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...

Mawwaige is What Bwings Us Togethah Today

I came to a nasty realization today. I have NOT commented on the demise of Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries marriage yet. CRAZY! Celebrity break-ups are my bread and butter! Then BOOM! Today the world gets hit by the crumbling of ANOTHER time-tested, true love example of the sanctity of marriage. Demi and Ashton. Say it ain't so! Yes, the world's most famous odd couple has called it quits. Here's the thing. Sometimes I feel bad for famous people who get divorced. Like Jen and Brad (because of that vampire life-sucker Angelina). Sometimes I feel bad that a lot of them have to get divorced because of things that normal people could never understand. Like fame. But then there are times, like now, when I would like to spit on the people who get married like they are buying a pair of shoes.

Marriage is serious bidness, guys. My parents have been happily married for, like forty years. They've been dirt poor, suffered through loss of loved ones together, and raised five miserable little rugrats. (That's me! Yay!) I don't know the dirty deets of whether or not they've ever considered the big D, but so far they've been poster children of the kind of marriage I'd like to have someday. But something tells me that little miss Kardashian didn't think about the MARRIAGE when she she decided to have the WEDDING. On TV.

It's totally annoying lately. There are loads of people who have been together forevs but aren't "allowed" to be married. And then all these people are all "La la la, a marriage is soooooooooo trendy right now! I must have one!" Sheesh, it's a marriage, people, not a tiny dog you shove inside your handbag.

I would really like to enforce some rules with Hollywood marriages. If we, as a country, are sooooo against an entire population of people who want to spend the rest of their lives together, we need to make some stipulations for those who refuse to take the whole thing seriously.

First? A celebrity couple must not have starred in any movie or TV show together, unless they have been dating for over 2 years since the culmination of that project. Second, unless you are Khloe, the "Kardashian" name prohibits you from getting hitched. (What can I say? I love me some Khloe. She's brassy, sassy, and she knows what she wants.) Third, if a star is at the height of popularity, the other party must go through intense psychological training in order to deal with the inevitable demise of their partners career. And finally, if you televise your wedding, anyone who wants to attend...CAN. Yes, that means stalkers, psychos, haters, everyone. Because if your "fans" can't come to the wedding, you don't deserve to have one.

I do give props to famous couples like Ashton and Demi, though. They gave it the ol' college try (Hey! Ashton went to MY college!) But because Ashton cheated on Demi for whatever reason, they couldn't make it work. The point is THEY TRIED. My guess is they had to deal with loads of drama none of us could even imagine. They had a difficult marriage, they tried to stick it out but couldn't, and I would never fault anyone for that.

But to the dumba$$ Kim Kardashian, I can only hope that at the VERY LEAST you get out there and actively support those who want to get married and can't. You've done more damage to the institution than anyone else ever could.

Oh, and one more thing for Kim. Um, I could have told you that marrying Kris Humphries wouldn't work. I have it on good authority (a.k.a a girl in my book club who went to high school with the Humphries) that Kris is soggy-bread-boresville and his sister is, like, TOOOOOOTALLY a word that rhymes with witch! Kim could never fit in with that kind of family. You know, 'cause they're NORMAL.

Maybe let's just say that celebrities shouldn't get married. Unless it's Matt Damon or Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck, because those people are really making it work. But seriously restricting Hollywood nuptials is something I would support. It would save loads of time and money for everyone. I would be sooooooo annoyed if I had to be friends with Kim Kardashian or Jennifer Lopez or Larry King because it would be SO expensive to buy them all those dumb presents, and I'd have to keep going to weddings on weekends when I'd rather be clipping my toenails in bed.

The moral of the story is many celebrities are idiots. People like Kim Kardashian take big poops on the institution of marriage, and it's just so...passe. So if we are going to stop ANYone from getting married, it should be fame-hungry celebrities. Sound good?

Dear Crabby

After the week I've had, I was SOOOO pumped when I remembered tonight was Dear Crabby night! After 3 days of having no answers, of being totally clueless, and being generally "Duuuuuuuhhhh" about everything, I feel pretty good to be the one with all the answers. Even if they ARE wrong. Let's see what's in the ol' mail bag, shall we?

Dear Crabby,

I've been trying to lose weight for, oh, EVER! I'm a pretty normal eater, and even though I HATE it, I work out a couple times a week. But I just am not seeing the results I want. What am I doing wrong? I mean, I'm by no means obsessively rigid with my diet/exercise routines, but is that really necessary??

Thanks heaps, Pharon!
-Sick of the Weight

Hey Sick of the Weight,
Here's the thing. I've been too skinny, too fat, and every weight in between. I was too scrawny to donate blood in high school, then I gained 30 pounds in college, then lost 20 of them after I graduated. Then gained 25 back after I started work, and then lost 20 after looking in the mirror and gagging at my reflection. I've been through it all. Listen, we all know that the best way to be fit and healthy is to eat right and exercise. Yes, people go insane and obsess over every calorie they expend and consume, and sure they may LOOK good, but that is simply NO FUN. Plus, I use up all my stress on work and maintaining a long-distance relationship. I'm busy, yo, and I just ate 9 low-fat cookies for dinner. I don't have time to argue with my body and what it wants or doesn't want. So my advice is to keep doing what you're doing, my lovely, perfect reader. There's nothing wrong with trying your best to eat your vegetables and trying to fit a quick walk in over lunch, even if it means 9 cookies for dinner every once in awhile. I'm sure if you're determined to succeed, you will. And bonus piece of advice: don't fall for any of that "no carbs, no sugar, no alcohol" garbage. Fad diets are fads. They'll come and go, just like the weight. You know what you need to do, and I have total faith that you can do it!

Dear Crabby,

My boyfriend and I are already arguing about the temperature of our house. He REFUSES to turn the heat on, and I'm sick of chattering through dinner. Whenever I turn the thermostat to a COMPLETELY ACCEPTABLE 73 degrees, he complains about flushing money out the window. Now, mixed metaphors aside, is there any logic to his argument, or does it leave him out in the cold?

Thanks, girl!
-Shivering in Chicago

Sup Shiver,
What is with men?! Is it like, COOL (no pun intended) to be cold? No. We, as members of a civilized and industrialized nation, are required to enjoy a few cozy comforts from time to time. Things like diet Coke, vanilla-scented candles and doormats. These are things we probably don't NEED, but should HAVE because we ENJOY them. Another one of those "comforts" is the ability to hang out in your house without wearing fleece socks on your hands. You have every right to be comfortable in your house. You're going to have to do what other normal couples do. Build a gaming arena in your basement, create a complicated scoring system, then determine the winner with a quick dance off and obstacle course, thereby declaring the winner and ruler of the thermostat! Or, you know, I guess you could compromise or something. Cold one day, hot the next. Or leave it to your temperature preference for a week, then switch to his for a week. Something like that. This is one of humankind's biggest challenges, and I don't think you and your husband are going to fix the problem for everyone (although I'm pretty sure that obstacle course idea is genius). But you need to just find what works for you. Good luck, and bundle up!

Dear Crabby,

So far, I don't think you've actually given any good advice to people with this whole Dear Crabby thing. Do you have any training in counseling? Clearly you do not. So what gives you the right to muck around in people's problems? Seriously, who do you think you are? And why aren't you even TRYING to help people?

Thanks for nothing,
Your biggest "fan"

Well HEY there, HATER,
It's always nice to hear from a fan! Okay, so what "gives me the right" to offer subpar advice to people who seek me out for it? Uh, hmm...maybe it's the fact that PEOPLE ASK ME FOR IT? Oh, and there was one other reason...what was it? Oh yeah! IT'S MY BLOG. Sheesh, lady. Lighten up. Now, I am very protective of my fake - and admittedly unhelpful - advice. I don't take too kindly to people who choose to either not be in on the joke or offer any advice of their own. You don't sound like a very nice person. And typically, I like that in a girl. Sassy, brassy, outspoken. But you're just plain unhelpful and may or may not have too much time on your hand. Writing anger mail to a bloggess who, despite my hilarity and constant need to entertain via the World Wide Web, isn't even FAMOUS (yet)? Here's my very helpful advice to you. Either cheer up and join the fun, or seek professional help. Only a crazy person would have serious problems with a very un-serious advice column. Best of luck you, crazy lady! :)

Yowza! What's her problem? I hope this last lady is an isolated issue. You guys don't have problemos with Crabby, do you? DO YOU? Well, if you DO, might I remind you that I solicit help from you guys every week? Yeah, I ask you to add your own pieces of advice in the comments section (you see that, "biggest fan"?!) Go ahead and have at it this week. Slap your help in the comments, and in the meantime send your own questions to me - if you still WANT my "help" that is. pharonsquare@gmail.com

Love you guys!!!!

TV or Not TV?

SHAZBOT! I'm bummed, guys. So, you know how I'm constantly craving attention, and yet hilariously terrified of the spotlight? Yeah, I'm an enigma.

So okay, I called my mom tonight to chat about our days. I was all "La la la, I sent my first work email today! I had a caesar wrap for lunch! Claire found the Girl Talk board game at a Salvation Army and I'm completely stoked to play it!" Then I asked her, almost as an afterthought, "So what are YOU up to?" And she's all "La la la, just you know, getting the house ready for Thursday."

Wait, what's Thursday?

No biggie, my mom and sister are just going to be ON TV. I wanted to squeal "Exsqueeze me? You? On TV? WITHOUT MOI?!"

I tried to not sound depressingly disappointed when I asked "Why are YOU guys going to be on TV? And why don't you love me enough anymore to ask me?" So smooth...

Turns out, my mom and sisters are going to be on the ol' cathode ray tube because they are caaaaarazy into Black Friday. You know, the day after Thanksgiving when everyone loses their minds and goes to the mall at 3 a.m. to shop for great deals on fake snow? Yeah. Well, my mom and sisters go shopping every year. There are threats of trampling, parking conundrums, and the ever-present menacing women who are out to STEAL your CART.

I have stayed home every year they do this. I snooze away while they shop, and then babysit when all us normal people wake up. It's like our thing. Then they get asked to be interviewed on TV about how they are "the experts" at Black Friday, but did they even ASK me to come and be on TV with them? What, so just because I don't ACTUALLY SHOP WITH THEM I can't be involved in the spot they are doing on Black Friday shopping? SO RUDE.

The kicker is that my two sisters-in-law are GOING TO BE ON WITH THEM. They haven't gone Black Friday shopping either. But the two of them are thinking of giving it a shot this year. (HA! Good luck, ladies. I have a feeling you have no idea what you're in for.) Apparently, my mom and sisters are going to give the n00bs some tips on a successful Black Friday. Again, ON TV.

I know, I know. You're all "But Pharon, you are horribly uncomfortable and spazzy and about as entertaining as soggy toast on TV. Why do you care?" I care, dear friends, because I'm not included. YES, I will be too busy at my crazy-fun new job. And YES I probably would have been all "no thanks!" HAD they asked me. And okay, fine, so WHAT if I technically have no place in the Black Friday conversation because I simply refer to it as "Friday"?

Maybe it's because I'm not a part of something that is going to give a lot of other people some attention. And for SHOPPING! And me not being even remotely involved in the combination of those two things just feels...wrong. Right? Well, in any case, I hope they have fun and have a great time. For realsies, I do. I just hope they drop my name somehow. Something like "Well, our daughter/sister Pharon - who has a wicked successful blog called pharonsquare.com - is kind of the reason we can do this because she babysits our kids." Then I'll get the recognition WITHOUT the debilitating stage fright. YAY! Everyone wins!

Sweaty Necks

Blah. Boring day. Not much to report.

...............................

PSYCH! Gotcha! I started the new J.O.B. today! Now I know how Tony the Tiger feels when he gets to eat his Frosted Flakes, because I feel grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrreat! I learned heaps about my new company - all of which RULES - and met some truly awesome people already. I'm sure it won't take long before my politeness is replaced with tacky puns and overused slang, but for now? I'm in the zone.

Yes, 'twas a great day. The only snafu (which is so Typical Pharon) was that I GOT to work like 40 minutes early. I sat in my car, checking Facebook and listening to the news, and then I headed in with a cool 10 minutes to spare.

Or so I thought.

I walked in the building, only to discover I was at THE WRONG BUILDING. The helpful dudes in the lobby said "You may as well drive to the other one, even though your car is a quadrillion miles away, because it would take you just as long to walk over."

Cut to: Me speed racing through an unfamiliar parking lot (and ending up in a weirdo dead end), tearing around the other parking lot searching for a parking spot. I thought I had it made as I ran to what I thought was the right door. It was not. That door was under construction, so I had to RUN over to the other door. So, even though I didn't have to take an SAT test or do any math, I still ended up sweating. And, against my better judgement, I had worn a turtleneck. Stupid sweaty neck.

But! I made it just in time. I learned loads of great things, had a great lunch, and even gave my first blog a shot. I'm not sure how it went - I'll get some feedback tomorrow - because I was all hopped up on free diet Coke and promises of never having to punch in or out. I had the incredibly awesome feeling, though, that I'll be both challenged and inspired, and that was...well, that was just Tops.

Shockingly, I'm already exhausted. All that learnin' has me plum tuckered out. (Uhh...what kind of sentence was THAT? Should I go back and delete it? Nope. Too tired.) I have a sneaking suspicion that I will NOT finish watching the slaughter that is the Vikings and Packers game on right now (Packers just got their second touchdown...bringing the score to 14-0) and hit the hay early. So sleepy. And also so excited for tomorrow...

Calm, Cool, Collec...OMG I'm Freaking Out!

Here we are...the night before the big, bad, first day of a new job. Eeeee! Can't you feel the excitement?! I can. I thought I'd be more nervous, actually. But so far, I'm just terrified of getting lost and/or being late. There is NOTHING that stresses me out more than being lost and/or late. So, you better believe I'll be roughly 45 minutes early tomorrow. Whatevs. It's how I roll.

This weekend, my rock star mom took me on the kind of shopping trip every girl dreams of. We picked out some new work duds, because I'm pretty sure she was nervous I'd end up wearing a wrinkled, stained sweater and too-tight pants with 6-inch stilettos on my first day. She might NOT have been too far off. So, I performed my own little Pretty Woman shopping montage at the Mall of America with my mom and Prinna. The only difference, though, was instead of slipping on tons of perfectly fitting clothes, I was violently throwing things out of the fitting room that were too small, too long, or too...ugly. Note: I do NOT look the same in short mini skirts as the 8-foot tall, 120 pound woman that models them.

But I found loads of awesome, cute new things, right down to the socks. I'm ready for my first day. I feel like it's the night before the first day at a new school, though. Yes, I have the CLOTHES now, but what if I get lost? Where are the bathrooms? Oh, and based on my personal history, I know I have a tendency to trip down stairs and make a fool out of myself during the ice breaking "get-to-know-you" games. Do people REALLY need to know I chased my brother with a knife when I was like 8 years old? No, no they do not. Will I be able to reign in the over-sharing? Let's hope so.

Meh, I figure that tomorrow will be the equivalent of Syllabus Day at college. You know, sure you GO, but you're just learning for that day. You don't need to like show up and ace a final exam. Uh oh. I just said that to Claire and Andrew and was immediately hit with a sense of panic. What if I DO have to take some kind of test? What if, for some horrible reason, they make me take the SAT or something? I canNOT do math! I can't even REMEMBER science! I mean, sure I'd nail the reading and writing sections, but so what?

GREAT. Juuuuuust great. I made it through the entire weekend being all relaxed and confident, and now, at the 11th hour, I have managed to work myself into a tizzy. Oh, and even BETTER? I've completely rethought my outfit for tomorrow. Doing math and science makes my neck very sweaty, and I just don't think a turtleneck will help that highly unlikely situation.

Well, that's just wonderful. I thought this blog would only add to my calmness. I thought I'd be all "La la la, I'm cool as a cucumber. Calm as a kitty. Zen like a ninja." But now, instead, I gotta go and spend a ton of time pacing and spazzing out. Thanks for nothing, Blog!

B.Y.E. to the ol' J.O.B.

Ah man, leaving a job is tougher than I remembered. Today was my last day at the publishing company I called "work" for 3 1/2 years. I popped all my stuff in a box (sadly, it all fit in one teeny box), deleted my final email, and threw away everything in my "To Do" and "Done" boxes. Then I looked around at my neat and tidy teeny cube and thought "Hey, this looks like a great place to work. Everything's all neat and tidy!" I kind of wish I had done that earlier when I could have enjoyed the clean desk. But the next person who sits at that desk will love it. And also, he/she better also love the Post-It password collage on the inside of the second cupboard. You're welcome, Stranger I've Never Met!

BTW: I wrote probably the most epic job manual in the history of job manuals. You're double welcome!

And no matter how many gripes I felt I had, or how ready I am to move on, at the end of the day today, I actually ducked out secretly because I kept getting really choked up saying goodbye to people.

Oh, and THEN! I got WAY too sentimental over weird stuff, and offered to take people I had only met once or twice out for dinner next month. What?! Where did that come from? But people were so genuine and were so hopeful for me. "You deserve such great success" was one thing that someone said. And then I wanted to ask that person to marry me.

But one of the very best feelings was to FINALLY be able to befriend my co-workers (and boss!) on Facebook! Yay! I'm sure they have just been DYING to read my hilarious status updates and check out my photos from the Zombie Pub Crawl. The world makes sense again.

So I came home, unpacked my tiny box from my desk, and dug through the awesome gift bag of company-themed swag from my boss. It's weird to see all my office stuff in my house. It doesn't really belong anywhere. I mean, I just don't have any place to put my Beach in a Box (a teeny tiny recreation of a beach complete with shells and sand that was supposed to remind me to "take a little mental vacay every day").

Plus, I still feel bad for dipping out of the office so suddenly and quietly. I missed out on a lot of goodbye's that I really wanted to say. Unfortunately, it turns out that your beloved stoic, rock-solid blogger either had a lump of rocks lodged in my throat, or I was a messy ball of mushy emotions.

In case anyone from work reads this, and in case you are feeling oh-so-disappointed in the absence of a heartfelt goodbye, trust that I would have just made you uncomfortable. No one likes a sobbing nutjob carrying a box of pictures and a frog tape dispenser. And if the earlier part of the day taught me anything, it's that I am not good with farewells. In order to delay the gushy stuff, I would have promised to come in tomorrow to help you stock the library, and then I wouldn't have come and then you would have been both sad AND short-staffed.

But thanks to the small group of people I was smart enough to trick into liking me, and therefore can now call my Friends. Complaining about work was never more fun than when I was complaining with you. And even though I laughed uncontrollably when the most recent calamity tore into your day today - and I didn't have to deal with any of it! - I will always sympathize with you and be around to hear all about it and laugh at your expense. Good luck to all the great people I spent approximately 6,200+ hours with. I hope you still invite me to Happy Hours, and I hope you'll come to all the Dance Central parties I have. Just don't get too mad when I'm bragging about the new job!

Anyway, I'll talk to you all on Sunday when I'm being neurotic and panicky about a whole NEW job! Yay! Exciting for you!

Dear Crabby

Well, BUMMER. I took my last bus ride to work today. It was bittersweet. Actually, it wasn't. It was just a regular bus ride. I was already home before I realized it had been the last one, and I kind of just thought "Awww...I'll miss the bus ride. Not the waiting for a bus, or running to a bus, or the people who sit TOO CLOSE to me or talk TOO LOUDLY. But the zoning out for 20 minutes on the way to and from work was a luxury I will certainly miss." Meh, anyway...let's move on to real problems.

Dear Crabby,

I've been thinking of starting a book club with my friends. I'm not a HUGE fan of reading, but I really want to get more literary. Do you have any good suggestions I should keep in mind? I don't even know where to start!

The End,
Reading is FUNdamental!

Hey yo, Reading is FUNdamental!
WHAT A COIN-KI-DINK! I just got home from my book club! (BTW, it's NOT a coin-ki-dink. I've been saving this question for a couple weeks now so I could make it sound super relevant.) I have the greatest book club ever. We read good books, bring delicious food, and drink gallons of wine. All you need for a great book club is a smallish group of friends (I think any more than 8 people gets to be too crowded and then there are never enough brownies to go around anyway), open minds, and a willingness to get to know each other. I only knew like 2 people in my book club initially. Now I love them all! If you are a serious reader, only invite serious readers. If you are using the cover of "Book Club" to camouflage your desire to drink on the weekdays, don't invite 20 pregnant women. Get some fun girls, and just choose a book. After that, it's totally up to you where you take it. My book club brings food each month - usually themed to match the book - and then we spend most of the time talking about and eating the food. Then we discuss the book for 7 minutes (4 minutes of which are simply spent summarizing the book for those who didn't read that month) and spend the rest of the night discussing life - a.k.a. Kim Kardashian and Pinterest. Go ahead and start one up! There's no wrong way to do it as long as you invite fun people!!

Dear Crabby,

PUKE! I have to get glasses! I broke my first and only pair of glasses billions of years ago, and I've worn contacts for FOREVER, so I never needed the replace damn things, but now my doc insists I have a pair. What do I DO?! I look trrrrible with glasses and I just really am dreading going in to get them. HELP!

UGH. Thanks.
-Four Eyes

How's it hangin, Four Eyes?
Are you in like 5th grade? Because if not, then I'm confused. What is the big deal with wearing glasses? They make people look wicked smart, accentuate your eyeballs, and oh yeah! THEY HELP YOU SEE. Buck up, soldier. Glasses are IN right now. Think of them as more of an accessory. Find a style you love and start dressing like Tina Fey and people will fall in love with you. It's as simple as that. And hey - you can still wear your contacts when you want to, but having and wearing glasses is not the end of the world. Unless, wait. ARE you in 5th grade? And do you also have braces, a bowl cut and no social skills (man, apparently 5th grade was a rough year for me)? Because even if that's the case, the glasses would be the least of your problems. If that's NOT the case, you need to build a bridge and get over it. Maybe once you have your glasses, you'll be able to see how ridiculous you sound. Glasses are great. Embrace it!

Dear Crabby,

If you had one superpower, what would it be? And why? I'd probably choose x-ray vision because then I could totally have a stable job working for the airlines or at a hospital or something. What about you?

Can't wait to hear back!
-Super Duper!

I'm glad you asked, Super Duper,
If I could have one superpower, it would obviously be Shape Shifting. I'd be a leggy supermodel one day, and a brawny frat boy the next. Anything to get into the best parties, amiright?! Yeah, I firmly believe that the Shape Shifting superpower is not only the best, most useful power. It's also probably the most underrated, which means I'd be one of only a small group of Shifters. Yeah, so, that's that. Thanks for the question? That was weird...

Thanks for the questions this week! What about you, Squares? What superpower would YOU have? Did I overlook any? Let me know in the comments, super heroes. And if you have your OWN question for yours truly, and I know you do, email pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll use my current superpower of solving all your problems. I'll see you back here next week, Same Bat Time, Same Bat Channel.

Eggstravaganza!

For those of you keeping track, I should update you from yesterday's post. I got a text AND voicemail from Prinna being like "OMG! So sorry! I just wanted to know if you would babysit on Saturday night!" Overreaction is the new black.

Anyhoozle, there comes a time in every woman's life when she realizes she not only a PART of her region, but a vital contributor to it. That time, for me, came tonight. My friends, I am proud to tell you that I am officially a Midwestern. Tonight I, your beloved, worldly (read: not worldly) blogger made....

My First Egg Bake.

That's right. To be a Midwestern woman, you HAVE to have an Egg Bake recipe that's ready to go at the drop of a hat. Because apparently, you never know when you'll be called to cater a friendly brunch.

And just like the South has their (freaky) toddler pageants and sweet tea, the East coast has their chowdah and "coahfee", and the West has...um, crack? I don't know. I don't know what the West does other than house Hollywood and Kardashians. Yeah, so just like every region has their own culinary trophies, the Midwest - specifically Minnesota - has our Egg Bakes.

Egg Bakes are, for all intents and purposes, simply egg-based casseroles. They have egg in them, and then a zillion other possible ingredients. They freeze well, they taste great, and no one - and I do mean NO ONE - doesn't like Egg Bake. My mom makes the best ones, so if you want a bit ol' bite of the Midwest, come to my house for brunch.

Despite the fact that I have NOT adopted a number of Midwest traditions (I'm not married, I don't love corn or cornfields, I hate camping, and despite my best efforts, I still do not own a boat on any of our 10,000 lakes) I have no aversion to our regional cuisine. I love our comfort food. And as every good woman in Minnesota will tell you, an Egg Bake is clutch.

So I made an Egg Bake. There are mushrooms, spinach, sausage, cheese, and loads of eggs - thus making it a true "EGG" bake - and the whole thing smelled DEEEELICIOUS.

The problem is I couldn't cook it tonight. I had to tinfoil that sucker up and put it in the fridge because it's not for me. It's for Book Club tomorrow night. So besides the fact that I spent hours shopping for and cooking this dumb (albeit DELICIOUS) Bake, I can't even EAT it until tomorrow. Well, rest assured, tomorrow I'm going to eat the CRAP out of that Bake. And Mom, if you're reading this...

I got fever, and the only prescription is more Egg Bake.

Touchy Subject

Nothing freaks me out like a "harmless" comment like "Hey, Pharon...I have a touchy question for you." That's the message I got from my sister Prinna on Facebook chat. Now, I still have no idea what Prinna wanted to ask me, because when she chatted me, I was very busy playing Family Feud on my phone in the other room. By the time I came back and saw the "I have a touchy question for you" prompt, Prinna had signed off, and my imagination decided to run away with itself.

For the past half hour, I've been spinning around in my computer chair, trying to write about the zillions of other interesting things that happened today (read: none) and all I can think of is "What would be a touchy question for me?!"

She could ask something like "So, you know how instead of losing a bunch of weight when Geo moved away, you actually gained weight because you are eating your feelings and your feelings appear to be made out of red velvet cake and bricks of cheese?" I mean, yeah, that's probably "touchy" for me, but it certainly doesn't warrant a big build-up, you know? I wrote a whole blog about the undesirable physical journey my thighs are on for crying out loud.

Then I wondered if she was going to ask me "Did you know most women your age have families and husbands and whatnot?" Nah. That can't be it. Touchy, yes, but not something a normal person asks another slightly-less normal person.

Hmm. What am I touchy about?! What could she ask me that would shake me like this? I don't know what it is, but it feels like I've just been given a pop quiz, and if there's anything I'm awesome at...it's not pop quizzes.

Maybe she's going to intervene on my insistence on buying shoes in the children's section. Yesterday, we were at the mall, and I bought children's moccasins because they were like $14 and fit like a dream. I thought it was awesome. Maybe she thought I'm delusional or something. Maybe I think it's "cute" and she thinks it's "pathetic". It's not like I'm buying SHIRTS in the children's section though.

I texted her like 3 times pleading "What's the question?? I'm really nervous..." And still have not heard back.

I ran through some of my recent blogs, searching for anything I may have written that could be misconstrued as offensive or something. I even searched the word "Prinna". Turns out, she pops up a lot because I hang out with her so often. I was breezing through all these blogs - a wonderful reminder that I still think I'm very hilarious - and couldn't find anything. Nothing feels worse than the potential of inadvertently hurting someone's feelings via blog. But I found nothing. (There are a number of people who probably SHOULD be writing me angry emails, though. I've dodged more than a few bullets in the history of this blog.)

Oh man. What if she wants to talk to me ABOUT my blog? Like, maybe she's going to be like "So, I thought it was supposed to funny? And interesting? What happened to all that?" THAT would be touchy. Even though she told me, just today, that she read something that made her laugh...what if she's going to be all "I lied"? Yikes.

I'm officially out of my mind. I apparently cannot handle the "I have a question for you" without the promise of a question asked. Immediately.

I take a deep breath and call her. She doesn't answer. What if it's a question that is SO TOUCHY she can't bring herself to SAY it, but must type it under the cover of a social networking site?! WHAT CAN'T SHE SAY TO ME?!?!

I need to talk to my mom. She just took a great trip to surprise her sister in Colorado for her birthday, and I'm in need in of some awesomely great sister stories. So I call her. She loops me in to some of the fun stories, and then we chit chat about the fun fun FUN shopping trip for new work clothes we are taking on Friday. I momentarily forget about the "touchy question" and start thinking of cable knit and suede boots. But then I find out that Prinna is staying at my parents tonight.

"She's there NOW?" I ask my mom.
"Yes, but she's in bed."
"Hmmmm. You wouldn't happen to know about a 'touchy question' Prinna has for me, would you?"
"Oh, I think she was going to see if you'd consider babysitting on Saturday night."

Prinna, if you are reading this, THAT DOES NOT QUALIFY AS A TOUCHY QUESTION. Here are some examples of "touchy questions": "How come you smell so bad lately?" or "Your face is starting to look like pizza. Have you considered Proactiv?" or "Your mood swings are scaring people." Okay, that's not a question, but you get the idea.

Hopefully that's all it is. I didn't realize I was so sensitive around Prinna, but one lead-in question from her had me second-guessing everything from my thrifty fashion choices to my ultimate ego-trip of a blog. I shouldn't be so freaked out. Because seriously, I know - and Prinna knows - those moccasins are adorbs.

Why We REALLY Do Daylight Saving Time

According to Facebook, I'm apparently one of the only people ever who enjoys the extra hour of sleep I got last night. Too many people with kids and babies were complaining about sleep schedules and kids waking up too early. Not me. I reveled in that extra hour. I had my coffee in bed, read my first issue of Entertainment Weekly while I waited for my shower to heat up, and then made it to my parents house in just enough time to head out to breakfast with my aunts and dad and grandma. Yes...BREAKFAST.

So Daylight Savings hour is a-okay with me. And here it is, like 9:30 p.m., and I'm almost half asleep. However, I think that has less to do with the time change and more to do with the fact that I spent like 9 hours with kids all weekend. Kids. Are. Exhausting. And they never stop talking or moving. Allow me to paint a picture for you.

I took my 6 and 3 year-old nieces for the afternoon on Saturday so my sister could tend to some videography projects. We went to the mall so Annabelle (6) could get her haircut. I was all "Awww, this is adorable!" She sat and got her haircut like a little bunny. Quiet. Still. That calmness lasted, oh, 6 minutes. Then Eve (3) had to go to the bathroom. She "couldn't hold it, Phawin" so we had to RUN. I don't understand the rules of kids in bathrooms, so I was all nervous and freaking out about germs and just wanted to get out of there. It was probably a 20 minute process.

Then I thought I'd do some shopping of my own (I'm still hilariously naive at this point). So I grabbed some candy for the girls to distract them while I looked. We walked into one store and I browsed for about 3 minutes before Eve had a $150 white sweater stuck to her sticky fingers. We had to make an exit. I grabbed a coffee and sat while the girls ran around the play area. It was lovely. Annabelle and Eve were having a ball, but the shrieking and punching from the other kids wore us all down. I had scheduled "Play Time" to take 2 hours, but we made it about 15 minutes.

And then came more requests for candy. Gee, thanks, MALL for all the readily available candy machines that only take quarters without even ONE change machine in sight. Eventually, we compromised and had ice cream. I have no clue what happens between a spoon dipping into a bowl of ice cream, and a spoon going into a mouth, but with kids, that very short journey results in a face, hands, hair, and (inexplicably) a stomach covered in ice cream. I tried to mop them off, but decided it was a lost cause.

After more wandering around - NOT shopping - I decided our next best move was Target. The girls' legs were tired, and I couldn't come up with anymore creative ideas to keep them from running away from me every 3 seconds. So we went into Target, I plopped them in the cart, and went to pick out some new pj's for myself. It was a beautiful 20 minute respite. I found socks, pajamas, and some other non-essentials. But then I got cocky.

Rejuvenated after the 20-minute break, I praised the girls and told them they could each pick out a small toy as a reward. Mistake alert! We went to the toy section, and Eve found a toy pretty quickly. She was actually more into the bottle of water I had given her a half-hour ago. But Annabelle wanted EVERYTHING. She wanted a karaoke Barbie, a small dog that barked incessantly, and accessories for a La La Loopsy doll (whatever the eff that is). I said "Annabelle, you need to pick a SMALL toy." Because I'm not made out of money, and I also thought all those toys were extra lame. "You can remember all the big things you want and ask Santa for them." I don't know what parents do between January and November, because Santa is a Godsend. Then she started getting overwhelmed and frustrated. There were simply TOO MANY CHOICES. She ended up with some terribly boring little water thing that played terrible music. I felt bad because I knew how dumb it was, but she LOVED it.

We checked out, and I texted my brother and sister - who had been working on their video for a blissful 4 child-free hours - and asked "Can we come back yet?" Then Eve, who had been chugging that water, had to go to the bathroom again and I just couldn't do it. I waited for a response for approx 45 seconds before just writing back "I don't care. We are coming home."

As we strolled out to the parking lot, I felt like I had really achieved something. The girls were happy and chatty and funny again. We walked up to my sister's van and I tried to unlock the doors. Nothing. Did I grab the wrong set? Were the batteries in the key fob dead? NO. Annabelle and Eve were already getting antsy and I was beyond flustered. I tried to open the doors, force the sliding doors to open, but nothing. And then I realized it was the wrong car. We looked around the lot and saw 5 vans that look exactly like my sisters car. We had to go to each one before we found the right one.

The trip TO the mall was all about singing to the radio and laughing and I was answering the 700 questions they had very thouroughly. The ride HOME from the mall was silent. No radio, no talking allowed.

That was yesterday, and I'm still recovering. Even though I spent the day with them again today, nothing could come close to the stress and energy-suck that happened yesterday. I gotta hand it to you parents - it's so much harder than you make it look.

But that still doesn't give you any right to complain about getting an extra hour last night. It's people like me who rely on that hour to recover from hanging out with your kids for the day.

Alright, let's get out there and pwn this week!

The Circuit

I'm currently on an impromptu happy hour bar crawl of sorts with my brother Perek (and live-blogging, thanks to my awesome new app on my awesome new phone). We decided to make the most of my last week or so working in downtown Minneapolis by taking public transportation and stopping off for a beer at a number of the zillion restaurants and bars at my current disposal.

Back in the day, Perek and the guys would do "the circuit" where they'd go around to all best Happy Hours and try to get the biggest bang for their buck. Apparently, we are going to recreate that without the luxury of good specials or good friends. It's just him and me. This should be interesting.

We went to the first place, and I had the most adorable mini cheeseburgers that do not look so mini (or adorable) in my gut now.

Then we decided to make our way out of downtown and onto the U of M campus. I've never NOT gotten lost at the U of M. So, I suggest we take the bus. The bus does not come. I admit to Perek that, although I take A bus everyday, I do not understand the bus system-AS A WHOLE. So, long story short, no bus came. Luckily, cabs were available.

So now we're at a different place. I just had my first "sour beer" and I highly recommend them. Deeeeeeeelish.

Uneventful at that bar. Perek got pretty upset at some major typos on a poster at the bar, but then we saw this:

We had a good laugh over this, because what kind of friend won't accept the "Whoops! Sorry! I had too much to drink the other night" excuse? A BAD friend. That's who. After a lengthy discussion on our walk to the next bar, we concluded that friendships are, in fact, drunk-proof. It's, like, a fact.

Next bar. It's a dive, though I've never felt more at home. Dusty trophies on the wall, bartenders with 8 ponytail holders in their beard, and Johnny Cash on the Jukebox. Lovely. Probably the best/worst part is the comically small bathroom. I had to Spiderman my way into the stall before praying that no one would barge in the door and knock me into the toilet.

Well, we finally made it home. We rode a bus back home, and I was really hoping hilarity would ensue, but it was disappointingly uneventful. And despite the fact that I'm sure Perek would have preferred to do "the circuit" with all his man friends, I'd like to think I provided just enough entertainment to make him feel like I didn't waste his time. I did, after all, give him loads of great ideas for his podcast (Good Guys to Know), so that should count for something, right? RIGHT?!

Okay, this circuit training has taken it out of me. I'll see you guys on the other side of this weekend, alright? ALRIGHT!

Dear Crabby

I almost got caught today trying to peep on some girl's shoes. She rides my bus and gets off at my stop, and I LURVE these cute Sperry-looking boat shoes that she wears. Like, I love them. (She's kind of uppity and her hair is always TOO shiny, so I don't feel comfortable straight up asking her where she got her bus shoes.) But I wasn't sure of their exact brand, so I got reeeeeeal close to her as we were making our way off the bus so I could get the best view. When the bus came to screeching halt at the last second, I smashed right into her. The irony is that because I bumped her, her feet went way far forward and I couldn't see them up close anymore. And I am the girl YOU are asking for advice. Moving on...

Dear Crabby,

Can you settle a, eh hem, heated argument for me? My wife always comes to bed in like head-to-toe fleece and I always wake up sweating and rubbing up against that gnarly fleece. She said I need to get over it, and I say she needs to lay off the Cookie Monster fur. Who's right?

Thanks,
Counting Sheep...That Are Apparently Sleeping in My Bed

Hey Counting Sheep...That Are blah blah blah,

Listen, don't knock the fleece. I like it an awful lot in the middle of this freezing Minnesota winters. And, in fact, I own the coziest fleece robe in all the land. It's so warm and fuzzy and PINK! PROOF:

I love it. Geo, however, hates it and says it looks like I've wrapped myself in insulation and then he reminds me of the dangers of fiberglass. Anyhoozle, yeah. Fleece is a-okay in my book. However, and this is a big "however", I would NEVER SLEEP IN FLEECE. Yes, it makes you all sweaty, and then it doesn't allow for the absorption or evaporation of all that gross sweat. It just traps it and holds it in beads all over your body. So, I can sympathize with you. She's gotta toss the fleece. Here's my suggestion. Buy her some cute pj's that are to your liking, and then invest in some super cozy, warm sheets. It'll be a compromise you can both live with, I promise. Give that a shot, and see if you can cool off a bit.

Dear Crabby,

Is there a tactful way to tell someone that you can't stand the way they smell? Oh, and also it's my roommate. Additionally, it's patchouli and she wears it as kind of a hippie badge of honor, so she's pretty attached to it. BLECH. What can I do?!

Thanks Crabster,
Patchouli Problem

Dear Patch,

I'm afraid I have to answer your question with a question of my own. What is the appeal of patchouli?! Why do people like it? How do they not know it smells horrible to everyone else? (Okay, so that's like 3 questions.) I don't know how to help you, unfortunately. If I could rid the world of patchouli, I would have already done it. And unfortunately, your roommate isn't the only one who is, inexplicably, very much attached to that scent. But trying to get someone to stop slathering themselves in patchouli is like a pirate with scurvy - fruitless. I think your best option is to light a ton of vanilla or clean laundry scented candles and maybe have cookies baking at all times to drown out the smell. If she's a cool chick, maybe you can ask her to tone it down a bit, but I'm pretty sure you're just going to have to move out. Good luck!

Dear Crabby,

Okay, I've been asked to keep a secret. But I can't keep secrets. I HATE secrets. It's a pretty big secret, though. I don't know how long I can go on zipping my lip and there have been tons of opportunities for me to spill the beans. Okay, don't tell anyone, but I found out that my cousin cheated on her husband. With another woman. It all sounds very "Jerry Springer", I know. At any rate, I need to know: would it be the worst thing in the world if I let this secret out? I don't want to know this all by myself anymore. I mean, I mentioned how "Jerry Springer" it is, right? People shouldn't have to keep that to themselves. What do I do?

Appreciate it, Crabby!
-Shhhhhhhh!

Well Shhhhh!
I hate to break it to you, but you've already spilled the beans to the literally fives and tens of people who are reading this. So, you know, way to go on that whole "keeping a secret" thing. Listen, besides the fact that this story is crazy interesting and I want tons more details (How did YOU find out? Was the other woman cuter than the husband? Is it a recurring thing? Are any of them living in or around a trailer, and if so, why haven't you written to Jerry Springer about this? Okay, well it's not crazy enough for Jerry. Maybe try Maury) it's not your job to tattle tale. It's also not your job to keep the secrets of a marriage. My advice is to share the info if someone directly asks. If not, let it go and just be glad you aren't involved. And if you absolutely MUST tell someone, go ahead and tell someone who is at least 5 degrees of separation away from all the parties involved in that triangle. Good luck, though. My guess is you are going to need it since you are, apparently, incapable of keeping this on the D.L.

Okay, during a few thoughtful breaks while responding to these (surprisingly awesome) questions, I did some googling and think I found the shoes from the bus girl. I'm not 100% sure, though, so I'll be on another recon mission tomorrow. Anyway, if you have any advice for me and my shoe-capade, or for any of the poor shmucks looking for help from Crabby tonight, stick it in the comments. And if you have your own issues (in my head, I pronounced that as "iss-yous" and it sounded fancy), email pharonsquare@gmail.com and we'll get you all taken care of.

Fat Bottomed Girls

There are some mornings, when you're standing at the sink, brushing your teeth, and you realize that your stomach is jiggling right along with your Crest Spinbrush. Or running to catch your bus makes your legs and butt move like pudding in Ziploc bags. These are dumb days. And these are also the days I think "Okay, seriously. I'm going to work out today. How hard could going for a little run even be?" And then 27 seconds after I walk in the door from work, I'm eating bread dipped in bleu cheese dressing (low-fat at least!) and rationalizing my way out of a workout because I don't have any cute workout clothes. Best laid plans...

Today was one of those days. Everything made me just feel fat. Obese, even. And then I'll feel so BLECH that I'll eat one last piece of Halloween candy and promise myself I'll eat kale for dinner while running on the treadmill. None of that will happen. You know, because instead I've eaten the bread/bleu cheese dinner, and spent all night pinning cute workout outfits and inspirational quotes on Pinterest ("Sweat is just your fat crying"). Major, major fail.

But really the final straw was tonight. I was Skyping with Geo while we watched Sons of Anarchy (thanks for getting over yourselves, DirecTV and Fox!!) and I glanced at myself and thought "Gross! Is this horrible lighting? Do I have a hot dog stuck under my chin?" But no, the answer was not the lighting or misplaced meat products. It was the protrusion of a budding second chin. I nearly hung up on Geo and demanded to finish the show watching via text.

Okay, so that's where I am now. Apparently Dance Central and walks to and from the bus are not counteracting the effects of my affection for all things cheesy. I thought I had it all under control, but this extraneous chin is begging to differ.

So, I'm trying something here. My mom and her sisters have this thing where they write "If I Facebook it, I will do it." Meaning, if they put something on Facebook, like they are going to organize a closet once and for all, they WILL do it. They HAVE to do it. So, I'm going to give that a shot. If I blog it, I'll do it. Or, at least, it'll be harder to ignore it. I will get my pudding-in-a-Ziploc-bag butt back into shape. In fact, last week Claire and I each picked an article of clothing we have, but can't fit into anymore, and promised ourselves we would each fit into our respective clothing item by April 1.

That's the goal.

And because I just loooooove me a good dose of humiliation, I will tell you that the article of clothing I plan on strutting around in on April 1 is a black leather skirt. My mom got it for me in 6th grade. It was chic, super baggy, and looked fierce with my red blazer and Keds. Then in college, I found the skirt again, and wore it in a more adult style. Yes, it was shorter and much tighter, but it still looked cute, because I was still small enough and short enough that it didn't look ridiculous (I don't think). But I want to be able to wear it again. Sure these days it'll be more for costume purposes, but I WILL wear that thing again.

So there you have it. I am officially putting it out there that I'm going to take the jiggle out of my wiggle. The quake out of my shake. The fries out of my thighs. Whatever, you get the idea. I'm going to get skinny.