. I opened the box and there was a jewelry box inside. A small one.

In that one breath where I truly, for the first time, thought he was going to propose, I found myself flummoxed. My heart literally skipped a beat and I threw up in my mouth...just a bit. Is this what I think it is? Am I excited about it? Am I supposed to cry or jump up and down? Why am I analyzing my emotions so much right now?!

He must have noticed something because too quickly he said "THEY'RE not the ones you wanted, but I think you'll like THEM." Inside, though, were some of the most gorgeous earrings ever. Diamonds! Silver! Just dangly enough! I loved them immediately.

So, yeah. Not a ring. Was it relief I felt? I don't know. But I do know I had a split second of relief to count myself as part of the jerkwads who were picking out linens and fonts and flowers. But relief? Is that really what happened? 'Cause that doesn't sound right.

That's when I decided that whatever emotional roller coaster I'm on is being driven by a bunch of Bridezillas, elopers and soon-to-be-Mr.-and-Mrs. crazy people.

Most of the Marrieds I know are happy. But many, many of the Engageds I know are no fun at ALL right now. Everything is "we" and they have bridal showers and cake eating and dress shopping crap to do. I'm too cranky, messy and clutzy to do ANY of those things yet. I know that. Geez.

Whatever happened in that hiccup of time was enough to leave me befuddled for weeks. I was SO excited, but all that other junk was, I don't know, a result of peer pressure maybe? I just said No to drugs, maybe this is another thing I need to say No to. That, or maybe I'll get hooked on the stuff the second try it.

I don't know. At this point, it's no man's land. I only know about 5 more people who aren't engaged, so I think this latest wave has passed. Let's hope so, because I'm really nervous that I'm going to just start defriending anyone else who takes the plunge. Do you want that to be you? I think not.

Okay, that's that. Wonderful Christmas, lovely family, momentary insanity. It's the trifecta...

Ho Ho Ho-lla!

Fa la la la la la, Squares! You guys ready for Christmas? Or are you already in the midst of your Hanukkah celebrations? Or maybe you're just ready for weekend so you can do whatever it is you do on weekends? Whatever. Here in the Pharon Square household, we celebrate Jesus and Santa and reindeer and wrapping paper. In case you didn't see me post it on Facebook or Pinterest, here are the first three presents I've wrapped:

It took roughly four hours per gift, so I'm exhausted. I have seven presents either wrapped or purchased, so that's a start. I still have...hmm...let's see, one, two, three, four, fixsixseven, eight, nine...NINE GIFTS TO COMPLETE/BUY. I've got a LOT of work ahead of me this weekend.

Not that I'm complaining. I seriously LURVE finding gifts. I'm like one of Santa's elves. I certainly have the same stature and tiny elf-feet.

Oh, hey! I know you won't get it delivered before Christmas, but you know what your best friend/girlfriend/sister/secret wife/boss would love?! Something from the Pharon Square Cafe Press store!! There's loads of cute junk in there! Just print off a picture of what you bought them, frame it in a $1 IKEA frame, and wrap that. Then give it to them when your friendly postal carrier delivers it. Spreading one gift over two days? It'll be like Christmas...SQUARED.

Well, I gotta get back to my wrapping. These gifts ain't going to elaborately decorate themselves!

I hope each one of you has a truly wonderful Christmas. I hope you're surrounded by friends and family and booze. Especially the booze. Just to warn you, I may take a couple nights away from blogging over the holiday weekend (consider it my gift to the haters). If you want a festive, fun post to read, go ahead and re-read last the awesome Christmas poem I wrote last year, mmmmmkay?

Make tons of merry, happy memories, okay? Love you guys!

Dear Crabby-Ho Ho Ho Edition

Hey there Grinches! I'm writing this on Geo's iPad so there may be typos. Strike that...there WILL be typos. Anyway, let's get down to some merry business!

Dear Crabby,

Hellllllp! I need a good gift idea for my mother-in-law! She is really sweet, but she always says she doesn't WANT anything. I don't want to show up for our first Christmas as a married couple empty handed! Any fool-proof ideas? We leave for her house on Friday, so I don't have much time! I know you'll have at least ONE trick up your sleeve.

Thank you,
One Maid a-Milking

Hey Maid,
Gift for the ol' MIL, eh? Let's see. How about something homemade? Cookies or something, you know? Oh wait. Unless you are a good baker, you may run the risk of giving the poor thing salmonella. Strike that. How about a shirt with a pic of her son screenprinted on it? Yay! What proud mamma WOULDNT want that? Ugh, you may not have enough time for that though. Okay, how about this: find an acorn. Dip it in peanut butter and feathers and then slap some words on it that you cut out of a magazine. When she asks you what it is, tell her you are pregnant. The gift of a grandchild trumps all. This would probably work best if you ARE pregnant, but if not, blame it on a false positive. Happy Holidays!


Dear Crabby,
I think my family hates my girlfriend. She's kind of abrasive and mean, which I'm used to, but my family hasn't really grown to love her like I do yet. I invited her to my family Christmas dinner, assuming she'd decline, but she actually accepted! My parents didn't seem too thrilled when I told them, and now I don't know what to do! How can I make peace on Earth-or at least peace in my parents' house for a few hours?

Felix navidad, Señorita!
One Drummer Drumming

Hey Drummer,
My suggestion? Virgin drinks for your lady, loaded egg nog for your parents. That is all.

Dear Crabby,
What's your favorite part of Christmas? Mine is spending time with family and friends. Oh, and I also love the smell of a Christmas tree! Oh, and Christmas movies!!! Anyway, what's yours?

Fa la la la la!!!
-Partridge in a Crazy Tree

Hi Crazy,
Glad to hear you love the holidays so much! I think you've got it covered when it comes to great things about Christmas. And then some. Anyway, my favorite part is probably the birth of Jesus and....oh wait, nope! My favorite part is actually the presents. Booyah!

And with that lovely seasonal sentiment, I must dash away to give billions of presents to billions of kids. Oops, no, that's not my job. I'm must dash away to the kitchen to eat 10 leftover cream cheese wontons. Next week, I'll be answering questions about New Years Eve and helping people recover from their disastrous Christmases when they drunkenly stumbled into the Christmas tree and called Grandma's new boyfriend a "cougar hunter". Ho Ho Ho-lla!!

Team Demon Baby

Out of all the movies playing in the theaters right now, Geo and I made the genius decision to see Twilight tonight. Truth be told, I suggested it. He and I have seen the other two, so I figured why not? Neither of the other two movies were good. Seriously. They were entertaining, to be sure, and Geo and I laughed and laughed and laughed all the way through them. What's that? They aren't supposed to be comedies? Whoops.

At any rate, we decide to see this movie because they other movies were either too late, too long, or too serious. Plus, I heard there's loads of gratuitous melodrama, and I'm all about that.

I won't give away too many spoilers. To be fair, if any of you care at all about this movie, you would have seen it already, so if you really are that crazy about the movie and don't want to hear any of the bloody details, you better stop reading.

And now...a Pharon Square production...A Review of Twilight: The Greatest Terrible Movie Ever

There's approximately 45 minutes of us just staring at crusty Kristin Stewart's sour face. Is she going to vurp (vomit+burp)? Is she suffering from a serious migraine? Is her Aunt Flo in town? Oh, no. She's just, uh, I think she's supposed to be happy? The range that girl has...

Anyway, she's "happy" because she's marrying a vampire.

Snooze your way through the wedding scene, because it lasts for 4 1/2 days. Cut to the juicy stuff. The honeymoon. Bow chicka bow wow! Oh, just more snarly-faced K-Stew? Relax, girlfriend! You're 18-years-old and married to a man who has no heartbeat and watches you while you sleep! What more could a girl ask for?!

Whoops. Look who's going to be the next star of Teen Mom! Looks like our fair heroine is preggers! What a miracle! The joys of motherhood...she's all glowy and happy. Just like a typical pregnant mortal.

Cue Edward's freak out: That "thing" inside of his betrothed is an evil demon spawn. It's growing at an incredible (for some reason). Maybe before he freaks out he should make sure it's not a food baby, because that happens to me all the time. Anyway, Edward's so conflicted, y'all! His wifey wants to keep the baby, but at what cost? AT WHAT COST, PEOPLE!?

Blah blah blah, lots happens. Werewolves are everywhere. Jacob is angry at Edward for sticking that devil bun in her oven, and everyone in the theater is mad at me. I'm laughing too hard, too loudly. Psht. Whatever. (Bonus insight to those of you who have seen the flick: E.J.? For a name? That was rich...)

Then there's just like 2 1/2 hours straight of us having to stare at the bony, malnourished, rotting-from-the-inside, pregnant K-Stew. She's seriously toe-up. She looks gross. Why do we have to keep looking at her? WE didn't marry her! GROSS. Oh, all K-Stew needs to do is drink blood to satiate the baby and keep it from eating her from the inside out? Cool! That TOTALLY doesn't make me want to puke.

Then comes the bloodbath. Birthin' vampires is a bloody business. Spoiler alert: There will be blood. Loads of blood. Blech.

Oh! There's one line - and out of context you may not understand my reaction, but whatevs - Edward the vampire is reading Jacob the werewolves mind (of course). I can only guess that Jacob peed on the baby or something because all of a sudden, all the wolves who wanted to eat that baby are all like "Oh no! We can't eat that baby NOW! Jacob claimed her!" The actual line is something like "Jacob peed imprinted on her, so we have to leave her alone. That's our most absolute law. I laughed so hard I almost imprinted on myself.

So the movie mercifully ends. Geo and I start strolling out, our sides sore from laughing, and the movie usher dude is like YELLING at people: "Y'all! The movie ain't over! Don't leave, TWI-HARDS!" First of all, broseph? I'm no Twi-Hard. Second? Don't yell at me using terrible grammar. Still, we stand there, staring at the credits. Then comes some quick little stupid prologue scene that takes about 45 seconds and is so annoying and dumb I almost go all Werewolf on the usher guy. As we walked out I said loudly "That was horrible. I wish we wouldn't have had to stay for that crap." Bazinga, dude.

Anyway, it was trrrrrible. I mean, it was exactly what I expected, and I was thoroughly entertained. Probably not in the way the director WANTED me to be entertained, but still. Go see it if you haven't already. Or, well, maybe just don't turn the channel if it comes on cable in the next few months.

Thith American Speech Impediment

Hi there. Does everyone on NPR's This American Life have some sort of speech impediment? Seriously, is that in the job application to be accepted to read a story on the air? I think it is.

Don't get me wrong. I love me some good ol' radio. I love listening to This American Life and learning a little something while listening to some soothing voices.

The voitheth are making me crazy though.

Every single episode I listen to has at least one person with what I call "lazy S syndrome". The lispy readings drive me bonkerth. I mean, I know a lot of the people on there are writers and weren't built for radio, but maybe TAL should have people read their stories for them.

You know how people say "You've got a face for radio?" Well, some of these people have a voice for miming.

I don't get it. How do you find THAT many people who cannot enunciate their S's? After a while, it drives me too nuts and I have to thtop lithening.

I'm worried that this is an epidemic. Is there an entire population of people who get together, decide to be super awesome writers, and then refuse to get some speech therapy? What if the Lazy S is some sort of mark of success in the writing world?

Well if that's the case, I'm totally willing to take my love of lazy behavior into the S world.

Shop...Like a Man

Geo and I went shopping on Saturday. Because he's a boy, Geo only brought home like 2 outfits. So we headed to the mall. If there is ever a situation in which a man has it easier, it is shopping.

First, we didn't have to hunt and hunt and hunt for a store that has a petites section. Or pants that come in "Ankle" or "Short" lengths. Men's pants are inherently easier to shop for. Pleated or flat front? What color? Okay, now just throw in your waist measurement and you're done. That's it. There aren't a bajillion different leg widths or cuts designed to flatter. They're just PANTS.

Geo didn't try a single thing on. He'd just look at a shirt and be like "Yay" or "Nay". He didn't have to think about what he'd wear with this sweater or whether that shirt would make his arms look fat. He didn't have to think about which bra he'd wear with an open back shirt or if this v-neck would be appropriate for work or not. There were just SHIRTS.

He also wanted to find grey undershirts. We looked at a couple places, and he couldn't find the right ones, so he just DIDN'T GET ANY. He didn't stand in front of a mirror trying on 45 different grey shirts and complaining that God must hate him because none of these shirts are right! GAH! He just didn't find what he wanted so he didn't get anything, and that was that. They just weren't THERE.

It was pretty crazy. I was in awe when he was all "La la la, here's a shirt I like. I'll just slip it on over my t-shirt and decide if I like it or not." That is not how I shop. I load my arms with 100 different fits and sizes of jeans, and go into the privacy of a fitting room where I can try stuff on, cry (if I'm trying on skinny jeans), and then come out and ask 10 people for their opinion. I'll tug at what needs tugging, shorten what needs shortening, and practice sitting and walking and looking at myself in a 16-way mirror to see what I look like in every plausible position. Then I'll weigh all the pros and cons of the item and ultimately put myself through the shame game whether I buy it or not. It's a lose-lose.

But, this just didn't happen when I shopped with Geo. He just either liked something or didn't. It was either too-expensive or it wasn't. That's it.

Maybe I'll try that next time I shop. I'll shop like a man. Sure I'll end up with ill-fitting pants that do nothing for my figure and 6 different colors of one shirt that I like. But! It'll be a much shorter shopping trip, I'm sure!

First/100th Date Jitters

Folks, today Geo came home. I picked him up after work and we came to my house. I fought every instinct in my body telling me to put on layers and layers of fleece, and stayed in my work clothes and even touched up my makeup. We watched the season finale of Sons of Anarchy, which we had promised to do a couple weeks ago, and I just sat there. Nervous. In my work clothes. Trying to have perfect posture. Continually offering him food. Then I had a horrible realization.

I do believe I'm on a first date, y'all!

Yeah. The memory of him finding me sleeping in the bathroom one morning after a night battling the flu went out the window. Suddenly I was all "I should brush my teeth. Do my feet smell? Should I have ironed my shirt? Is he going through my medicine cabinets in the bathroom?"

It's all just very new. For the past 2 months I had all but abandoned my attempts at looking nice and being a polite, feminine girl. I was all no showers and sweatshirts. Now he can now SEE my outfit and SMELL my general presence. I better pick it up.

Oh, and?! Now he's all in my space. I had spent so much time trying to make myself feel at home in this house that I left no place for anyone else to hang out.

The reality is that it's both disturbing and completely reassuring to see his shoes laying around again. I hung out missing him for so long and now that he's back, I have no idea what to do with myself now that I don't have to miss him.

Anyway, I broke down and bundled up in sweats. Geo went to his Investment Club meeting, and I came home and panic-dressed. Instead of comfort-eating, I comfort-dress.

Apparently, my solution is to binge-dress and blog about it. Cool? Cool.

Have a great weekend, everyone!

Dear Crabby

Hey pals! Okay, I'm not going to bypass Dear Crabby this week. Sheesh! The hate mail I received was non-existent overwhelming! So let's get right down to brass tacks..

Dear Crabby,
Okay, I so I called a psychic last weekend. I know, I know. It was probably dumb. But she told me all kinds of stuff that I really haven't shared with other people. She explained that my heart is closed off because of my fear of getting hurt. I know she's right! When I asked her what I could do about it, she said that it was up to me to open my heart up. I'm not sure how to do that. What would YOU do? How do you open up your heart when the concept of being hurt is so scary?!

Thanks Crabbers!
-Ouija Help Me Out Here?!

Dear reader,
Let me get this straight. So far, you have consulted a psychic, an unknown blogger with no counseling experience whatsoever, and then you reference a OUIJA board in your letter? Lady, you got problems. And they're not problems that can be fixed with a $2.99/minute phone call. I'll give you some advice though. Note, please, that I'm not a professional. Nor is the "psychic". Nor is a Ouija board. Here's the thing. It's hard for MOST people to "open their heart". Getting hurt is, like, totally not something people enjoy. My advice to you is chillax. When someone says "Open your heart" it usually means something like "Stop being so self conscious/angry/mean." That's all. Relax, try smiling, and quit asking everyone for advice. Kay?

Dear Crabby,

I get so stressed out at the holidays! I have loads of people that I want to find gifts for, but obvs I am not exactly flush in the finance department. (Excuse me while I join the rest of the world.) What are you opinions on homemade gifts for the holidays? Is that tacky? Or are there any inexpensive go-to gifts I should consider?

Thanks and happy holidays!
-Santa on a Budget

Hey Santa!
Listen. I'm right there with you when it comes to getting a bit overwhelmed with the amount of shopping and presents that must be tended to. However, I LOVE shopping for gifts. I love love love love love it. But this year, I'm shaking things up and MAKING a few of the gifts I want to give. I won't say what I'm making or who it's for, but trust that I've done loads of research. Homemade gifts can be the BEST gifts ever because they are unique. My sister-in-law Leah gave me this necklace she made for reading at her wedding. It's one of my most favorite necklaces, and it is totally one-of-a-kind which makes it even more special. If you ARE going to make a gift, don't half-a$$ it. Spend time doing it. Get the right materials. Don't take shortcuts. The only thing that makes a homemade gift "cheap" is if you put no thought or effort into it. So go ahead and get on Pinterest and find something you think you can make really well. Let us know how it turns out!

Dear Crabby,
The other day I was driving home from school and on my way back home. On the way, I spaced out for a bit and ended up bumping a stop sign with my car. My parents haven't said anything because I don't think they've seen it, but I don't know if I should say anything to them! The damage is really minor, but I don't want to get caught in a lie. Should I tell them!?

Thank you so much!
Student Driver

Oh no, Student Driver...
First of all, I reaaaaally hope you are legally able to drive, because you sound crazy-young. Moving on...my advice to you is FESS UP. Even if you think you're parents will never find out, the guilt will rip you up. Also? Parents find out about EVERYTHING. They may not notice the damage now, but in 6 months when they take the car into the shop for an oil change, they may be asked something like "Well, we noticed the damage to the bumper. What happened? Because it totally messed with your air filters," or something similarly bull-honkyish. Then you're in trouble for the accident AND for lying. Just tell them and get it over with. You're safe, the car's fine. If they do freak out, tell 'em Crabby says to simmer down because really? INBD.

Alright, team. Sorry about missing last week, but it looks like we're back on track! As per usual, go ahead and send some of your neediness my way and send an email to pharonsquare@gmail.com. I'll make sure you don't do something stupid.

Nailed it!

This just in: No one wants to hear you clip your nails. NO ONE. I don't care if you are in a vacuum and your nail clippings are made of glitter and promises. The SOUND of someone clipping their nails is disgusting.

I have no idea how a person can sit in public and clip...clip....................CLIP their nails. That's how it always goes. You hear the first clip and then the second. And you foolishly think "Phew! All done!" and as soon as you've calmed down your gag reflex, they clip again. And again. And again. How many nails does one person have?!

When I was in fifth grade, my science teacher Mr. Meneely (the spelling of his name is up for debate) yelled at "someone" who was biting her nails in class. He said "I'm going to take one of those nails that you bite off and make you look at it under a microscope if you do that again." That, and the fact that that cute little girl got braces that year, put an end to her nail biting posthaste.

See, nails are full of bacteria. There's dirt and gunk and who-knows-what else under the nails. Especially when they are long enough to have to clip immediately in the presence of others.

Listen, if there were a way that a person could tend to their manicure without the brain-punching "CLIP! CLIP!" sound, I'm sure I'd be all for it. It's not so much that I think people are just clipping nails willy nilly, with nail chunks flying everywhere, it's the SOUND that makes me want to eat my tongue.

In conclusion, if for some reason you are set on clipping your nails on a whim, head to the bathroom or a storage closet of something. Unless, of course, you LIKE to feel the sting of a zillion snarled glares and gnashed teeth directed solely at you.

That concludes this public service announcement.

Roommaids

Man, living in a clean house is tough work. I knew I had to clean my stupes room tonight, because it was becoming a major eye sore. I kept my door closed for weeks so as not to offend my roommates with visions of dirty underwear, unopened mail, half-completed craft projects, shoes, shoes, and more shoes. Tonight I knew I had to do something about it. We are having company in a few days, after all (Geo!) and I don't want him to think I'm some sort of slob.

Oh wait. I lived with him for 3 years and we shared a kitchen and a bathroom. He knows all too well that I never fold or put away clean laundry, that I kick off my shoes wherever I decide to sit down, and that I'm a firm believer in letting dishes "soak"...a.k.a. set in the sink until someone else puts them away.

Anyway, so I knew I had to clean. I just didn't WANT to clean. At that moment, I had a totally awesome idea. I had to wait until juuuuuuuust the right moment, though. I was going to ask Claire to clean my room for me.

I know you're thinking "Uh, WHY would you think a bazillion years that your roommate would clean your room for you?" The answer, dear friends, lies in history.

See, Claire and I grew up next door to each other. She is a year younger than me, and therefore used to do everything I wanted her to. When I clogged our toilet with cotton balls, guess who reached her freckled hand in to pull them out for me? CLAIRE. When I lost my temper while we were building a snowman guess who I white-washed? CLAIRE.

And when my mom would forbid me from playing with Claire until my room was clean, guess who snuck over to my house to pick up all my clothes for me? CLAIRE. She may have cleaned my room more than I did. Meanwhile, I'd lay on my bed and direct her around. "That sweater goes in my closet. NO, Claire, FOLD IT!" "Um, I don't know where that book goes. Just throw it away." That was the life.

So tonight, I thought I'd give it a shot. I mean, she loves to clean, and I love to not clean. We're the perfect pair! It's like I'm doing her a favor. Before I got a chance to ask her, though, the neighbor came over to chat. I was wearing my trademark pink fleece, so I made a dash for the safety of my room before he could judge me. While I was holed up in there, I just sucked it up and cleaned.

I just told her I was going to ask her to clean my room for me earlier tonight, and she said "Oh God, I probably would have..."

However, she DID yell up to me at one point while I was cleaning "Hey, do you mind if I vacuum your stairs?" No, Claire, I don't mind at all. Now, could you come up here and take a look at my toilet?

Awkward Family Photos

Happy birthday to my totally awesome dad!! His birthday was yesterday, but we celebrated tonight with a nomnom family dinner. A totes lame thing happened while I was there, but I'll get to that in a second. My dad is the world's hardest person to shop for. He's got it all. I found something that I thought was actually kind of cool, a brew-your-own root beer making kit. I also got him card that read "Happy Birthday! Time to shave another llama!" and then on the inside it said something like "Or whatever you do in your culture." My dad was all "Uhhh..." Sometimes people don't get me.

But I love my dad heaps and loads and wish him the happiest of birthdays!!

So, okay. The lame thing. I go over to my parents house with my sick present and awkward card, and I walk in to see my sister Prinna and my mom working the computer. They were making the family Christmas card, and Prinna was all "Oh good! You're here." This can't be good.

This year, my enormous family wasn't all in the same room at the same time very often. And when we were, at least one of us was wearing sweatpants or had bad hair or something. Therefore: no cute photos were taken. So, what do you send out for a Christmas card when you have no picture? You put together a collage.

Our collage looks like this. The photos are arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree. At the top is my mom and dad. Underneath them is one of my sister Padrin and her husband and their two kids. Next to that is a picture of my sister Prinna and her husband and their three kids. Then came my brother Peter and his wife. Right before a picture of my brother Perek and HIS wife was...

A picture of me with my mom.

Wah waaaaaaaah...

Prinna was all "Sorry. What do you want to do?" I looked at the proposed layout. I studied it, thought about it, turned it around in my mind, and came up with a perfect solution. See, I didn't want people to think I am unaware that "one of these things is not like the other". I didn't want to try and trick people. I KNOW I'm the singleton on the Christmas card. I don't have another person to steal half the shot from me, so I wanted to take full advantage.

I had Prinna take the picture off of my mom and me - which WAS lovely, BTW - and replace it with a much more appropriate shot of me. It's me, and only me. At a tailgate in Iowa City. I've got a Hawkeye tattoo on my face and at least a couple beers in my system. Then, I have a nice, long strip of hair across my face. Right under my nose. That's right, people. In our fancy family Christmas card, here's the one I put in for me:

Yup. It's perfect. It says "Happy holiday! I'm funny and independent and would probably look great with a mustache."

Simply Tasteful

Oy vey. So, I got into a little tiff with Geo tonight. It was one of those frustrating, "maintain your composure" things that left me...not wanting to be around men. It was a happy coincidence, then, that I had been invited to a Tastefully Simple party with loads of girls tonight.

Kim picked me up and was all "What's up your butt?" And I was all "Nothing. Men..." She understood immediately and said something like "Good thing we are going to a food-eating party!" She knows me so well.

What IS a Tastefully Simple party, you ask? Only the greatest party EVER. You go to someone's house, the "host" makes loads of crazy-good food that you eat in little bite-sized servings, then you drink wine, chit chat about things like Christmas decorations and Justin Bieber, and that's it! Well, okay, that's not IT. After you're stuffed full of nomnom food, you browse through a catalog of all the food you just inhaled and then you can buy said food.

Guys? I. Bought. Food. Tastefully Simple could make a killing off hosting parties for Girls Who Have Recently Argued With Their Boyfriend because we are a hungry group. I got: 3 beer bread mixes, some pomegranate chipotle sauce thing, a wonder food called "Garlic Garlic" (it's EXACTLY what it sounds like), beer cheese soup, and almond pound cake mix. I'm sure there were a few other things, but it was all ordered in a hazy, food-coma blur so I'm a little fuzzy on the details. I think that's how they "getcha".

Turns out I love parties that revolve around the serving, eating and then ordering of food. It's great fun. It was totally awesome meeting new friends, too. I accidentally took a shot at "people who live north of highway 394" and offended at least two women, though. Me and my big mouth...

Overall, it was a great night. Oh, and who knew you could make bread with BEER?! That's, like, two of the best food groups EVER! I have a feeling that I'll be having a Tastefully Simple party soon. I'll invite you guys, as long as you promise to come hungry...

Have a delicious weekend, everyone!

Dear Crabby...Or Not

Soooo...I had a super great Happy Hour with my friends from my old job tonight. I had nearly forgotten how much I like them. They are all funny and witty and clever and NICE! Plus, there is nothing more comforting than being able to start a sentence with "So, you know how I love Amish people?" and have them all nod knowingly like "Yes, yes, we know...go on..." And it's the first time in weeks I've shared an inside joke with someone other than myself. It was positively refreshing and fun. I'm so glad they still ask me to hang out with them!

I kind of don't want to write a Dear Crabby tonight. I feel kind of bad because I know that literally fives and tens of people need my help solving their dumb problems. I also hate breaking routine, but I really just want to write about my happy hour tonight. Wait, what's that you say? This is MY blog and I can do whatever I want?! Alrighty then! I'm putting Dear Crabby on the back burner this week, because I'd rather talk about my former bosses and friends instead.

I met up with four of my old coworkers tonight: Melissa, Maria, Kathleen and Brad. Three of them were my bosses at some point. And they are STILL willing to hang out with me! Huzzah!

Anyhoozle, we met up in downtown Minneapolis, and as soon as I drove into downtown and saw the skyline, I salivated. Oh how I've missed tall buildings and public transportation! Anyway, I parked, cursed the terrible parallel parkers around me, fed the meter and realized I was totally nervous! Have I changed in the three weeks since I since I worked with them? Has my attitude towards spreadsheets changed at all? Have they found and fell in love with my replacement yet?

The answer to all those questions, of course, is NO. Nothing had changed. I fell right back into the easy conversation and camaraderie that I used to have on a daily basis. I laughed way too loudly and made more than my share of inappropriate comments. Because they have no delusions of who I am, I happily guzzled cheap beer and ate fried food to my heart's content.

I mentioned to them that I sometimes have a hard time fitting in at the new job. I tried to get some sympathy from them, but they would have none of it. They insisted that it'll get easier, and I was reminded that I felt the exact same way when I started working with them. And look at me now! Sharing laughs and drinks with the very same people who used to intimidate me? Taking jabs at the exact same people who used to grade my performance at annual reviews? I could feel that scared, intimidated girl melt away the second I took my coat off.

When I started working with them, I was the picture of politeness. I watched my language and giggled at every attempt at humor anyone pointed in my general direction. It was only when I got real, though, that people started to really warm up to me. I knew I wasn't fooling anyone with my Suzy Happyface routine. I knew it and THEY knew it.

It's a shame that I don't get to see them everyday anymore, but it really makes me appreciate how much I really do like them. It's not like I just happen to see them because we sit near each other and hate the same things. I can look forward to hanging out and chatting about everyone's latest shenanigans.

My favorite part of tonight was finally - FINALLY! - being able to discuss Geo's latest hare-brained scheme and have people automatically side with me. What can I say? I'm a sucker for loyalty...

Anyway, thanks to the awesome friends I was lucky enough to call coworkers, and who are crazy enough to call me for happy hour.

SWF seeks Loads of Stupid Men to Live With

So I watched another episode of The New Girl tonight. I didn't want to, but I did. I got hooked because I have such fond memories of living with dudes. I thought "Hey this show, despite it's many many flaws is a pretty awesome show for chicks who have lived with guys." And I came to a terrifying realization.

I wanna live with guys again.

I do, you guys! I wanna move in with a load of men. I miss my platonic man friendships. I miss being berated for wearing too much jewelry, and being able to make fun of a man for wearing a way-too-deep V-neck shirt.

Mostly, I miss being a bystander in a Man Conversation. "Should I shave tonight?" "How much cash should I bring on this date tonight?" "Do you think she'll care if I wax my eyebrows?"

The brain of a man is horribly fascinating place and I like being in there. There's no talking, no non-verbal cues, no nothing. All you have in a group of men is your wit and your thick skin. As a a woman, it proves to be an exciting challenge. The typical girl drama need not apply.

I miss stepping up my game. I miss weighing silence with thoughtful digs. Or using suggestive sweatpant-placement to achieve the doing of dishes. Or tossing my hair at just the right second when discussing feminism. Mostly, I miss knowing that I have earned my way into being an equal.

I live with a guy now. Sort of. He is the very serious boyfriend of my friend who owns this house. He tries to give me crap...but it doesn't have the same effect on me. It's more like "I wish you weren't here. Get out." Even when I make cookies or brownies or insist on watching golf on Sundays, I can't seem to win him over. I don't know where I'm going wrong, but I'm out of my element.

So, basically, I'm taking applications to live very low-maintenance men who enjoy the company of a witty, pseudo-opinionated young woman. Any takers?

Curly Sue

Let me paint a picture for you. My hair is as curly as uncooked Creamette spaghetti. Meaning: it is decidedly NOT curly. It lays flat on my tiny head and in the humid summer months, the split ends just frizz up and I look like a homeless (caveless?) cavewoman. That's as "curly" as it gets.

I've tried everything to have curly hair, short of getting a perm. I've used hot rollers, full cans of hairspray, small-barreled curling irons, large-barreled curling irons, a diffuser, curling gel, curling shampoo, curling prayers, everything. And if I manage to get the slightest wave in my hair, it falls flat the second I leave the bathroom. All that work for nathan...

Then Claire gifted me with some curlers (and by "gifted" I mean "she was going to give them away to Goodwill and I snagged them from the pile"). She's all "Oh yes, take them! They are miracle curlers! I got two sets, so you can take this one." So, I squirreled them away in my room with the other stuff I've gotten/stolen from Claire.

Last night, I got the urge to take 'em for a spin. My first impression when I opened them was "Oh. Ew. They're tampons."

Unsure, I quick showered and prepped my hair. Then I brought the "curlers" down to Claire to make sure I had the right package. She sighed and sat me down on the floor. "Tampons? Really, Pharon? Are you eight-years-old? Yes, Pharon. These are curlers. We'll put them in your hair and you'll wake up with curly hair."

Yeah, we'll see about that...

So Claire wraps my wet hair around all the tampons curlers. I looked at myself in the mirror when she was done and said "I look like an elderly Annie." But, I went to bed anyway. It took roughly 37 minutes for me to get in a comfortable position because I didn't want to smoosh the curlers. Sure the curlers are super soft and spongy, but the only thing worse than no curls is flat, misshapen curls. Amiright ladies!?

Cut to 6 1/2 hours later. I pried myself out of bed and distractedly checked my email before remembering the curlers. I was so excited I didn't even get up to put my contacts in. I blindly started to unravel the Tampax. I immediately deflated. My hair felt as light and fluffy as it had the day before. I went into the bathroom, put my contacts in, and screamed.

Over night, I had morphed into Jennifer Grey from Dirty Dancing. But, like, HOT. I jumped up and down with pure glee. And my hair bounced right along with me. It was even TOO curly. After I finished bopping around the bathroom, I realized that I almost looked like I had a wig on. I had to kind of tamper down the curl. I got it looking pretty Hollywood-ish when I realized "Don't get too attached to this hair, Pharon. These curls will be totally unraveled by the time you finish making your coffee."

But. It. Stayed. Curly.

Here's how my hair looked after a long day at work, a stressful trip to the car dealership and a long, drawn-out trip to Target. Also, it was freezing and windy all day which didn't help anything. But here it is:

STILL. CURLY. So yeah, Claire's miracle tampon curlers RULE. I will be doing them loads more. The only thing is that I think I got sick from sleeping with wet hair in a cold room. Whatever. Totally worth it.

Glitter, Shopping and a Wolf Sweatshirt

So many more projects done this weekend! Claire and I had another Club Project day yesterday (she's threatening to take away Club Project days because I keep calling them Project Craft days all the time). This week, we had to prepare by going to IKEA.

No one doesn't love IKEA stuff.

Sure it's crazy-hectic and crowded in that store, but you can buy and eat French toast sticks while browsing through the lighting section, and mama likes to eat and shop.

Anyway, so we got loads of fun stuff for Club Project. We were getting ready to check out when we realized how long we had been there and were running late. I concluded that I would go through the self-checkout lane, because I'm a speedy checker-outer. But the combination of my large items I was purchasing, the complete lack of available bags, and a real plant for my desk and I ended up nearly breaking some jars I bought and standing in an inch of dirt from my upside-down plant.

Whatever, we finally got home and heeeeeeeeere are the final products!

Glitter candles! Double-stick tape! These were insanely easy and turned out really well.

Then I had to get a white scarf. Claire and I originally went to a fabric store because I was going to attempt to MAKE a scarf, but the cocky fabric store lady said "Oh honey, it'll be much easier if you just BUY a scarf. Seriously." Rude woman...

But I bought the scarf and wrote some braniac beat poetry on it from Jack Kerouac...

And voila! Totally awesome scarf!

By the end of the afternoon, I was pretty sure I was high off the marker fumes and didn't quite make it to our last project. The whole reason we WENT to IKEA was for this:

I'm going to turn it into a very elaborate and enormous jewelry holder. It's going to be adorable.

So yeah, I worked really hard this weekend. Oh, and I shoveled not once but TWICE last night. Such a busy bee...This morning I couldn't be bothered to change out of my "work" clothes.

I sent that picture to Geo this morning and he texted back, and I quote, "MY EYES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Nice guy, right?

Anyway, I guess that concludes this photo tour of my weekend. I am going to finish cleaning the glitter from my sweatpants. Laterzzzz!

Hey Kids! Get Off My Internet!

I've got my panties in a bundle, dudes. I'm SO annoyed today. I've vented about parenthood before and I'm afraid I'm going to do it again. BEWARE!

Before I get ahead of myself in my ranting, I want to say this: I'm obsessed with my nieces and nephews. I'll do anything to protect them. Anything. I absolutely adore children and the concept that they are, you know, our future. Okay, so the kids I DON'T know annoy the crap out of me, but that is almost completely irrelevant. Kids are little, spongy brains who rely on taller people to tell them what to do. But where, exactly, is the line?

I have been a longtime fan of STFU Parents. It essentially points out the ridiculousness of people who dominate our Facebook feeds with news of their young ones' pooping habits. Sure there are other issues, but that's totally the most disturbing to me.

Anyhoozle, tonight STFU Parents featured, for the first time, a crazy parent ON PINTEREST. PINTEREST! My dear, dear baby! All of a sudden, overzealous parents are all trying to squash the freedom on Pinterest now! This is, to be blunt, really effing not okay with me. Here's a link to what I'm talking about: Fun Hater.

For starters, that picture is HIIIIILARIOUS. I lol'd. But then people have to ruin it for me by being all "Hey, my kids read this! Watch your language!" GUH!

I didn't hear my first swear word until I was in 2nd grade. I remember a 6th grader named Robin said the word "Goddamn" on the playground and I almost pooped my pants. I have no idea how I KNEW it was a bad word, but I knew. My parents have never allowed swear words in our house. To this day, I check my potty mouth at the door. The point is, my parents didn't go over to her parents house and discuss, at length, what impact Robin's swearing had on me, and request that they change their language so that I wouldn't be tainted with her cursing.

No, my parents taught me that swearing was basically rude and against the rules. And because I'm not always a quick study, I ate my share of Dial soap in my day. When I got to college, though, I learned that "we must learn the rules before we can learn to break them with purpose". Meaning: I can spit out World's Most Effective Swear Word when necessary. So, Robin had no effect on me whatsoever other than to provide a clever story on a blog.

The reality is that I censor myself online. But I censor myself because I'm pretty sure my parents would still love to wash my mouth out with soap if I said something crass. I do NOT censor myself because other people's CHILDREN may or may not stumble onto my musings. It is simply not my job to teach a child about appropriate language.

See, Robin wasn't in charge of me, and I'm not in charge of other people's kids. There are loads of places kids don't belong when it comes to the Internet. Facebook, for instance. Or, you know, Google or whatever. Hey parents? Guess what! You CAN stop your children from being on sites you don't like. I mean, I don't know how you go about doing that, but I'm told it's possible.

Meanwhile, I just had a conversation with my sister Padrin. Her 12-year-old daughter has been on Pinterest, so I asked what she thought. She said - and this was music to my ears - "I tell my kids they will hear and see lots of things that aren't appropriate. They can hear it but they can't say it. I can also not put them in situations where I know there's going to be lots of stuff that I don't want them to see, but that's up to me."

Then I told Padrin to kiss my a$$. :)

Dear Crabby

Alright guys, let's get crazy. Time for Dear Crabby! Huzzah!

Dear Crabby,
I've got some major drama. After spending Thanksgiving with my family who I don't see very often, I am reminded why I see them so rarely. For starters? My step-dad started in on the whiskey a little early and started making fun of the fact that I recently got my haircut. It's a little shorter than usual, but the kind of comments he made were just really out of line. Meanwhile, his kids (my step-siblings) were totally obnoxious and kept screaming "You're a loser, you're a loser!" They are 12-year-old twin boys, and everyone else was laughing with them. But the worst part, I think, was that since my mom hates my boyfriend, I couldn't bring him with me. My mom spent the whole time trying to hook me up my uncle's friend from work. He's totally skeevy, and when I tried to tell her that, she told me that I'm "not cute enough to be so picky".

I really want to enjoy spending time with my family, but they are RUTHLESS. Do you think I'll ever be able to have a good relationship with them? Any suggestions? Sorry this isn't the typical question people ask, but I would love some input.

Thank you!
Sever the Family Ties?

Oh boy,
You are right. This is NOT the kind of question I usually get, but that's all good! I'll give a shot. Listen lady, your family sounds insane. They are rude, unsupportive, and overall sucky. But, I understand your desire to foster a relationship with your family. When it works, a family is probably the single greatest thing ever. I think, though, that in this case you just might need to get a different family. Your step-dad and siblings sound like a waste of time altogether. And just because your mom gave you your DNA (half of it?) doesn't mean she deserves to hang out with you. See if you can click a little better with your boyfriend's family and maybe they'll adopt you. Or smuggle your way into a friend's family get-together. Whatever you do, I say take an extended break from your own family so they don't have the opportunity to drag you down to their level. Good luck, though. Get away from the toxic relationships and make your own family!

Oh, and P.S? Those kids sound like the biggest jerks! Ugh! If you ever have to hang out with them again, "accidentally" give them each a swirlie and then replace all their underwear with diapers.

Dear Crabby,
Have you ever tried tinting your eyelashes or eyebrows? I'm thinking of doing mine, but I'm pretty sure it's too hard to do myself. Would you do it?

Thanks!
The Eyes Have It

Hello TEHI,
Wait, I'm confused. Are you asking ME to do the tinting for YOU? If so, no effing way. There's no way I'm getting dye, bleach, or any other toxic chemicals near someone else's eyes. Sorry. But if you're asking me if I would ever get it done myself...the answer is still "no effing way". See aforementioned reason re: toxic chemicals near eyeballs. I'm sure you should go and get it done professionally if you need to, though. At least if something goes wrong, you'll have someone else to blame/sue for damages.

Dear Crabby,
Every single year, my girlfriend and I fight about our Christmas tree. She wants a fake one. That's frosted white. I, on the other hand, would love to go and chop down a real tree so our house smells good. Could you weigh in? She reads your blog and I'm sure she'd appreciate hearing your side (I'm also assuming you will be taking MY side).

Thanks Crabber,
Tree's a Crowd

OMG, Tree's a Crowd,
First of all? How DARE you make assumptions about me! Rude! You don't KNOW me! Now, moving on, you are right. I AM going to take your side. Despite your obvious overly-masculine need to "chop down your own tree", I can tell you have a sensitive side that appreciates the homey ambiance a real tree can provide. I prefer live trees because they do smell nice. And then I like to burn them up for warmth in mid-January. So tell your girlfriend to get her mittens on and go out to get a real tree. If she really puts up a fuss, then you'll just have to compromise. You know, each of you get your own tree. Two trees! Yay! Hope this helps, brah!

Well, that does it! Anotha day anotha dollah. Aw man, I wish people paid me for this advice...then again, it's totally priceless. Okay, if you need some FREE advice, send an email to pharonsquare@gmail.com. And, you know, if you're feeling generous go ahead and send me a dollar too. Holla!

Christmas Wish / Give Me Your Money

And now, for something COMPLETELY different...

Yesterday I waxed prolific on cauliflower. I know you're all "Pharon, that post totes changed my life!" But I know - and YOU know - that it was the typical nonsense I usually spew. And I love that you love that particular brand of idiocy, but today is different. Today I am going to be serious for a sec. (Or, as serious as I CAN be.) Today, I rode an emotional rollercoaster to work. How, you ask?

Because 'tis the season for the KDWB Christmas Wish.

Unless you are a hater of top 40 music and clever drive time radio banter, you know about the Christmas Wish. For those who don't, here's the gist:

People write in to KDWB (our local radio station) with a truly heartbreaking story of a loved one along with a "Christmas wish" for them. Then the DJs - who are usually crass and brash and toeing the line between cheesy and hysterical - read the letters on the air. Instead of the usual celebrity bashing gossip-fest, they take time to be sensitive and caring for the people in their community. (Hey! That's just like THIS blog RIGHT NOW!)

Then they surprise the clueless subject of the letter, who is someone who is really suffering, and grant a Christmas Wish. The recipients are the most grateful people on the planet, and can be counted on to say something like "I may be down, but I'm not out and I have the support of wonderful friends and family who help me through [enter devastating personal trauma here]." Cue tears.

Then the DJs announce that the nominee will be given loads of toys, or money towards their car payments, or furniture for their apartment, or an appointment with a dentist, or something similar. Lives are changed, people are grateful, I'm sobbing.

Oh, did I mention the ambiance music? See, playing in the background during this whole thing is quiet holiday-slash-depressing music that only amplifies the emotional depth of the whole thing. As soon as it starts, I know I'm in for a teary drive.

The point of all this is that today they held a Christmas Wish-a-thon. They granted a Christmas Wish every hour, so instead of one big story, I heard loads of smaller (albeit still very sad) stories. It worked. I came home, logged on to the KDWB website and made a donation.

It wasn't a big one, and I'm honestly not trying to show off (whatever...I am...a LITTLE). But the point is that today I heard three stories of people who really needed help. And they weren't even ASKING for it. It came from their friends or family who wanted to help THEM. I can appreciate that feeling. I know that when my sister went through the tragedy of losing her daughter, I would have done anything to help her. I guess I just want to do my part to Pay It Forward. So many people gave donations to Faith's Lodge on her behalf, and I'll always be grateful for that.

So today I decided to give money to a bunch of strangers who usually find fart jokes funnier than even I do because they'll use it to help someone who really needs it. They'll give winter clothes and toys to the kids of a single mother who got in an accident and can't work. They'll give a vacation to a family who suffered the devastating blow of losing a parent.

The point is, good things - TANGIBLE things - are being done with this money. It's immediate and it's helping people who really need it but would never ask for it. I'm really hoping that at least some of you take a few mins and donate your beer money for the week to a complete stranger who could really use it. It's the holiday season, people.

That's it. That's my pitch to you. Give money to Christmas Wish or Faith's Lodge or whoever you want. But really? Just help someone out if you can.

Yay! I'm helping!

(Cauli)Flower Power!

Well LOOK AT ME. I was all grocery shopping and cooking dinner and saving some dinner for lunch tomorrow and cleaning the kitchen. These moments of culinary productivity are few and far between. It's no secret that I'm terrible at cooking. So any night I put on my cooking hat is an event. Tonight? The dish was baked potato soup, courtesy of that chick Gina over to the left in my blog roll Gina's Skinny Recipes. She has THE BEST recipes that are lighter and still supes delish. All was going well with tonight's recipe until I found myself putting cauliflower in my cart.

Pharon doesn't do cauliflower.

I don't know why I have such an aversion to cauliflower. It's basically, like, white broccoli right? But I had faith in Gina. I hesitantly dropped the white broccoli into my cart and moved on.

So I'm home, chopping up the white stuff. And I briefly flashed back to the guys in college who wrestled. Despite that super hot onesie deal they wear that looks like they pulled a thong up and over their shoulders, wrestlers are pretty cool. At least the ones I knew. But the major kink in that chain is their ears. Tiny, bubbly ears from getting their heads squeezed between another guy's legs. Cauliflower ears. Ew.

I continued gagging while chopping the cauliflower that I was soon going to ingest while I tried to not think "these are ears these are ears these are ears these are ears". I finally had a good rhythm going with the steaming and the peeling and the cooking and whatnot when my roommate Andrew came home.

Andrew: "What are you making?"

Pharon: "Baked potato soup."

Andrew: "Oh. So...what's with all the cauliflower?"

Pharon: "It's low fat potato soup. There's only like A potato in it. The rest is cauliflower that will apparently be masquerading as potatoes."

Andrew: "Hmm. Sounds about right. Just don't sit anywhere around me."

Pharon: "Rude. I don't WANT to sit anywhere around you ANYWAYS. Wait, why?"

Andrew: "You don't know? Well, cauliflower apparently makes some people really, uh, gassy."

............Say whaaaaaa?

What is up with THAT?! Just as I had gotten the whole tiny wrestler ear image out of my head, in comes the Pharting Pharon image? WTF, cauliflower?!

An old boyfriend I had ate LOADS of cauliflower. He smothered it with cheese, and I STILL wouldn't eat it. I USED to feel bad because word on the street is that cauliflower is good for you, and cheese is like one of my favorite foods. What could go wrong? But not only do I not regret refusing the white broccoli, but I now know that that smell was NOT the neighbor cooking veal and egg salad.

I soldiered on, though. I kept mixing and cooking and splattering soup everywhere (because OBVS I don't have an immersion mixer, and a hand mixer is a poor replacement). I really wanted this to work. Finally, it was Go Time. I garnished the soup with chives and bendy turkey bacon (in retrospect, I should have splurged on real bacon because there IS no substitute) and took the first bite.

It wasn't good, you guys. IT WAS GREAT. All the taste and texture of a baked potato with none of the guilt! I loved it. It was definitely worth it all the inner turmoil I had to battle. I forgot all about the ears, and I ate 3 hours ago and have not had the same unfortunate side effects that plagued my ex.

Yup, I'd say I'm a winner all around.

A Traditional Girl

And so the season of traditions begin! From the Macy's Day Parade to my raging hangover on January 1, the time between Thanksgiving and New Year's Day is full of little traditions that make me really enjoy this holiday.

The dumb part is that there are a bunch of traditions I love that I can't do this year. Primarily, I like putting out some Christmas decorations. I don't have a ton of them, because I'm not a huge "seasonal decorator" (and never understood the point of fake snow when there's loads of the real stuff ruining my drive every day), but I have a few of them that I love. Unfortunately, my box of decorations is packed up in storage with all my other "non-essential" boxes that I had to store after my last move. And then there's the whole Christmas tree thing. Geo and I would go and pick one out, and I'd decorate it while he put the Christmas lights up. We'd listen to Christmas carols and I'd drink too much pumpkin ale and start over-tinselling the tree. How joyous!

But this year, I guess I need to focus on the traditions I CAN keep.

Tradition One is to get out to Target and buy myself a pair of children's holiday socks in the dollar aisle (yay for freaky-small feet!) On Friday, after my insane mom and sisters and sister-in-law got back from a seventeen hour shopping marathon (THEIR very insane tradition) I decided to join them on their final leg when they went to Target. I had to get my socks. I was not disappointed and came out of there with a spankin' new pair of sparkle polka-dot holiday socks.

I've also started my very strict traditional diet of pumpkin pie, potatoes of all kinds, and gravy that is legitimately 1/2 FAT. Seriously. I saw it being made, and the recipe called for FAT. Stupid, tasty fat. This obvs leads to my most loathed tradition of gaining 140 pounds. I can't help it, you guys. It's important to honor traditions. And pie is soooooo good!

Other traditions that I've already completed include digging out my one Christmas scented candle, changing my phone ringtone to "All I Want for Christmas (Is You)" by the illustrious Mariah Carey, getting a Fa La Latte at Caribou Coffee (Squeeeee! There's a Caribou in my building at work!) and incorporating more browns into my wardrobe. I have no idea when this started, but for some reason wearing browns instead of my go-to black make me feel like a reindeer or holiday spice or something.

I also got my first roll of Christmas wrapping paper. I am obsessed with wrapping presents, and Christmas presents are the most festive to wrap, and I lurve it.

But my favorite tradition is shopping. I have a ginormous family, so there's ALWAYS a reason to get out and head to the mall and come back with bags and bags of stuff (which I also get to wrap). And my roommates can't call me a Shop-a-holic for one blissful month. This year will be tougher, though, as I have NO ideas for anyone yet. Typically, I have at least one totally bomb idea that gets my motor running. So far this year? I've got squat. Ideas, anyone??

What about you guys? What are your favorite holiday traditions? Weirdest one wins!

Dear Crabby - Turkey Edition

I hate to break it to you guys, but I'm too pooped for any good advice this week. So, I've pulled some of the easiest, dumbest questions for Dear Crabby out of the ol' archives and I'm going to breeze through them. I give you...the turkeys.

Dear Crabby,

I've been told at work that sometimes my clothes at work are "not appropriate". I am assuming, though, that some of the women are a little intimidated by my striking looks, so I don't take too much offense. It's getting annoying, though. They glare at me in the lunch room, and I think at least of them is adding weight-gain powder to the coffee to punish me for my well-maintained body. What can I do to get these haters off my back?

Thank you!
Love,
Don't Hate Me Because I'm Beautiful

Dear Brainless,
You are probably dressing like a skank. No one is poisoning your coffee, and those glares you are getting are most likely justified. The work place is no place to show off your, eh hem, assets. Stop worrying about them, and pull yourself together. They are not out to punish you, and that attitude only exacerbates the situation. Take a little trip out of the Juniors section at Abercrombie and into the real world. If your company is telling you that you are inappropriate, that makes YOU the problem. Put on a longer skirt and stop hating on the other women. It makes you sound immature. But you know, good luck with the professional world...

Dear Crabby,
Are you going shopping for Black Friday!!?!? I can't wait!!!!!!!!!!

Love you, Crabby!
-Shopaholic

Dear Shopaholic,
No, I'm not going shopping on Black Friday. I am too crabby for crazy crowds. But hey! Feel free to by me something nice!!

Dear Crabby,
I'm ridiculously pregnant, and I'm due on Dec. 3. But I'm already dilating and I have a feeling I may go into labor this weekend while everyone is in town for the holiday. Is there anything you think I should do to prepare everyone for the possibility of me going into labor?

Thanks bunches,
Turkey - and bun - in the oven

Hello friend,
I have no idea what to tell you. I guess don't lift anything heavy, and oh yeah! Maybe don't sit near the stuffing. If you ruin that with all your baby juice, people might never forgive you. I guess the plus side is that it sounds like there are going to be plenty of people around to help, should your bun decide to come out. Whatever happens, it sounds like it could be gross. Good luck! (Are you going to name your babeh Pharon? 'Cause that would be tops...)

That's all I can muster. I'm tucking myself in and going to bed to dream of turkey, pie, and various kinds of potatoes. Have a WONDERFUL Thanksgiving, everyone! Make sure to say "thanks" to everyone who deserves it! And give a swift punch in the throat to everyone who deserves THAT. Happy Thanksgiving! :)

The Biggest Loser

You know, it's been too long since I gave myself a reality check. I've gotten too high on my horse. Too "up in my own butt". I nabbed the World's Perfect Job and what, now I'm better than Old Pharon? No, that's not true. Listen, you can take the girl out of the Bad Job, but you can't...well, whatever. You know what I mean. So tonight, Kim stopped by to pick up some stuff and we got invested in a show that really held up a mirror that made me check myself before I wreck myself.

That show, my friends, was The Biggest Loser.

I've never watched this show before. It makes me feel lazy and emotional. But it was on, and Kim and I decided to just kind of keep watching it. So, there we were. Watching TV and drinking wine while the people ON TV were working out and kicking butt. Suddenly, Claire appears out of the laundry room with a few items of clothes.

"Pharon, I was going to give these away to Goodwill, but do you want them?"

The items in question were an adorable green Banana Republic trench and a green sweater.

"Sure, do you want me to buy them from you, though?"

"Nah, I'm just going to donate them if you don't want them."

Kim looked at me as I sheepishly tucked the freebies under my head and laid back down to finish TV. I blushed and said "Yay! I'm charity!"

Then earlier today at work, I may or may not have done the Robot in public and then muttered "Robots is awesome." RobotS IS awesome? Really, English major? I don't think so, nerd.

Earlier STILL I woke up and turned on the TV. Because I fall asleep watching Friends on Nickelodean, I sometimes wake up to Max and Ruby. Which is a cartoon. A TERRIBLE CARTOON. That I may or may not have watched for 15 minutes so that I could be reminded about the perks of sharing.

But the night itself capped off with the loseriest loserism of all. Both Claire and Kim wanted to borrow my gaming system. And I was like TOO protective over it. I was all "Who will treat this Xbox the best? Who deserves to dance to Whip My Hair more?" Ugh. Get a life, n00b.

The point here, folks, is that YES. I do feel totally awesome about how perfectly bomb my new job is, and how important I finally feel. But rest assured that at heart, I am still the REAL biggest loser we have all come to know and pity love.

Long Distance Charges

I've been working so hard and doing new, fun things lately that I nearly forgot to start my One Month Countdown until I get to see Geo again. November 15 came and went and this morning I woke up and thought "OMG. He'll be back home in 24 days!" Part of me felt guilty about that. It's only been like 3 1/2 months and I've already slipped in one of the only parts that keeps me sane: the countdown. You know, it's like "I'll see Geo in 3 weeks, which is only 3 weekends. This first weekend doesn't count because it's the first weekend, and the second weekend is my chance to do whatever I want, and then I'll only have 5 work days until I have to shave again. I better get going!" Trust me, it makes the time fly!

Here's the thing about long distance that I've been coming to terms with lately. I always thought the hardest part would just be missing him. Seeing his dumb face every day. Going to dinner together, having coffee while he checks Facebook and I pin stuff on Pinterest...stuff like that.

But no. That's NOT the hardest part. Sure I miss him loads and heaps and tons, but the hardest part of doing "long distance" is actually feeling like an actual girlfriend, knowing the whole time that my legs are as hairy as a yeti and my bedazzled sweatpants are getting WAY too much use these days. I have paid pretty much no attention attention to any new, fun, schwanky restaurants - because I'M certainly not paying $50 for scallops and broccolini. And spending a Saturday with Friday night's makeup smeared on my cheek is totally fine with me.

You know, people TOLD me long distance was hard. They were all "Pharon, I don't know if you have the guts for it." And I was all "Eat my shorts, jerks." I totes have the guts for it, but it would have been way more awesome if just ONE of those same people told me what I should expect instead of telling me "it's hard".

It's like someone telling you that bananas are gross, but they never tell you that they're gross because of the TEXTURE. They're like "I don't know, bananas are just, like, hard to eat. I can't explain it." When REALLY they should be saying "Eating a banana is like what it must be like to take a bite out of a dog's tail. Mushy but firm. Grainy, but instantly regurgitated-like. Like someone already chewed it and the put it back in the peel." THAT'S a description, people. Sheesh.

So here's a tip for you unlucky folks doing the long distance thing. It sucks because a bunch of the best parts of dating someone are a bajillion miles away. And then every night when you talk to him/her, there's a lot more 'splaining to do. You have to describe everything a little clearer because no, Geo DOESN'T know what I mean when I describe my new work clothes as "business casual, but like casual business casual". And going out with people who are couples is dumb, because you're not going as part of a couple, and going out with single friends is hard, because you're not SINGLE either. It's the Coke Zero of dating. The worst parts of two very different things shoved together, trying pass as one thing.

Yeah, so everything is just harder. It's like driving in the snow. The roads and your car are the same, but everything takes twice as long and you end up avoiding a bunch of chores because it's just too much work and no one's around to judge you if you don't do it.

But tonight I spent the whole night making an adorable Pinterest project that I'm sending to Geo. On the very slim chance he reads this, I'm not going to say what it is. (If you're following me, you'll probably see it on my "She's Crafty" board.) It took a lot of time. It's cheesy. It's very girlie, and very un-Pharonlike. But I knew something had to be done. Forgetting - even if briefly - that I'll be seeing him in like 3 1/2 weeks shook me up and I felt really bad. I mean, not bad enough to change out of my sweatpants...baby steps, people.

Project Craft!

I just might be the most productive person ever. After a very long night out with friends on Friday night - which was crazy fun - I woke up on Saturday ready for...Project Craft. Kim, Claire and I decided to spend a very wholesome day making crafts together! Thanks for all these awesome ideas, Pinterest!

So we woke up on Saturday morning with ginormous headaches. We were all "My heaaaad..." and then Kim's all "Well, let's just quick run out and get the three or four minor supplies we need and just veg out crafting." So I pulled on a sweatshirt, decided to not brush my teeth or hair, and was ready for a quick trip to Michael's. Then this happened:

The. First. Snow. Great, this will make driving awesome. A hundred hours later, we get to the craft store. We only find like 1/3 of the things we need, so we then have to go to Target. Where we find another 1/3 of the things we need. So then we have to go Wal-Mart for the last 1/3 (nice mental math, Pharon!)

Finally, we have what we need:

The first thing we made was laundry detergent. According to Pinterest, we get something like 425 loads of laundry for $6. Color me thrifty! We get the ingredients together, which apparently come from 1913.

To get even more into the spirit, Claire turned on some Christmas carols. On the record player. 1913 indeed!

Then we start grating the soap. It took ALL my mental power to not reach into the pot of shredded soap and take a big ol' handful to eat. It is not cheese, Pharon. It is NOT cheese.

I almost forgot AGAIN that it was still soap when we started cooking it.

And is it me, or does this make anyone ever think of Fight Club when formerly-hot Brad Pitt is making soap out of PEOPLE? Anyway, we had a little trouble with the math part, shockingly enough. Our pot was way too small, so we had to divvy the soap into a bunch of little bowls, but only after doing lots and lots of googling:

Claire then decided to start a side project, which is very typical for her. Also typical? Nothing but perfectly safe techniques:

Anyway, here's the final product:

Then we got to work on our next project. Body scrubs! Yay! We mixed up sugars, vanilla extracts...Pharon, do NOT EAT THE BODY SCRUB.

Somehow, mine ended up looking - and smelling - very very bad. It was green. It smelled like rotten patchouli. In hindsight, using green tea was a bad idea. The whole thing looked like mold.

After dumping 4 tons of Aveda oil into it, though, it started to actually smell...revitalizing. Not too shabby! Here's our adorable final product (Claire and Kim's scrubs were still infinitely better smelling and looking).

We thought that was that. Our first Project Craft day was a success! But, it turns out that Craft is a lot like Crack. I came home from hanging out at my parents today and started jonesing for a fix. So I started up a couple new projects:

Chalkboard paint on a wine bottle - cute cute cute - and then chalkboard paint on a few picture frames. Now I can write on them! I have no idea what I'll write, but I have to wait like 24 hours for the paint to dry completely before I can write on them anyway. Suggestions??

So that was Project Craft. It was fun and now I have a bunch of adorable, Pinteresting crap to show for it! Next weekend, we are doing Holiday Project Craft. I'm probably TOO excited. And I'm also very scared to have so much chalkboard paint and modge podge at my disposal now...