Friday, April 29, 2011

I'm Royally Wedding My Pants!! Part Deux...

Continued from last night...
Ohmygod, I'm awake. It's like 4 a.m. I had big plans to be in my living room about now, but my two roommates who sleep on that floor are buzzkills and had no desire to listen to my squeals of delight and witty Skype reparte with my mom and sisters. Rude, right?? So, I'm holed up in my room, sitting on the floor. My Royal throne.

So, I've got my glitter crown on, and I've already eaten more than my daily intake of scones. Diet starts tomorrow! I'm pretty surprised at how excited I am. Maybe it's the fact that I've never been up this early in the morning (besides those nights when I haven't gone to bed yet) but it all looks just very awesome.

So, there he is. Wills has arrived at his own wedding. The Prince. Personally, I'm a little more into his broham, Harry. He looks like a good time, and like he's probably hung over. I like that in a man. Plus, he's got all these gold ropes all over his little outfit uniform and it looks like they are, uh, askew. It looks weird.

It occurs to all of us that we have no idea what William's last name is. Durrrr...

Look at all those hats. The worst offenders.

[4:30] All these people are talking about how funny it is that Wills and Kate lived together before they were married and how strange that is. It only reinforces the thought I have that Geo and I are basically the royalty of America then. Sweet.

"No shame in riding in those buses". Actual quote by the commentators. The people NOT invited to the wedding are commenting on the friends of the bride and groom who are arriving in a bus. Yes, I'm sure they were all "A BUS?! I'm not riding a BUS to the WEDDING! I'm not going then." Idiots.

Side note: Last night, Geo had a very frustrated conversation with me about what the difference is between England, the United Kingdom, and who is considered British. I'm pretty sure he almost broke up with me. Sooooorry!

Kate Middleton's mom looks very nice. Like a big ol' robin's egg.

[4:35] Holy, The Westminster Abbey looks incredible inside. A tad gawdy, but whatevs. It works. I should look into whether or not they have any openings in the Summer After Hell Freezes Over for my wedding...

[4:45] Seriously, these hats were made for Dr. Seuss books.

[4:46] There's the Queen! Cooool! Actually don't really care about her, sorry.

[4:50] Something has happened. Maybe it's the pre-dawn delirium, or the church bells of the Abbey or what, but I'm, like SO PSYCHED! Pippa's hair is down! Is that a sign of what Catherine's hair?! OMG, I DON'T KNOW BUT I CAN'T WAAAAAIT!

[4:53] Holy. Bride. Kate/Catherine is in the car. I see a lot of white. It's taking like 5 minutes to get the dress in. But looks incredible from the waist up. And yup, her hair is down. How common. Hahaha...

[4:55] Please, dumb commentators, stop calling her Waitey Katey, you jealous knaves.

[4:59] I love that journalists will get their information on Kate's dress via email. Just like the ol' days.

[5:00] At exactly 5:00 a.m. CST, to the sound of those crazy awesome church bells, Kate comes out of her car. It's really kind of awesome. It's so dramatic. The train and veil of her dress are pretty, um, understated. You know, for a queen. It's really incredible. She has like a REAL tiara on, too. Not like the ones chicks wear at Prom.

[5:02] It is just dawning on me that I'm about to WATCH a CHURCH SERVICE on TV. I forgot all about this part. I have to go find some church clothes to put on...

[5:08] This is one long aisle she has to walk down. Maybe it's a preventative measure so she can't go running out of there...

[5:09] Wills still hasn't looked at his bride...

[5:11] Yay! He sees her! They're at the alter! They look like they're strangers, but oops! Wills keeps leaning over and whispering things to her - one of them being "Beautiful" which is sweet. It's kind of weird that it's so, uh, sterile, almost. They aren't even holding hands. I wonder if the priest will have to yell at them for whispering to each other...

[5:12 or something, I don't know...not looking at the clock anymore] Kate's taken her veil off, and despite the fact that I heard she did her own makeup, she looks brilliant.

Phew! No drama at the "speak now or forever hold your peace" part. That would have been hilars.

Spoiler Alert! He said "I will!" She said "I will!" Everyone is outside can totes hear it inside the church.

Vows sound even awesomer with a British accent. Note to self: Consider using an accent for future weddings and other court dates.

Churchy stuff...

Looooots o' churchy stuff. It is very entertaining to see Posh Spice and David Beckham in the church though. It's like my worlds are colliding.

I hear Padrin ask, as the ceremony winds down "Wait, are they singing OUR National Anthem?!" Hahahaha...I laughed and laughed and made fun of her but then I accidentally called it the American Anthem. We're dummies.

After a very very long time of nothing happening, finally Wills and Katherine come out of their secret fort in the back of Westminster Abbey and they are, like, officially married! It's really incredibly touching. I wonder if they took a shot of Jagermeister before their walk back down the aisle together. I totally would have.

Prinna says "It's like a fairy tale!" And it totally is! I keep expecting little cartoon mice to come out and adjust her crooked tiara and then watch a giant flock of birds wave and blow kisses with their wings. Everyone else's wedding for the rest of time will be lame compared to this. Sorry, friends...

And now they're on that sick carriage back to regular ol' life at Buckingham Palace. There will be a kiss on the balcony later, but I've got royal duties to attend to as well. I gotta put some jeans on and head to work. Maybe I'll wear my high school Prom dress today - shake things up. I don't know, but with that, I'm signing off for the weekend. Hope you had/have fun watching the wedding! I know I did!

Thursday, April 28, 2011

I'm Royally Wedding My Pants!!

I caught a little bit of the NFL draft tonight. w00t! I have a feeling Christian Ponder is going to save the Vikings. Not. Whatever, the new drafted QB is really cute, so I'm happy.

After getting my testosterone fill tonight, I need to hit the sheets because I'm waking up at 4:00 a.m. to watch The Royal Wedding. That's right, people. I'm insane. But I was coerced into watching the wedding while Skyping with my mom and sisters. Their argument? "Phaaaaaron, come oooooon!!!" You just can't argue with that. You also can't argue with the little crowns and scones my mom got for the occassion. So, while I won't be in the family room with the other ladies, I'll be at my house, watching the wedding, and blogging all my very awesome thoughts while wearing a glittery crown and eating scones. Yeah! We'll see what happens in 6 hours...I'll be back on here when I peel myself out of bed. I'm super stoked!! Come along, won't you!?!

Wednesday, April 27, 2011

Dear Crabby

Dear Crabby,

Are you going to watch the Royal Wedding? Do you people (a.k.a. Americans) even care about it?

Her Royal Highness

Dear Her Royal Highness,
What an honor to have the Queen of England (or France or the UK or Europe or whatever…I get those all confused all the time) as a devoted blog reader! Anyway, yes, actually I AM pumped for the upcoming nuptials of a prince and his “commoner” fiancee. However, I found out today that I don’t understand time zones. I thought the whole thing, happening on FRIDAY NIGHT ENGLAND time, means that it’s happening SATURDAY MORNING AMERICA time. But no, I was wrong. It's actually airing in America on Friday MORNING, when I'll be sleeping and/or getting ready for work. Stupid prime meridian! Still, I plan on watching it after work on Friday. For some reason, we Americans really dig our Brits, no matter how bad their teeth are: Hugh Grant, Ricky Gervais, Simon Cowell, Adele, the Geico gecko guy, Madonna... We love ‘em. It’s either the accent or the snobby calmness of them that really gets me, though. So watching a typically stuffy affair where literally anything can go wrong (read: Prince Harry) to dishevel the young couple? Sign me up! Anyway, I’ll be posting all my thoughts post-wedding. Stay tuned, Your Majesty.

Dear Crabby,

I know you don't have kids of your own but you do have nieces and nephews. I'm wondering, how would you recommend that I get my two-year old to stop whining from the time she wakes up until the time she goes to bed. It's driving me insane...especially when I'm trying to read your blog!

It's My Party, I Can Whine If I Want To

Dear Whiner,

Man, kids can really kill a buzz, am I right? Well, I'm no expert in child rearing (hehe), but I would assume you could just sit your toddler down and just try and reason with them. You know, make a couple pie charts to illustrate how their whining is less effective than using their words. Would that work? I mean, kids love pictures, right? I guess if that doesn't work, I'd just hide in the pantry with a glass of wine and my iPod on, blaring The Pixies. Then it's like the whining isn't really happening. Maybe he/she will get the hint then and discover their whining isn't really helping anything. Anyone hiring babysitters?

Dear Crabby,

My teenage son really wants to quit band. He is quite good but says it's too embarrassing to carry his instrument case through the hallways. I really think it's important for him to continue in band. What tactics can my husband and I use to get him to stay in band?

Clara Net

Dear Clara Net,

Your son has a point. Sometimes being good at something is embarrassing. Sometimes it can really hurt your rep. God forbid you should stand out in the crowd! But as a former bandie myself, I'd suggest buying a second instrument so he can have one and home and one at school, thereby avoiding the rep-crushing experience of carrying it through the halls. Then later, he can go on to be in like Justin Bieber's backup band and who'll be laughing then? Your son, that's who. Oh, also, it would help if you don't refer to band as "character building". Focus on making it cool. It's actually pretty cool to play an instrument well. Look at Ben Folds! Sufjan Stevens! Pete Wentz! That dude who plays saxophone in Dave Matthews Band! Travis Barker! They're all bandies, yo! Go ahead and make a playlist of these awesome musicians and bump it up. Cool breeds cool. Eventually, your son will (hopefully) see these awesome musicians and decide it's not so bad to be in band. Plus, it's only like a few years, and then just remind him he can go off to college, start a band, and then just let the ladies come to him...

Dear Crabby,

My friend cheated on her boyfriend. Do I say anything?? They broke up, but I feel like he should know. What do you think??

Concerned Friend

Dear Concerned Friend,

Sorry pal, but it ain't your job. If they broke up, it's over anyways. Telling him your friend cheated on him would be like kicking a puppy right after it's been neutered. It's cruel. There's no point in it. Build a bridge and get over it.

Yowza! Another great week of questions. Keep 'em coming, guys! I've got opinions and helpful words of wisdom for daaaays! As always, you can reach me at Good luck out there, twerps!

HEY!! P.S. Don't forget to get your swag on at The Pharon Square store! Submit your pics of you sporting your Pharon Square apparel and you could be featured on the blog! You know you've always wanted to be a famous model...

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Sista Sista

Oh man, it is SO late. I really left this blog until the last minute, but I don't care. I had a very inspiring night. After a few days of stress and just, like, problems, I headed out to kickboxing determined to punch the crap out of a bag. But, alas, Scary Tony was late. So I sat in my car, a mere 500 yards from my sister Prinna's house, and just stewed. I was all in a tizzy about approximately 1,000 things. So, Tony keeps not showing and not showing, and suddenly, I just decided to ditch class (cue: flashback to high school) and head to Prinna's. My toe would be eternally thankful. Oh, wait, did I not mention that I managed to mutilate my toe? Yeah, 'cause I did. I was all in a hurry to get to kickboxing, and decided to quick give myself a pedicure. Why? I don't know. Whatevs. Anyway, so I speeding my way through some toe-care when all of a sudden, my toe starts spurting blood. Whoopsie daisies! So, like any sane adult, I wrapped it in paper towels and surgical tape and headed out for some aggressive kicking.

All that waiting around for Tony made me rethink my shoddy medical job. As I saw Tony walk in to the boxing studio, I tossed my hood up, ducked real low behind my steering wheel, and made my getaway. So, I showed up at Prinna's. She's got this freaky, uncanny way of pulling away the forest so I can see the trees. And, again, that's what she did. It probably helps that her kids are crazy cute and instantly make me feel happy anyway. But whatever, I hope that when I have kids, I'll have enough to warrant "sisters". Not to be all mushy, but my sisters are super awesome and people without sisters are people without proper perspective.

Here's a list of lessons that my two sisters, Padrin and Prinna, have taught me:

* "Here's how you shave you legs!" Cut to my dry-shaved, bloody shin. I learned the lesson of proper skin preparation prior to shaving.

* "Eating ice is just like eating food, but without all the empty calories!" Cut to me piling ice into my vodka tonics in the hopes that the same rings true for anything PREPARED with ice.

* "Coloring pictures as an adult is really therapeutic." Cut to zillions of pictures I've colored for others. In the garbage. Who cares? I feel much calmer.

* "Bargain shopping is the wave of the future." Start with me, a humiliated preteen, on a shopping trip at Marshall's, then cut to me yesterday, clipping actual coupons saying things like "What kind of dummy would pay full price for Ritz sandwiches?! IDIOTS, that's who!" Cue: evil laugh.

* "Any crappy change in life is an opportunity to do something awesome you wouldn't otherwise do." Enough said. I like this advice. It's even better when Prinna someone shows you exactly how to do that.

* "Curly hair is very unfortunate and undesirable. Straighten it at all costs." Padrin and Prinna both have thick, curly or wavy hair. I have thin, straight hair. I can now take pride in that after watching ONE of my sisters (who shall remain nameless) purchase Just For Me chemical relaxer at Target. Ummm, yeah. It was NOT intended for my white, curly-haired sister. Also, one of them has had to get a Brazilian Blowout - Now with more formaldehyde!!

* "Mom was right". Yup, sometimes it takes an older, wiser girl to tell you that your mother is ALWAYS right.

* "If you can't laugh at yourself, we're going to make sure we laugh FOR you." My sisters (and in all fairness my whole family) basically taught me that there are zillions of people willing to laugh AT you at all costs. If you're the first to laugh, or show that you're in on the joke, it's not so bad to be the butt of a joke.

Such life lessons, right? I highly suggest that, if you're a girl, you pick yourself up one of these "sisters" people. They seem to really know what they're talking about. Oh, and they are great for stealing clothes from. Until the get bigger boobs than you, or you can't fit into their jeans anymore. Anyhoozle, get yourself a sister, and you'll never be wanting for advice, or helpful criticism, or a kidney or something. So, big ups to my sisters tonight. And, well, actually, my mom who is one of one of seven girls in her family. People who are sisters are just infinitely better at everything. Thanks, ladies!!

Monday, April 25, 2011

That's Rich

Full disclosure, everyone. My mind is somewhere else today. Growing up is apparently inevitable at this point, no matter how hard I try to ignore it. The other day I thought I found a gray hair. I nearly cried myself stupid. But, upon much, much, MUCH closer inspection, I discovered it was definitively not gray. Stupid too-light highlights.

In the interest of distracting myself, I came home from work and whipped up a dinner of Spongebob Macaroni 'n Cheese. I let the sky-high caloric values wash over me. Kids don't think about calories. Anyway, I'm over it.

I'm watching Gossip Girl and my problems are completely dwarfed by this fictional saga. I'm pretty glad I'm not on house arrest and my dad hasn't ever tried to take over any evil corporation. Well, not that I'm aware of, at least. The point is: disgustingly rich people have problems too, yo. They're all "I have to drug this girl before she tells everyone that I went slumming with the quiet kid last semester." Or "I'm NEVER going to get this internship at Vanity Fair on my own merits, so I'm going to lie and say I'm someone else and screw up everyone else's lives so that I can make myself a shoo-in for this job I'll get fired from because of my associations with uber-powerful, uber-evil kids who are currently blackmailing the editor-in-chief." Drama!

Okay, so yeah. Rich people have probs. And while I'd give my left foot (it's my most useless) for a day in the life of the fictional Blair van der Woodsen, I don't think I could handle all the hustle and bustle rich people go through while also wearing Louboutins. Okay, so the personal driver would help a lot, but being rich and fancy seems like hard work. There's like a LOT of running around and chasing down enemies or attending galas or balls or masquerades, all while doing anything to get a man, keep a man, deceive a man, or whatever. I don't have that kind of energy. Also, it would appear that they do all this on tummies full of only egg-white omelets and strawberries. That's it. Oh, and champagne...despite their obvious minor status.

I know that having tons of money doesn't mean you're going to have it totally easy. Right now, I have exactly zero people who are "out to get me" (that I know of). I also wore dirty jeans on Saturday, and no one photographed me and plastered the fashion faux-pas all over Page Six. Not once has anyone been involved in a Twitter conversation about whether I'm pregnant or fat (answer: fat). Oh, and I know none of the people in my life are using me for money. If you ARE, though, you've definitely picked the wrong gal.

But I could do with the endless waves of clothes and dresses and shoes and jewelry making their way through my closet. I would love to be on the Board of something. I could handle the free town car rides everywhere. And it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to not have to choose between buying contact lenses or groceries.

Everything is so relative. In high school, I worked at a sporting goods store just so I'd have enough change to go to movies with my friends without asking my parents (which, inevitably, leads to doing chores to EARN the money - RUDE). After the first year of my first job out of college, I was STOKED that I had enough money to go to Brueggers, like, any time I wanted! And after the next bump in pay, I felt like queen of the world when I starting paying all my very own bills almost every month. So, yeah. Who knows? If I were super rich, I'd probably forget about all the little piddly things like bills, or fast food, or poor friends. So maybe it's not all THAT bad being where I am. Okay, so I'm not Blair van der Woodsen, but I'm ALSO not Kelly Bundy.

Unless, wait, do you guys have an idea for me to quick become a millionaire? Because that would be tops. If you do, I totes promise I will give you a cut. But then I'd have to like hunt you down and get back those photos of me at that one party before you send them to TMZ for cool $10,000. Either way, it'd be nice to go buy some new clothes tonight instead of doing stupes laundry.

Sunday, April 24, 2011


Happy Easter, everyone who celebrates Easter! Happy Sunday to those of you who don't! Either way, it was B.E.A.U.tiful today and I celebrated by eating approximately twice my weight in ham balls and carrot cake. Zummmmmmmy! Oh, and last night, my sisters, their husbands, my brothers, their wives, and I all went out. Great. I was definitely the fifth (or ninth) wheel...stupid Geo going stupid home for the stupid holiday weekend. After a random drama-filled Thursday night (long, boring story), I was seriously ready to go out. And it's really rare that all of us get to go out together. It all started with beers at the Shout House dueling piano bar downtown, and ended up with shots at Loon Cafe and some crazy dancing. Here's all you need to know about it: At one point, Padrin and Prinna were dancing with a life-size cardboard cutout of Justin Bieber that a group of random guys had brought. Riiiiiiiight.

Needless to say, it was rougher than usual getting up early today. I didn't even remember to set my alarm, so the fact that I popped out of bed at 7 a.m. was an Easter miracle. I was thirsty and tired and my feet hurt from bouncing up and down on the dance floor in 4" heels. Like a champ, though, I pulled it together, put on a dress and went to my parents house to go to church and chill with my equally hungover family. Helpfully, my brother Peter supplied the mimosas and all was good.

I was a little disappointed, though, because I missed my nieces and nephew do their Easter Egg Hunt. But I got there just in time for the aftermath. The jelly beans. The sugar. The toys. The Easter grass. (I got just the teeniest bit nauseous looking at it all. My stomach was not prepared for even the mere sight of anything that looked like it might taste like a Scooby Snack shot.) Aw, I miss Easter egg hunts, don't you guys? The Easter bunny visited our house until my brother Perek (the youngest) was about twenty years old. We went from hunting for chocolate to hunting for money hidden in eggs, and at the time that money hunt was the major contributor to my financial planning.

And is there anything better than waking up to a basket full of candy and toys? Nope, there's not. That was made all too clear when, instead of waking up to presents this morning, I woke up to a throbbing headache and unexplained bruises on my legs. When we were little, all us kids had our very own Easter baskets that we'd carry around like those briefcases you handcuff to yourself. We were very protective of our candy, and there was NO sharing. Although, every once in awhile, I'd trade away my Cadbury Cream Eggs because they grossed me out.

Besides all that, I also loved wearing awesome Easter hats. It's pretty much the only way you could tell I was a GIRL when I was younger - what with the bowl cut and knobby knees and dirt covered face I was sporting back then. So I just loved those hats and dresses. Ooh, and the dainty little white gloves. Not nearly enough people wear cotton white gloves anymore. They instantly fancy up an outfit, and they come in handy for testing dust levels on TVs.

Easter is just lovely. Despite the initial feelings of fuzzy yuckiness, I loved spending time with my family, and my aunts and cousins and my grandma. It was great. All the love and family and food? Awesome. The ONE thing that was missing, the only little thing I missed, were Easter eggs - or, I'm sorry, Spring Spheres. Who doesn't like coloring eggs? No one, that's who. And then chowing down on slightly tinted eggs? I love them. Plus, picking off the shell from an egg is so very zen. Then again, who made the stupid rule that you could ONLY make Easter eggs on Easter? That seals it. I'm definitely going to color eggs this month. That's right, I'm going to throw convention to the wind and laugh in the face of tradition. Rebel!

I hope you all had an awesome Easter (or Sunday...whichever), though! I'm ready for the week ahead, and I hope you are too! Hoppy Weekend, everyone! (Ugh, sorry, but I couldn't resist ONE little pun today.)

Thursday, April 21, 2011

This n That...But Mostly Nothing

Well that's just great. I've been kicked out of my house. I'm camped out at Kim's house while my own home is being overrun with testosterone and boring chit chat. Geo's having his Investment Club over to our house, so there are like a dozen dudes blabbing about God-knows-what and watching some dumb-o powerpoint presentations. All I know is that in preparation for his esteemed guests, Geo put out a bowl of Sun Chips and a bowl of Reese's Pieces. That's it. So yeah, I'm sitting at Kim's watching Swamp People. Just your average Girls' Night Out, I guess.

Anyway, I'm spent on writing this week, I'm not going to lie. In college, one of my professors told us that if we were ever struggling with writer's block, to write about our sock drawer. First, that's dumb. Writing about a sock drawer is about as boring as, well, a sock drawer. Second, Kim won't let me anywhere near her sock drawer. Ugh, rude, Kim.

I just asked Kim if I should just write about socks. She said "Sure!" and I said "I'm joking. No one writes about socks." And Kim, disappointed, says, "Well, I really like socks. Geez."

Rather than make you all suffer through a half-hearted post about something like socks, I'm going to let you all off the hook. Lots of people have work off tomorrow anyway, so it's like their weekend has already started and they aren't reading this anyway. (If a blogger blogs and no one is there to read it, does it really matter if the blogs any good? NO.)

But I will leave you with this lovely random thought: When a group of guys get together, and you accidentally walk into the end of their investment club meeting, this subject WILL come up: "Hey! We could just buy a place in Las Vegas and hold meetings THERE once a year!" Then everyone will talk about craps and roulette and some unimaginative forms of adult entertainment. That, my dear friends, will be your cue to take cover and go running to solace of your own room. And there, I promise you, you will come up with a great topic for a blog, but it will be far too late to start over from scratch.

Have a great weekend, everyone! And my hope is that we all come back on Sunday with some great stories, and full-hearted blogs! With that in mind, here's yet another randomly awesome song that I love so much. I plan on going out with my family this weekend and dancing, and you can bet your Easter baskets that this is the song I will be shaking my booty to! Welcome back, James Van Der Beek!

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Dear Crabby

Yay! MORE QUESTIONS! I love helping people, I really do. Also, I really like making fun of people. That said, awaaaaaay we go!

Dear Crabby,

So I got some Fage yogurt with a little side cup of fruit attached to it. I was all ready to dump the fruit into the separate cup of yogurt and stir it all up, when I read the side of the cup. It said "Do Not Stir". Whaaaaaaaa? What am I supposed to do with that? What do I do? How do I eat this dadgum yogurt?!

Love and kisses,
Your Biggest Fan

Dear My Biggest Fan,

Okay, to be fair, I have to confess something. This is actually my OWN question. Sorry, everyone, but this warranted a spot on Dear Crabby because it was a legitimately dumb question I had today. I sat down for a quick yogurty snack at work when I became flummoxed by the confusion of simply eating yogurt. So I admit it...I googled "How do I eat Fage without stirring it?!" Yeah, so what? I guarantee you've googled dumber things. Anyway, Fage (annoyingly pronounced fah-yay apparently) makes eating hard. There were many people asking the same thing, though, so I know I'm not alone. Anyway, the way you're supposed to eat this dumb (and yet very, very delicious) snack is by dumping the fruity yumminess on TOP of yogurt. I don't know why you shouldn't stir it up, but apparently, it's like super frowned upon. And I am nothing if not a lady. So yeah. They make it sound like a Rubik's cube, but it's not. You essentially eat yogurt with a fruit topping...not a fruity yogurt. And guess what! About halfway through, I just went ahead and stirred it all up together ('cause I'm a rebel like that), and it was equally delicious. Ugh. Fage. Why would you mess with people like that? Jerks. But oh well, thanks for the zummy snack!

Dear Crabby,

Where do you stand on wearing white before Memorial Day?

Wearing White, Just Don't?

Dear WWJD,

Clever little pseudonym you have there! Anyway, I'm not into very many rules when it comes to clothes. My current obsession is coordinating black with brown, which I'd heard was always a no no. But according to basically everyone, blacks, browns, greys, reds, whites, and yellows are all neutrals, so they all just match. Case closed. I also have a number of clothing items that combine pink with red, which as a kid I always thought was worse than wearing Wranglers. But the fact is, some things just look weird during certain times of year. I think the whole concept of when to wear and not wear white is okay in THEORY. Don't go around wearing white shoes with a white belt and white pants in the winter. That's just crazy. There's a lot of dirty, snowy crap in the winter. But white, to me at least, is a naturally airy color. Go ahead and slap on a white sweater, who cares? There IS something called Winter White, so go ahead and rock that. But just tone it down until it doesn't accentuate your paleness. Oddly Relevant Story Alert! Last Labor Day, we had the genius idea of throwing a White Party at our house. All our friends came over and we were all wearing white from head to toe, because it was supposedly the last day we could that. So all of us, in all our whiteness, decided to crash a party down the street from me. They thought we were, like, insane and misunderstood the meaning of our White Party. It was not well-received. So, unless you are hanging with P Diddy at his annual party, skip the All White look.

Dear Crabby,

What's the best way to shape up for summer? It's almost here, and I'm nowhere near my goal weight. I feel like people are going to be grossed out by me on the beach! Help!

Eagerly Awaiting Your Response,

Dear Weightless,

Oh deary. The eternal struggle to become "summer ready". It's so lame. Yet, we all do it. We all try and drop a few (or a-several) pounds before tearing up the beach. But here's the thing: GUH! It's so HARD! Sure, there's nothing wrong with trying to look your best before baring it all, but sheesh, people are way too hard on themselves (especially women). No one is perfect. Oh, and to you gentlemen? Knock it off with the female body commentary when you yourself have a gut, saggy man-boobs, and/or baggy shoulders. Chances are, you're not exactly centerfold material either. Anyway, Weightless, for me I like to just get outside and try and ride my bike (and fail), or go rollerblading (and fail), or just go play tennis or something. I like to DO things that make me FEEL healthier. But whatever. Just go out and have some fun and don't put so much pressure on yourself to look perfect. No one's perfect and it's way better to hang out with a FUN person, no matter their size. And if all else fails, maybe try and focus on OTHER PEOPLES cosmetic flaws. It'll help alleviate your own feelings of inadequacy. And even even if another girl looks incredible in a bikini next to you, just go ahead and decide she's probably crazy. Now, get out there and shake what your momma gave you! Yay!! Summer!!

Good luck out there this week, you guys. And any time you need an eager ear or a sharp tongue to help you out with something, just head on over to your email and send me a quick note at I'll help ya out, no questions asked. Unless it's like a creepy or a dangerous question. Then I'm calling in the authorities. You've been warned...

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Driving Me Crazy

Roundhouse! Kick! People! I had to go to kickboxing by myself tonight, as Sanna's foot hurt and she couldn't make it. BUT! That meant some one-on-one training with scary Tony so my butt got seriously worked. However, as I mentioned, I learned to roundhouse kick. So consider this day a major success.

So I was driving home and belting out an awesome Ke$ha song in my car while weaving through traffic, and it occurred to me that I'm an excellent driver. I wear my seatbelt, I pay attention to what I'm doing, I know how to use my mirrors, I'm confident in my merging capabilities, and I understand the schematics of turning. I really am probably one of the best drivers I know. Lots of people would beg to differ with me, but those people suck. One dissenter would be Perek, who slams an imaginary brake on the passenger side every time I pull up behind a car at a deceptively high speed. Another person who might disagree with me is a boy I dated in high school who I rear-ended when we were leaving the school parking lot. But like I said, they suck.

I, like every other normal person in the world over the age of 25, got my license when I was 16. Somehow my mom got this crazy idea in her head that I was not a good first-time driver. So for like 6 months after I got my license, I could ONLY drive around our neighborhood. BORING. I lived in the suburbs, like tons of blocks away from the local Perkins, and I couldn't even drive there. But, them's the rules I guess. A couple weeks after my parents decided to let me loose on the streets of Edina, I had to call them and explain that I had rear-ended my boyfriend because I was waving at friends driving the other way. Back then, THAT was distracted driving.

Now, idiots are CONSTANTLY on the phone or texting or reading an eBook or painting their nails or whatever. I do NOT do these things. I talk on speaker. I text - if I absolutely have to - at annoyingly long stoplights. And while I DO brake for funny billboards, I keep one eye on the road at all time. Okay, so I drive a little fast and SOMEtimes I test the limits of what constitutes tailgating, but whatevs.

I know many bad drivers. People who can't, like, be ALERT enough to maneuver a 50 ton aluminum beast (that IS how heavy cars are, right?) through city streets, or people who think multi-tasking is perfectly fine as long as they keep their foot on the brake at ALL TIMES. Not me, people. I'm a great driver.

I would also like to take this opportunity to express my very sincere displeasure with the fine men and women of the police force who magically always seem to find something WRONG with my driving. Listen, my driving - much like my kickboxing - is sometimes a little too much for others to handle. Sometimes I look like I'm driving fast because you're looking slowly. Or like I'm switching lanes without using a blinker, but that's only because I forgot to turn it on. And okay, who DOESN'T slip through a stop sign every now and then? I'm a busy gal, people! I have places to be!

I haven't gotten a ticket in a long time. I'd like to think those days are behind me. But let's face it. It also helps that there's a whole new breed of horrible drivers who think texting and taking pictures and scrolling through their iPod while they drive is just like putting on their seatbelt. Idiots. But you go ahead and do your makeup while you drive. When you swerve in and out of lanes, because you poked your eyeball with your mascara wand and have to hang up your phone to deal with it, I'll be speeding by you paying 100% attention to what's going on around me. Now, you tell ME who deserves a ticket...

Monday, April 18, 2011

Gimme Some Sugar

To all the ladies. I'm about to change your lives. There's nothing more boring than sitting around watching paint dry. As in: nail polish paint. Painting my fingernails usually takes like a good two hours, and I always end up with sheet marks or bubbles or I forget they're drying and I try putting my hair in a ponytail or something similarly stupid. So! Here's where the fab news comes in. Revlon Top Speed Nail Polish. Exactly 60 seconds ago, I painted my nails. Exactly one second ago they were dry. I bought the new kind on a whim in royal blue. I was all "Who would want royal blue nails for longer than a couple days anyways?!" But a week later, it was still on, still shiny, still awesome. No chipping. The point is go buy this nail polish like yesterday.

Okay, on to more pressing issues. So the woman at our front desk at work always has a little bowl of candy. I'm not a big candy person (I'd prefer a bagel to a Butterfinger any day), but every once in awhile, I need a sugar fix. So I find a reason to head down to her desk. Today I went down ready to indulge in a couple mini Twix bars, and instead found myself staring at a bowl of jelly beans. #CandyFail. Worse? They were Jelly Bellys. I don't know who likes Jelly Bellys, but nothing is more disturbing than popping a red jelly bean in your mouth and being assaulted by cinnamon instead of cherry. Or expecting lemon and getting stinky sock or something. Tricky little beans!

I'm pretty convinced - and if you disagree with me, feel free to defend your wrong alternate argument - that the only safe candy color in the world is pink (besides, of course, chocolate which is always exactly what you're expecting). You can't go wrong with pink. It's either cotton candy, bubblegum, strawberry, or something else guaranteed to be an actual treat. White could be coconut (blech!) or marshmallow. Green could be apple or lime. Orange, well, okay orange is pretty much always orange. Clever.

Where is this going, you ask? Well it's almost Easter, and there just seems to be candy everywhere, so I keep absent-mindedly shoving handfuls of sugar in my mouth and it's really starting to mess with me. As a Salty kind of gal, sugar is not exactly my go-to snack. So instead of feeling dehydrated after a salty mid-day snack, I end up feeling just like totally not full and a little on edge. [Here's another life-changing tip: Sugar does NOT make kids hyper. Scientific FACT. It's usually the event surrounding the sugar intake that gets them all spazzy and shouty - you know, Halloween, birthday parties, etc. So, yeah. Just remember that.]

But okay, so I have no one to blame but myself for the consumption of empty calories. But I stopped putting sugar (or, well Splenda) in my coffee so that counts for something, right? Wrong. I just keep replacing the fake sugar with real sugar lately. And that sugar comes in the form of marshmallow Peeps. That's right, people. I ate a marshmallow Peep today, and I LIKED IT. I got sick after one, but the crunchy sugary goodness with the ooey gooey sweetness was just what I needed. My teeth still hurt from the inevitable cavities. Whatever.

Something must have tipped off my sugar neurons. Those are real things, right? I never really cared for sugar. I mean, okay, so if someone hands me a Snickers bar I don't exactly throw it in their face. But given the option, I'd take chips over licorice anyday. This is why I don't know what's going on with my recent passion for the Peep. Is it the time of year maybe? The endless winter messing with my emotions? The fact that I'm hormonal and moody? Probably. Whatever it is, I'm ready for it to be over. The Peeps are going to give me nightmares, and I don't know how long I can hold off from blowing one up in the microwave just because. And for the sake of my teeth, my microwave and my sanity, I gotta get off the sweet stuff.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Phashion Show!

[Begin Shameless Self Promotion HERE]

So, my new issue of Vogue came today. Love it! It's almost as if Anna Wintour KNEW I was going to make an announcement today that's going to knock the $100 socks off the fashion world. It's like they planned the release of their May issue with the EXACT date I was releasing some hot new trends of my own. You guys?

I've finally got my Pharon Square swag up for sale!

I opened up a little store at and it's chock full of shirts, shot glasses, coffee mugs, women's underwear (whaaat? I know...awesome!), and all kinds of other fun stuff. I know for a fact that people are judged by the logo on their coffee mugs, so make it count.

Listen, you don't want to get caught with last season's blogger swag. Lame! So do yourself, and your closets/kitchen cabinets a favor and go buy some totes adorable stuff with a few of my priceless and prolific pharonisms scrawled all over it.

I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you that they also make excellent gifts for your loved ones. Or even people you hate, but I don't know why you'd want to buy such an incredibly cool gift for someone you hate. Whatever.

I got myself a t-shirt, and I love it! I know, I know. It's certifiably UNcool to wear your own clothes. It's like how they say that a member of a band should never wear his own band's t-shirt. It's weird. It's egotistical. It's shameless. And yet? Here I sit, with my own cool shirt on and feeling very cool about myself. Plus, if Charlie Sheen can do it, so can I.

So that's my big news. I'm pretty stoked about it, and you should be too. But it's not like I spent the whole weekend holed up in my house pretending to be Vera Wang or anything. I went out. I shopped. I ran into an old high school boyfriend at the bar, and that was fun. It was both comforting and humiliating that he remembered the time in 6th grade when I got knocked out by the chair lift on a class ski trip. /facepalm. I watched a few movies, managed to eat a whole thing of Ben & Jerry's Late Night Snack ice cream (OMFG, you guys. It's vanilla ice cream, with salted caramel swirls, and chocolate covered chunks of potato chips. Best. Ice Cream. Ever.) and just generally avoided the freezing cold outdoors.

But, most importantly, I opened my store. I'm a real life store owner. The best part is that I don't have to do a darn thing now except watch the inventory fly off the virtual shelves. I can't wait to see you all around town with a big ol' Pharon Square tote bag (my personal fave) full of Pharon Square collectibles. Yay!

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Look Who's Not Talking

I think I spoke a total of 273 words today. That is probably an all-time low for me. I mean, at work I did my general thing, but between the spreadsheets and listening to the guys new podcast (Good Guys to Know), I was much quieter than usual and didn't exactly hit my verbal quota. Okay, so there WAS one day last month where I legitimately didn't say a word at work (busy as a bee, you know), but I made up for it AFTER work that day when I talked Madeline's ear off on Skype for a couple hours. But I seriously counted the words I've said since I've been home today, and I've gotten up to about 150. All totaled, that puts me at, um, what, like 978 words? Curse you, Math! Whatever. The point is, that is not a lot of words. And now I don't even know what to do with myself.

I've always been an incessant talker. In Elementary School, it was common to find "Talks Too Much" on my report cards. My mom thought it was a negative...I'd consider it a compliment. Everyone likes an articulate preteen. When I was REALLY young, my sisters tell me I'd sit in the bathroom and just sing and talk to myself for an embarrassingly long amount of time. What, no one wanted to come in with me for a one-on-one conversation about Barbie's? Crazy!

I know I talk too much. I talk when I'm nervous, when I'm confident, when I'm angry, when I'm's usually pretty non-stop. But man, today I just really slacked off. I'm just like out of conversation today. I simply waved at Geo when he came in tonight from work, and that's just flat out laziness.

I'm the person who rambles on and on about absolutely nothing on voicemails. I've always got ONE more thing to say right as a movie starts. I interrupt people because I physically can't stop my mouth from spilling out words. I gave a speech at Prinna's wedding and I just kept talking and talking until I couldn't think of anything else to say. Then instead of saying "Cheers!" or "Congratulations!" or whatever, I just sat down and started talking to my other sister without even missing a beat. Padrin was all "You didn't even do the TOAST part!" Dummy. All that talking. Nothing accomplished.

So many words usually. But today I was the Twitter version of myself. Maybe I've been tweeting and facebooking and blogging so much I'm out of material. Is that possible? Probably not. I mean, I haven't even GOTTEN to my opinions on that J.Crew ad which I personally find adorable, even though crazy people think it's offensive (seriously? It wasn't offensive when we dressed Perek up like a girl in yellow dresses and put his awesomely curly hair into little pig was hilarious.) Oh, and no one has yet to be amazed with my input on the Charlie Sheen nightmare. I could probably talk about THAT for hours.

But no, I just haven't wanted to talk much. Is this a new me? Am I now like a woman of few words? The kind of person who talks only after a thoughtful pause before a small number of very wise, very insightful words? Oh man, I really hope not. I'm certifiably afraid of awkward silences, and the most practical way to avoid those is to fill them with a whole lotta gibberish. It's verbal diarrhea and I get it all the time.


Uh, crap. Awkward silence in the blog. PANIC! Here's a video I love Honey Badger Don't Care. Oh! And Kate Spade came out with a bike today. A BIKE! It's green and lovely and it has a bell and place to hang your Kate Spade bag and there's only one bike per store, and there are no stores in Minnesota which is lame. It's going to snow this weekend which has set me way back in my Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Phew...sounds like I've still got plenty of super important things to talk about. I have a feeling it'll be a very verbal weekend. I've been all clammed up for a couple days, so I'm sure I'm about to explode with awesome conversational fireworks. Yay! Congrats to all the lucky peeps who are about to enjoy the show! Have a wonderful weekend!

This mash up of songs is by Girl Talk who is a sick sick DJ and I love him. He mashes all these pieces of songs together and the result is a musical version of my conversations. How apropos!

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Dear Crabby

Your questions, my answers! Good questions, this week guys! A couple of these were tough! I hope I did them justice!

Dear Crabby,

You have LOST Season 37 on DVD but no DVD player, a bottle of Fess Parker's 2008 Pinot Noir but no corkscrew, and a pack of cigarettes but no lighter. It's raining out. What do you do?

Hugs and kisses,

Dear MacGuyver,
Number one, how did you get Lost season 37? I’m intrigued as I have only seen (and drooled over) seasons 1 – 6 which I was led to believe were all that existed. Tell me more. Okay, let’s see here. It sounds like you are in a bit of a pickle. Here’s what I’d do: Shove the cork into the bottle and begin enjoying the wine irresponsibly and quickly. Then I'd take the cigarettes and head to the black market part of town (I'll have the guts to go there alone because of all the wine, obvs). I'll tell a guy the cigarettes are made out of all kinds of illegal narcotics so as to up the street value. Then I can trade them for a DVD player with the registration number scratched off. Go back home, watch the movies. Duh!

Dear Crabby,

I've got a big first date coming up this weekend. What do I wear???

-Nervous is Nebraska

What's up, Nervous? First of all, you gotta calm down. Dressing for a first date is SOOOOO easy! Assuming you are a GIRL, just wear dark jeans, black shirt, colorful high heels, hair down. Done. Unless you wanna be a little more, uh aggressive. If that's the case, change the jeans to a short skirt. If you're trying to GIVE the milk away, keep everything but the black shirt, which you should just leave at home I guess. Now, you could always go the LBD (Little Black Dress) route, but it depends on what you're doing on your date. If you're going rock climbing, or horseback riding, or going to like Applebees, I'd skip the dress route. Then again, maybe you should just wear whatever makes you comfortable. Oooh, or you could do leggings with a cute t-shirt dress with a belt and some bomb heeled boots, with your hair all wavy and like slept-in. Then again, maybe stick with jeans but do a funky t-shirt and lots of fun jewelry. Oh boy, Nervous. I don't know. Turns out, this is a very difficult decision. It's just really important to give the best possible first-impression, without looking like you're trying too hard, but you also want to let him know you care about your looks. Crap, now I'M nervous for you. Yikes. You better get started on going through all your clothes. Good luck, lady. You're going to need it.

Dear Crabby,

What do you do when you are feeling crabby? I got the crabbys...

Itchy in Rhode Island

Dear Itchy in Rhode Island,
I believe there’s a special shampoo for those pesky crabs. Or you could just shave off all your hair. Either way: Ew.

How'd I do this week? Good stuff? Think you could do better? Jot down any other pieces of advice you may have down there in the comments. Good luck, though, I'm pretty sure my answers are the best ones ever. If you find yourself with a burning question, email me at

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

I Like You, I Like You Not (And I'm Wrong)

So, you know when you meet someone and you’re all “Hmm, I have a really great feeling about this person” and then that person turns out to be like a serial arsonist or something? Well, that’s a constant problem that plagues me, because I’m a terrible judge of character. I misjudge pretty much everyone. All the time. Over a year before I started dating Geo, we were roommates. I spent hours in my room crying about how I had to live with him and share a bathroom with him. I thought he was mean. I thought he was arrogant. I thought we had NOTHING in common and he was out to ruin my life. I was so completely wrong. One day, I was all “Wait. He’s actually okay. Maybe one of my friends would like him. Actually, no, I’m just going to keep him to myself because I only now just realized he’s pretty much the greatest guy ever.” Normal.

I also have made that blunder with a bunch of other truly wonderful people in my life. Several years ago, my now-friend Valerie started working at the magazine I worked at. She strolled in with her fancy Ivy-league-education and $10 words and I thought, “Man, she’s got some nerve.” So I didn’t make an effort to get to know her. Several months – and way too many missed Work Happy Hour opportunities – later, I come to discover she’s super awesome, and one of my favoritest (one of MY fancy public university $10 words) people to hang out with. How had I gotten it soooo wrong?

It wouldn’t be so bad if it turned out that everyone I didn’t immediately like was actually a Geo or Val. That’d be lovely! But, my hasty, passionate first-impression-readings go the other way too. I had a roommate in college who I was SURE was destined to be my best friend for life. She moved in with Kim and me, and we got along like gangbusters. Then, whoops! Turns out she was horribly crazy, bought and then RETURNED a pet, AND she was a Food Stealer (the worst of all the stealers). Then I was stuck between trying to stay on her good (non-crazy) side without making her think I still wanted to hang out with her. (You know, ‘cause she was crazy.) It was a rough year for me, you guys.

It’s so counterintuitive, too. I gravitate towards sassy/self-deprecating/brash/abrasive people. They make me laugh, or they make ME look like the nicest person on the planet. So, you can understand the appeal. Until, probably 7 times out of 10, it turns out they’re just jerks and bullies and idiots (sometimes all three). I’ll be all, “Yay! He’s opinionated and sassy like me! We’re Friend Soul Mates! Uh oh, hold the phone…crap, he’s also horribly racist! ABORT FRIENDSHIP!”

It’s especially tempting for me to like someone everyone else seems to hate. They’ll be all “Ew, Simone* is mean and gross and not funny and no one likes her.” And I’ll feel bad for her because I think, “Rude! Some people think I’M mean and gross and not funny! And that’s just NOT always true!” So that’s when I swoop in to save the poor schmuck’s day by declaring “She’s just misunderstood! She’s really funny and clever and awesome! You guys are just dummies.” And WHOOMP! Turns out, everyone was right, and Simone IS a big ol’ jerky loser. Foiled again.

What is my problem? I immediately assume that if someone is too nice, they are either fake or boring or trying to ruin my life. Alternatively, if someone is horribly offensive and crass, I’m convinced they are top-notch friend material. It’s just so – inefficient. You know? Then I have to go back and apologize to the person I initially wrote off, beg for forgiveness, and pester them until they inevitably fall in love with me. Meanwhile, I ALSO have to discreetly remove the insane person from my life without them realizing it. It just takes so much TIME.

I know they say "Don't judge a book by its cover" but I just can't help it. I ONLY choose books by their cover, so it's not like I can turn it off. But maybe if I meet you in public someday, don't be offended if I hate you, and don't be too cocky if I like you.

* “Simone” is a real person, but not their real name. I know a lot of people with a lot of different names, so I didn’t want to inadvertently rename that particular villain someone else’s name. I thought to myself “I need a pseudonym that NO ONE I know is named, so no one gets offended.” Naturally, I came up with Raven Simone. That’s SO Raven…

Monday, April 11, 2011


In the spirit of the Spring cleaning season, I have some dirty laundry to air out. You know, get it out there, shake out the cobwebs, bring it into the daylight. This, you guys, was my room before I took care o' business.

Yup, there's a bed under all those clothes. My closets threw up all over room, spewing boots, sweaters, and t-shirts all over the place. I knew it had reached epic status when, on two separate occasions, Geo asked me "So...are you, uh, gonna maybe clean your room sometime soon? It's, um, pretty sick to look at." Really Geo? As much as I appreciate his helpful suggestions, here's Geo dirty little secret.

Geo had stashed almost TWENTY water glasses in and around the upstairs (I am allowed to share that because I have to pick Geo up at the airport tonight at MIDNIGHT, so he owes me one). I had to load them all into my laundry basket and haul them downstairs. It took two trips and two rounds in the dishwasher. Granted, there's no need for a humidifier anymore. Because with all that water evaporated into the air, my skin has been as hydrated and soft as my new baby nephew's butt.

So whatever. We both have our issues. I shove my closets so full of clothes that inevitably, like a Jack-in-the-box, they shoot out everything onto the floor. Geo hides half-full (I'm an optimist) water glasses under his bed and makes little towers of them on his desk.

On a related note, Sanna and I started a Spring Cleaning list this weekend. We've got a list of jobs like "Clean out refrigerator" and "Move Jagermeister cooler to basement" and "Vacuum Rug or Buy New Rug". Lots of fun stuff on there. Seeing as how this is going to be my last summer in this posh pad, I'd really like it to be clean and not covered in 1 3/4 inches of dust. (Note: After living in a big, old house with lots of original fancy woodwork, I would consider moving into a house made strictly out of stainless steel.)

When the guys lived here, Spring Cleaning was non-existent at best. I'd be sweating, on my hands and knees washing the floors, while all the guys spent an hour hanging up a mail basket and deciding where to aim the speakers for best possible surround sound. Dumb. So, having the chicas around is lovely. There was even talk of PURCHASING new cleaning supplies! Oooh, AND! They know the difference between Windex and Draino, so that's top notch.

Now that my room is clean, and our cupboards are stocked with glasses again, and our Spring cleaning list is complete (though none of jobs have actually been DONE), it's really starting to feel the dreary grips of winter have relented. I even got these cutie little herb plants at Target:

They were only $1 each, and I purchased them as a joke for Sanna. She wanted to plant an herb garden on our deck before Geo and I had to burst her bubble by informing her that NOTHING can grow in our planters because there is no sun, and I gave her the little guys to poke some fun at the concept of growing herbs. But then I planted them, and now they're cute and hopefully it'll be all herby and green in our kitchen soon. So it's all awesome and Springy up in this piece. w00t! What are YOUR Spring rituals? Do you do Spring Cleaning? Does the picture of my room make you think less of me?

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Brunch Bunch

Suuuunday. Fuuuuunday. It's finally nice enough on a Sunday for me to actually put on CLOTHES and go out in PUBLIC. It's a busy day. I'm having brunch (brunch is the new happy hour) with my friends Ally and Nick, which I'm assuming will turn into a day of wandering around Uptown popping in and out of bars to taste-test margaritas and bloody Marys. It's more a public service than anything else. We do all the tasting so you don't have to! You're welcome, everyone.

I miss brunch. In the winter, I hibernate and stay inside with cold pizza and coffee while watching America's Next Top Model marathons. Not exactly classy. But a real brunch, the kind with an omelet bar, is straight up class. Ally and I used to make brunch a weekly habit. We'd go out and not get home until dark, full of bacon, eggs, and mimosas. It was like adding a whole new day to the weekend. There's Friday night, Saturday, Sunday Funday, and then Sunday night a.k.a. Recovery Night.

When I was a kid, we'd always go out to brunch with my Grandma after church. We'd be all dressed up, and walk into Perkins - all 16 of us - and sit down for some chocolate chip pancakes and orange juice (sans champagne). I remember shoveling the food in my mouth, trying to get the whole thing over with so I could go home and hang with my friends. Oh, how times change. Now I'm rushing through my daily chores (you know, having coffee, avoiding laundry, making a list of things I should do today but won't get to until tomorrow) to get to brunch.

Anyway, six hours later I'm totally full of bacon and mimosas. And I've made a dent in the Uptown breakfast scene with Ally and Nick. Does this make me better at writing a blog, or worse? Answer: worse. My grandma would be totally disappointed right now. Although chocolate chip pancakes sound positively delicious right now, I have a feeling that she wouldn't be so happy with the mid-day shots.

Let's have a great week, everyone!

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Excite Bike

Hey kids! Let's go on a bike ride! Isn't this fun and relaxing? Look at all the pretty scenery! Aw man, we're already home? Bummer. I can't wait to go again!

Not one part of that above scenario is an accurate portrayal of my first bike ride of the year. I had the genius idea of venturing out on my first solo ride tonight. I haven't been on a bike in way too long. Two years ago, my sister Prinna and her hubby Chris gave me a brand new bike as thanks for serving as their unofficial nanny during a few rough months. I was super psyched to become a full-time biker. Before that, the last time I had been on a bike was when I did the "biking" portion of a triathalon with my sister Padrin in like 2005. It's a long story, but basically, I hadn't been on a bike in a decade. At the race, I shot outta the gates only to have the seat go KA-THUNK and fall like 3 inches. The 23 mile ride was, to say the least, hilariously difficult. And despite my best efforts to be more into biking since I got my new phat ride, it's been a loooooong time since I last rode.

From the very beginning of tonights ride, it was not good. Choosing my outfit went something like this. "Hey, let's find the biggest, baggiest pair of pants ever to camouflage my big badonkadonk. Then I'll just throw on this flowy little sweater/hoodie with no buttons/zippers/other closures." Bad idea. I had set myself up to get my pant leg caught in my little gear doohickie and also ensured my flappy sweater would create a surprisingly high amount of wind resistance.

Okay, so I have Geo haul my bike up from the basement, and I sit on it in the living room while Sanna and her friend openly laugh at me. The seat's too high. The tires are flat. I'm off balance. This does not look good.

I go outside and allegedly reinflate the tires. Oh, wait, and while all this is going on, I'm getting my ear buds all tangled up in my arm, my sweater, my handlebars, the spokes. I'm an idiot. Anyhoozle, I fill my tires and I'm off!

Whoops. Left one of the tire nozzle cover on the sidewalk. Have to go back and get it. Also, I realize I didn't REALLY fill up my front tire, so it's as flat as I was in 6th grade. Okay, fill that up. Drop iPod. Hop on bike, fall off briefly. Get back on.

Now I'm off!

Public Service Announcement: I realize that I, as a biker am not at all a car. So, I stay way off to the side on roads, if not on sidewalks. I stop completely at stop signs. I don't creep up next to cars in their blindspots at stop lights. I realize that I am much smaller than a car, and therefore much more vulnerable and if I'm not careful, I WILL get hit. I AM ON A BIKE. I MUST RESPECT THE CARS. GOT THAT, BIKERS?

Anyway, this is where it all gets blurry. I get to the Greenway bike path, where everyone and their dad is on a bike ride. And, wait, does this bike path go uphill both ways?! I'm pretty sure it does. I am the mall walker of the Greenway. I'm slow, even though I feel like I'm pedaling 100 miles an hour. I'm frequently off balance. I took one hand of the bars to adjust my flappy stupid sweater thing and pull up my right pant leg, and I almost careened off into the path and into the ditch. Children Professional Bikers were whizzing past me, leaving me in their dust. You know that scene in Clueless when Dee accidentally gets on the highway while Murray is teaching her to drive? That was me on the Greenway.

Seemingly 3 hours later, panting, sweating, legs shaking, I mercifully pulled up to my house. It was sheer adrenaline that propelled me to climb our stairs. I crashed on the couch and checked the time. That can't be right. According to our stupid clock, I was only gone for like a half hour. Maybe 45 minutes. That' I refuse to believe that.

Moral of the story? The phrase "It's like riding a bike" has taken on a whole new meaning. It doesn't mean "Oh, it'll come right back to you...easy peezy." It now means "Everything that was simple as a child is very difficult as an adult."

Well, I'm hoping to get some more practice in this weekend. I really want to enjoy this weather! Alright, go out and get some fresh air, everyone!

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Dear Crabby

Yay! More questions from you guys! I love this "Ask and Answer" format. It's lovely. Plus, it lets me get to know YOU guys more, which rules. Totes McGotes. Here are some more of your burning questions!

Pharon Square,

Hi. I have a question for you. Lately I've been kind of shunned by my close group of girl friends. They go out without me, they post all these inside jokes of theirs on their Facebook pages (which they know I can see), and I just don't think I've done anything wrong. Do you have any advice? The five of us have been friends since forever, and I just feel like [expletive deleted] about the whole mess. Should I confront them? What do you think?

Thanks, PS!
-Bad Female Friends?

Dear BFF,

Oh sister, preach on. I don't envy the position in which you find yourself. Sadly, I'm sure you did SOMETHING to annoy/anger/minimally negatively affect one of your friends. And just like syphilis, gossip spreads fast. So, my guess is your friends have banded together against whatever "evil" thing you did or didn't do. And when girl friends travel in packs like yours do, it's easy to get tossed aside for little or no reason. At this point, I have two suggestions. The first is to target the weakest member of your group, fill her up with booze and get her talking. Then at least you'll know and you can figure out where to go from there. My SECOND suggestion is to boldly defriend them on Facebook, and find a new batch of beyotches. Ones that don't act like 5th graders. You could waste your time working on "earning" your way back in with your OWN friends, or you could move onward and upward! I say get some new pals. OR! Wait, maybe they're planning a surprise party for you?! Is your birthday coming up? If so, wait for that. If not, kick 'em to the curb.

Hey Pharon!
Any tips for someone trying to score a raise at work??

Show Me the Money

Dear SMM,

Props to you for bring back Cuba Gooding Jr.'s one and only classic line. Okay, now that that's out of the way, let's get down to business. You want more money? Join the club. Everyone wants more money. These days, people are lucky to have JOBS. You want a raise? Consider these other ways to get more money first. 1) Start printing your own money. Wait, is that illegal? Hmm...I'll have to check on that. 2) Get a second job. Those are no fun, so maybe avoid this one if you can. Or 3) If you do, in fact, deserve a raise - prove it. Then ask for it. I think that's how it works. It makes sense, doesn't it? If all those things fail, I suggest finding someone rich to date. Sure, it's shallow, but how else are you going to buy a new car? Cash in your 401(K)? Now that's silly.

What's up Pharon Square!

My girlfriend is doing the whole "ultimatum" thing. Either we move in together, or break up. I don't see how that's an effective bargaining tool, but she's pretty set on it. It's not that I'm not psyched about the idea, but being bullied into it seems cheap. From reading this blog, I feel like you'll be on the same page as me. Help a guy out!

Guy Who Can't Come Up With a Clever Name

Dear Guy,

Can I call you Guy? Great. Thanks. I totally see where you're coming from. Moving in together is a huge step that shouldn't be taken lightly. Unfortunately (or fortunately?), I bypassed that step altogether by simply starting to date someone I was already living with. Cut out the middle man, you know? I'm nothing if not efficient. As it is, though, you cannot enjoy the same luxury. I don't particularly like the ultimatum concept, personally. Typically, it pits one horrible solution against another and it's no fun. But it can be an effective bargaining tool. I know people who have ultimatum'd their way into some pretty awesome things (marriage, second dates, killer discounts at AT&T). Some guys/girls just need a little push sometimes. In this case, though, I wouldn't consider this a "little push". It's more like a violent shove off the side of a cliff. But it also sounds like she's frustrated. I suggest figuring out what it is she REALLY is asking. To move forward? To get closer? To live with a guy who will protect her from the creepy homeless man who follows her home every night begging for a date and/or juicebox? Figure that out, and you'll be more in tune with her intentions. Then figure THOSE out, and make a choice. Then give HER an ultimatum: No more ultimatums, or you'll start peeing in her shampoo bottle.

Dear Pharon Square,

What's with all the crazy people these days?!?! Know what I mean?!?!?!

Cray Cray Go Away

Dear Cray Cray,

Um, what? That doesn't really seem like a real question. In fact, I suspect that you yourself may be one of the "crazy people" of whom you speak. Did I miss something? Did you accidentally send the email before you actually finished it? Are you taking your meds correctly? Uh, yeah. So I guess my answer is "no". No, I don't know what you mean. Crazy can mean so many things, so I don't even know where to start. Consider revising your question and resend, though. I'd love to hear more from you. You sound fun.

Yay! Guys, this was fun! You know the drill...ask me anything that's on YOUR mind, and I'll give you a piece of MINE! Email me at, or if you prefer to remain anonymous - even from me - post a comment here!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Diary of a Wimpy Kid

I'll just come out and say it. I skipped kickboxing tonight. It is with distinct humiliation that I sadly admit that I hurt myself while sleeping last night. That's right...I'm that klutzy. I was tossing around, trying to get comfortable, and suddenly I cranked my neck too quickly, and this hot metal feeling shot through my neck. Because it was late, and I was tired, I simply decided to ignore it and go back to sleep.

Cut to 5 1/2 hours later. I could barely lift my head to hurl my alarm across the room calmly turn off my alarm. I was all "Holy neck pain!! I hope THAT shooting metal pain goes away!" Then I dragged myself into the shower, still hoping it would go away, then trotted out the door to leave for work, still hoping it would go away, and spent the day immobile at my desk, hoping it would go away. Obvs, it hasn't yet. So, there would be no kickboxing. I felt like such a wuss. I mean, it's not like I had broken my hand or something. How much head-turning do you really DO at kickboxing anyway? I wasn't willing to waste one of my ten classes finding out, though.

It occurred to me though. I'm a wimp. When it comes to injuries, most of which are so non-serious, I take myself out of commission out of fear I could make it worse. It all started, I think, when I got stung by a wasp - 3 times! - on my shoulder when I was like 8 years old. I left the neighborhood kids I was playing with and went screaming bloody murder into the safety of my house. My mom put this gooey stuff on the sting to make it stop hurting, after pulling my shirt down off my shoulder. When my neighborhood crush Kevin showed up at my front door to check on me unexpectedly, I opened the door and was immediately on fire with humiliation. He had seen my SHOULDER! And part of my CHEST! I didn't leave the house for days because I couldn't face seeing Kevin. I was a huge baby about it. /facepalm

In high school, I played Varsity soccer and managed to sustain two debilitating injuries that cut into my not so stellar season. Neither of which were serious, and both of which were embarrassing. The first was when I standing on the aluminum bleachers after a game. I saw a bee and tried to run away from it (duh! Of course I was scared of those flying, stinging, evil jerkwads!) My foot got tangled in my soccer bag and I fell, slamming my shin right into the corner of the metal bleacher. I cried for hours and I couldn't wear a shin guard for weeks.

The second was when I pulled a muscle. Not like a quad, or a calf muscles...nope, I managed to pull my GROIN. For almost half the season, I stood on the sidelines before the game, and I had to lunge forward while the trainer wrapped my groin, getting all close to my bidness while everyone watched. Coooool.

Two years ago, while dancing around in my kitchen, excited to be eating macaroni and cheese, I dropped a plate on my pinky toe, effectively breaking it. I could only wear flip flops for weeks. Before that, I had a cyst on my tailbone that was removed and I had to sit on a donut for a couple days. And before THAT, I got a huge paper cut on one of the crease-y parts of my right middle finger, so I kept it wrapped up in gauze and surgical tape for like 2 weeks. Normal.

The point is, all my "injuries" are wussy injuries, and all of them require a humiliating and/or overzealous solution. So, this whole "pull a neck muscle while snoozing, rendering me completely useless for at least a couple days" is par for the course. I'm bummed about missing kickboxing, though. I wish I wasn't such a klutz while laying in bed. Even more, I wish I wasn't such a wimp about these ridic little injuries. Oh well. I've got an aromatherapy heating pad around my neck, and I'm pretty sure it's not helping, but at least I'm quite relaxed.

P.S. If you like this song, def check out the band, Capybara. They are an awesome band, just played SXSW, and best of all? Geo's friend Joel is in it. Name drop!

Monday, April 4, 2011

Look at Me! Look at Me!

It might surprise you to read this, but I looooove attention. I know, I know...color you shocked. Now I’m not saying I wear crazy clothes, or do stupid/eccentric things just for the sake of being looked at, because I like my attention like I like my post-workout doughnut: HARD EARNED. I’m not about the shortcuts or the cheap shots, people. So, like, I enjoy finding myself in the middle of telling a great story and seeing a bunch of eyes set squarely, and eagerly, on me. I WORK for that attention, and then it pays off. That reward system is my drug of choice. Even when I do something stupid, I’ll revel in the aftermath of people around talking about that one time I [fill in the blanks of your favorite Pharon malfunction] like a pig in slop (as long as I’m in on the joke too). I’ve spent my life being just crazy enough to be talked about, but not too crazy so I’m just a caricature of a real person. It’s all about makin’ people smile and earning their undivided attention.

Being PRESSURED to be the center of attention is quite a different beast. I don’t like to PERFORM for attention. I got a B+ in my public speaking class, when everyone knew that it was an “easy A” type of class. I got a C+ in an acting class that was ALSO of the “easy A” variety. I get nervous when speaking one-on-one with anyone who has read my blog and, unbelievably, actually enjoys it. I blush aggressively when receiving praise for a job well done at work, and don’t even TRY to get me on stage alone to karaoke. Even if it’s a Nelly Furtado song and I'm three beers into the night, even if I AM totally awesome at it.

So you probably think this is all a crazy ruse, seeing as how I DO, in fact, write this daily blog. And I write it all about me, myself, and I. Every night. I just talk, talk, talk, about myself. But here’s a very key difference: I love writing a blog, and the only subject I’m pretty much an expert at is MYSELF. And depending on the day, I can convince myself that either EVERYone reads this, or NO one reads this. So when I know I've worked hard on a particular blog, I can just imagine it pays off. I don't need to deal with face-to-face discussion. Imaginary attention is just as good to me.

Here’s a clearer explanation. When Geo and I started dating, I promised him that “I’m not the kind of girl who needs a lot of attention all the time” (no, I don’t NEED it, I just REVEL in it). I like to come and go as I please, I am quite independent, I like having my own life and group of friends, and I like the little treats of attention. Little surprise dinners were always lovely. And I LIKED the rarity with which he went overboard in describing how wonderful I am. To me, a compliment is so much more sincere when you aren't really expecting and/or begging for it. There’s something so satisfying to me about doing something naturally that is well-received. But like any good girlfriend, I spontaneously changed the rules and decided to demand his attention and doting at all times. Now it’s all “Why don’t you take me on dates anymore?” or “So, what, you’re not going to say ANYthing about how awesome my new shoes are?!” or more recently, “You NEVER want to play Kinect with me. Why do you hate spending time with me?!”

Oddly, Geo was confused with this sudden development. But the attention is getting harder to earn, as it typically does after you’ve shared a bathroom with someone for over 3 years. And between work and writing and working my butt off to get attention in other facets of life, I didn’t WANT to try so hard all the time with him. To be fair, I had convinced him early on that going a day or so without hearing how wonderful I am is not only okay, but PREFERABLE. Turns out, I shot myself in the foot the day I brazenly declared myself “not the average, high-maintenance girl”. I was really only talking about “high maintenance” as it relates to hygiene, or alcohol preferences, or restaurants, or personal fitness. I guess I should have clarified.

I know this is not a new phenomenon. I talked to Sanna about some of our friends tonight who are feeling this same level of, um, lower than desirable levels of attention from our significant others, so I know I'm not alone. But I don't want the cheap, generic attention that comes with the DEMANDING of it. Unfortunately, I am sorely lacking the energy to work as hard at being naturally charming these days. Beyotchiness just comes easier to me right now.

But Geo had a huge test today in school, and I'm sure he aced that beast. So, instead of heading to bed at 10 p.m., I'm indulging him in a late night outing to a movie. I'll be cranky and miserable tomorrow, to be sure, but something's gotta give. And I am craving a compliment on my shoes more than being able to warp-speed my way through a spreadsheet at this point.

Sunday, April 3, 2011


SPRING! Finally! The snow is melting, birds are chirping, and it's prime weather for driving my car right through the puddles to spray the irritatingly fit people running around the lakes. Ahh. Lovely. I welcomed the 45+ degree weather in grand fashion. This weekend, I sat on the porch and enjoyed a morning cup of coffee. Sanna, Geo and I grilled out on Saturday night (pork loin and hobo dinners - yum!), I had a margarita with lunch on Saturday, and I didn't have to use my car's remote start even ONCE! SPRING!

As it becomes glaringly obvious that sweaters will soon be replaced by tank tops and sundresses, and pants are not acceptable attire to wear into a pool, I decided I really need to buckle down and get in shape. (Also I should probably get back to shaving regularly.)

Step One for getting into summer shape: Shopping. I went shopping with my mom and sisters on Saturday. I got some new heels that are so stupid-crazy high and nude-colored, that at least my legs will LOOK thinner and longer. I loooooove them.

Step Two was to get plenty of rest. So, natch, I slept a lot.

Step Three was to actually get off my butt and do something. Today I warmed up with some intense XBox Kinect dancing, followed by attempting to do Zumba with Claire. Results were hysterical. Have you guys done Zumba? It's basically Latin dancing/working out. My sister Padrin and my mom went to an actual Zumba class on Saturday morning. They invited me along (you know, because my dancing skills are legendary) to the 9 a.m. class. Unfortunately, doing something that early in the morning interfered with Step Two. So instead, Claire and I did a Zumba DVD in the comfort of her home this afternoon.

Question: Who knew that hip movement was so important to dancing? I didn't, because the second "Beto" (the instructor on the DVD) encouraged us to move our hips more, Claire and I dissolved into giggles at our own ineptitude. Apparently, hips can (and should be able to) move independently and sexily, but ours did not. Claire and I were all rigid and uncoordinated and white. Every time I tried to move my hips more like the people on the DVD, I lost control of my legs. Also, moving my "hips" meant heaving my shoulders back and forth, which made me look like I was having a seizure and not dancing on an MTV Spring Break stage.

It's become wildly clear that the public is not ready for my "moves" yet, so Claire and I will have to continue our brave endeavor into Latin dancing at her house for a few more times. It's a pretty good way to burn calories, and Zumba-ing with someone else who doesn't take herself too seriously is very refreshing (laughing burns calories, too). Claire was super fun to fail miserably at dancing with. And between Zumba and kickboxing, I'll be back in shape in no time. Which is a great way to show off some hot new shoes.