Friday, December 28, 2012

Click Here To Register

Hey! Who here feels like testing their relationship!? Wanna know if he's the one for you? Wanna know how you'll deal with finances and household responsibilities in the future? Wanna have a nearly-miserable time shopping? LET'S GO REGISTER.

Geo and I started hopeful and friendly today when we went to register for our wedding. We were all "La la la, let's go pick stuff out that we want. What could go wrong?!"

Answer: The foundation of our relationship could be completely rocked.

Now, before I start blasting everything about the relationship I have with the man I am totes excited to marry, I should say that Geo and I have extremely similar tastes in style and function. However, when I listened to the Financial Peace CDs, I learned that I am a financial hoarder and Geo, God love him, is a Free Spirit. I'm always reigning him in when he wants to spend money, and he is always telling me to lighten up. So I expected a healthy level of disagreement.

Tip of the hat moment: When Geo and I were handed the scanner dealie and the checklist, I looked at Geo and asked, "What do you want to do? Check or scan?" And the lady helping us said "WHOA! You've thrown convention out the window already." Because apparently, brides are greedy little ladies and demand the scanner. But in the end...I GOT THE SCANNER.

Anyway, we got started. I insisted on beginning at the Kate Spade display. Now, I KNOW what Ms. Spade has to offer and I wanted it ALL, but this place had NOTHIN'. So after 20 minutes of me asking where the rest of the Larabee Dot collection was, Geo needed a bathroom break. When he left, I "scan scan scanned" my way through the limited Spade collection they had. Mission: Accomplished.

We headed to the kitchen area. I know nothing about cooking, so I left it all up to Geo. I was all "Pick our knives. Pick our pans. You will use them, I won't." But I kept getting sidetracked by cupcake carriers and cool plates my mom has. Geo was all "We don't need a pear-shaped cutting board." And I was all "WHAT IF I'M CUTTING PEARS?!"

Eventually, we got to the coffee/appliance area. I wanted everything. Geo was suddenly the most rational person on the planet and was like "We don't need that $450 mixer because you already have it." And I was like "First of all? Mine leaks grease and second of all? We don't have it in STAINLESS STEEL" and he was like "You've barely used the one you have," and I was like "Why don't you love me?!" Then we momentarily stopped talking to each other when I wanted a new Keurig and he was like "We each have one. Yes, they are 10 years old and barely brew one full cup without completely shaking the entire foundation of the house, but we have them."

Since when did I decide to marry the frugalist (it's a word) person ever?! Geo is usually ALLLLLL about investing in something that he knows will last a long time and be important...unless it comes to cutlery, apparently.

I tried to get Geo in the spirit of scanning things we could never buy ourselves but should probably have by introducing him to a deep fat fryer. YUM. Even then, though, he was like "Meh, we don't NEED it." I wanted to drop the scanner on the ground and be like "BRO! WE DON'T NEED ANY OF THIS. WE NEED AIR AND WATER AND SHELTER! BUT I JUST SUPER WANT THIS SODA STREAM!" I couldn't understand how we shifted from me being so completely rational to me being the one trying to convince him that a casserole dish is something I"ll use "everyday." It was weird and uncomfortable and we probably each considered ending the engagement at like four different times.

Then we got to the nerdy cleaning section. Geo immediately demanded that we needed a steamer to get the wrinkles out of clothes. I was like "I haven't even used an iron in 6 years." And he was like "Oooh, that reminds me. We need an iron." We looked at a few and I was like "None of these inspire me to iron," and he was like "You're right. I want a 'murdered out' iron." Now, a "murdered out" iron means that it's all black. My wonderful, manly fiance announced in the middle of a department store, that not only did he want an iron, but he wanted it to be "cool." What?

After a few minutes of questioning me about what I would do with a flour sifter or a popover pan, we had to agree to disagree and head to bedding.

For YEARS I have wanted a sick-high thread count of bed sheets. Like, in the quadruple digits. I read in this style book by Nina Garcia that every girl needs a disgustingly fancy set of white bed sheets, and there is no better time to get them than to put them on a registry. Geo was like "Let's just get some at Target," and I was like "I swear to God, you aren't allowed to hang out with me anymore if you don't let me get these m-f'ing sheets." I won that battle like a boss. He was busy having a reality check when he realized that the pillows he likes are $160 each! - WHAT?! and I took the opportunity to both crush his expectations for flimsy pillows and scan my lovely 1000+ thread count sheets. Score.

At the end of the day, we agreed on a surprising amount of items. We got a little printout that told us how balanced our registry was, and the lady was all "Wow, you guys are spot on so far." So, we totally won at registering.

OH! Then, later we were looking at the registry with my family, and Geo had kind of put his foot down on a few things. He was like "Let's not get stupid-expensive frames or vases or anything," and I was like "Yeah, you pick those out." And the vase he liked was $400. We didn't even realize it until we looked at our registry later. And I was like "Hey, that $30 casserole dish ain't lookin' too bad now, it is?" Then he tried to bring it back to a popover pan and I was like "I'm making you SOOOOO many popovers. Can't wait to see what you put in that vase."

Wednesday, December 26, 2012


Am I fired from this blog yet? Did you guys forget about me and replace me with Jenna Marbles or Reddit already? Ugh, I know, I know. I'm the worst. I have let this blog slip to the bottom of my priority list, after "Christmas," "napping," "getting presents," "eating until my leggings snap," and "avoiding blogging." I'm sorry, you guys. I really am.

The truth is that I've replaced my routine of writing at night at my house with hanging out with friends and family. And instead of stewing for hours about how I wish that all drinking glasses had straws, ALL GLASSES, I have just been chillin'. Enjoying time with friends and family. You know, all that gushy crap.

And although I DO have the next few days off of work, and I'll be travelling around a bit, I will try and get back to a regular blogging schedule. Geo and I are going to try and get out at some point to use a Groupon for archery that I got this summer, so that should be hilarious. (He keeps calling himself Peeta and me Katniss, which is SO STUPID because Peeta can't shoot, Gale can. DUH.) Anyway, yeah, so that should be good stuff.

So okay, I know I've been totally whack when it comes to filling your lives with this weekdaily hilarity. But let's keep things in perspective. The online chat at Macy's was ALSO offline today, yesterday and Monday so obvs we are all falling short these days. These things happen. But let's not dwell on the past, okay? Let's look forward to the immediate future, when I will also probably fall short. Whatever. I'll make it my New Year's Resolution or something. Stay tuned for THAT post. If I end up doing one.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Ready for My Closeup

Oh. My. Gah. I still have SO much to do before Christmas! I only realized how much I still haven't done about an hour ago, so this will be brief. Very brief.

The End.

Just kidding, it won't be THAT brief. But don't get too attached to this post because it will be short and it will be boring. Man, do I know how to sell a blog or WHAT!? This weekend was a WHIRLWIND. Instead of spending it getting ready for Christmas, I went out Friday and Saturday nights. Today was cookie baking day, and Saturday was engagement photo day!! OMG, you guys. SO FUN.

That's not even sarcastic. Never before have I enjoyed having my picture taken so much. My sister Prinna's friend Missy, who is just the toppest notch person ever, came to Minneapolis for the afternoon to take our pics. She knows how self-conscious I am and she is very aware of my undeniable urge to stick my tongue out in photos. Still, she agreed to tackle this session like a boss.

The day started with makeup. I can't do my own, so I went to Mac at the mall and had some chick wearing a sequined black dress do my makeup. It took AN HOUR AND A HALF. And no, I didn't need like 10 layers of shellac and plastic surgery, it just took forever because Bree couldn't be bothered to pay attention to one thing at a time. When she wasn't shadowing my eyes, she was chatting, helping other people, showing a co-worker how to do a braid. It was stupid.

But finally, I was done-up like a Kardashian and running out to my car to get home and do my hair and get dressed and find 100 different scarves to bring with me and freak out. Geo sat, calmly watching TV, as I spun around the apartment like a top. Oh, and I had had a large Americano drink from Starbucks at my makeup appointment/day-long fiasco, so my heart was beating at the speed of a hummingbird on crack. I was a mess.

We finally left to meet up with Missy, her husband/assistant and Prinna at a coffee shop for our first location. Yes, because the best thing for me at that moment was MORE COFFEE. Anyway, long story short, it was SUPER fun. I felt like I was a celebrity or something. Missy had all these cool photography and lighting gadgets, and we moved around the coffee place like we owned it, moving furniture, adjusting props, and generally being super cool. Everyone else in the shop was probably all "Who is that supermodel and that rockstar?" Calm down guys, we're just regular people, just like you. Except not as boring or average.

We took some great pics at the coffee shop and then headed to the frozen Lake of the Isles for the second half. It was gorgeous out and my shellacked face was holding up quite nicely. Geo couldn't have been better at being attractive and reminding me to keep my tongue safely inside my mouth. OH, AND?! We went out on the ice to take many of these photos. I had 6-inch heeled boots on (which were necessary because otherwise I look like I'm Geo's child) and could have TOTALLY biffed it and fell on the ice, knocking out all my teeth, but I DIDN'T. I was like a real grown up!

Missy started putting some of the photos up on Facebook already, and I love ALL of them!!! Here's a quick taste...

Aren't we adorable!? YES. WE ARE.

Anyway, so it was so incredibly fun and much easier than I expected. I would do it all over again if I could. Well, except the excruciatingly-long makeup sesh. And the minor caffeine-induced heart attack I may have suffered.Other than that, though? AWESOME. I can't wait to see the rest of the pics!

For now, however, I have to stop staring at pictures of myself and get back to wrapping presents. Are you guys all set? Shopping done? Can you come and finish mine for me?!

Friday, December 21, 2012


What?! It's 1:14 in the morning? Where did the time go? One second I'm finishing work and getting to work on some Christmas present projects, and the next I'm sitting at Perek's house cracking jokes. I had only intended to simply pick Geo up but ended up staying and hanging out for what, THREE HOURS?! Who do I think I am?!

Anyway, I am super tired and I used up allllllll my best material trying to impress Perek and Geo's friends. (Who am I kidding? I don't TRY to impress, I straight-up BLOW MINDS.) Initially, I felt bad about phoning this one in, but according to the Mayans, no one will be around to read this tomorrow after 5:12 a.m.

Oh, have you forgotten? Yeah, the world's going to end tomorrow I guess. That's really inconvenient for me because I have an eye appointment and I've been out of contacts for over a year now, so I really need new ones to replace the calcium-deposit-covered lenses I currently have in. I'm really looking forward to seeing things again without getting a headache. Plus, we're REALLY going to do engagement pics this weekend. We were supposed to do it last weekend, but we wanted a wintry scene, not a rainy, gross one. Flames of hell fire won't be much better.

So yeah, I'm super hoping the Mayans got this one wrong. Besides all the stuff I'm SCHEDULED to do, I also get to go to a fun holiday party at Claire's. And she's pretty strict with the evites, so she'll be so pissed if I don't make it or bring an appetizer. Then again, if the world ends, she probably won't care much.

Let's all just cross our fingers and hope that the Mayans simply lost interest in their calendar, in much the same way I lost interest in showering or brushing my teeth today. They, like me, were probably like "Meh, who cares? No one will notice if I blow this off and go take a nap instead." I guess we shall see in the morning. Good luck out there, you guys. Hopefully I'll see you all on the other side of 12/21/12!

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Dear Crabby

Oh, Crabby. I've missed you dearly. Let's bring you back into the fold, shall we?

Dear Crabby,
I've been running on a broken foot for years now. I went to a doctor awhile back and he told me that my foot was fine. Then, later, I found out that my effing bone was broken. What can I do to get back on track?!
Wannabe Marathon Runner

Hey there, WMR,
My suggestion to you is to stop running. It's boring and annoying and no one likes a person who runs for pure enjoyment. Because seriously? NO ONE LIKES RUNNING. Now, people who say they like running are, no doubt, awesome, but we all know they are lying. Running can take a long time, it gives you shin splints, and it's just a way of WALKING QUICKLY. There are some people who are all "Oh, I live to run and I run to live" or some such nonsense because they think running is somehow the coolest thing ever. It's not. Running because you're on FIRE or something would be cool and interesting. So take this opportunity and either stop running or stop expecting people to be impressed by it. Oh, and I swear, if you start bragging about running marathons, people worldwide will potentially stop hanging out with you, because the only thing more boring than running a marathon is listening to someone discuss how they're GOING to run a marathon. Anyway, my suggestion is to take up some weird hobby like baton twirling or competitive hot dog eating that doesn't hurt your foot. If your foot hurts, stop running. (and if you are Elton from Clueless, you should probably just go to the nurse. - Hey-yo!)

Dear Crabby,
I'm not sure I can get along with my boyfriend's daughter. She's 5 and impossible to please. Is our relationship doomed?
Thank you, Crabby!!!!
-Not the Mama

Dear NTM,
OMG, kids who are not yours are the EASIEST KIDS EVER. Buy her stuff and spoil her rotten. That's all you need to do. Girls love princess stuff and tulle. Purchase several things accordingly. When it comes to kids, YOU CAN BUY LOVE.

Aaaaaaaaaaand that's all I can muster tonight. Are you all satiated? I'm going to go lay down and NOT run while NOT having a child anywhere near me. Hooray! If you have any questions for this advice champ, go ahead and shoot them my way to and I'll either ignore you  completely or solve every problem you've ever had in your entire life.

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Thick as Thieves

I'm pretty sure I've never stolen anything in my life. I suppose I can't say this with absolute certainty because I was kind of a mischievous kid with a bowl cut and probably assumed I could do no wrong. Except the "bowl cut" thing. But as far as I can consciously remember, I'm clean. The same canNOT be said for two unknown men in Minneapolis and Eden Prairie, however.

The day before Thanksgiving, my brother walked into his house after work only to realize some scumbag had broken in and helped himself to several items that did not belong to him. That's the theory at least: Robbery. Unless somehow my brother's Xbox, guitars iPad and 5-Hour Energy (yes, you read that right) just got up and walked out of the house in search of a heart, brain and courage from the Wizard or whatever. His wife's laptop and jewelry may also have been stolen, or they could have eloped to Vegas in a misguided attempt to find love in this crazy, mixed up world.

All leads point to a robbery, though. The guy apparently broke in to the house of a complete stranger, dug around and took things that were not his, then simply walked out the door with plans to sell the stolen stuff to other a-holes. How can a person do that? I mean, I was just in the kitchen trying to sneak a handful of shredded cheese into my mouth while Geo was in the other room believing that I was NOT cheese-binging but I got way too nervous that he'd catch me, so I dumped the cheese in the garbage in panic.

Anyway, so first my bro's house gets hit and then last night, my sister woke up to police lights outside HER house. She had had an uneasy feeling earlier that night and pulled her three kids into her bed to sleep, so when she was later woken up by the lights, her mother's instinct high-fived her gut instinct. Anyway, turns out some OTHER dude was caught breaking into cars and stealing stuff. Apparently, he had gotten into my sister's van but probably decided the black market for half-eaten suckers, single socks and crumpled up construction paper Santa hats ain't what it used to be. Luckily, he left my sister's car empty-handed before getting pinched by the coppers. (That means "got arrested" I'm pretty sure.)

But MAN I am annoyed! I feel like stealing is not only SUPER RUDE, it's also just like, tacky or passe or something. I mean, who ROBS people anymore?! In person, nonetheless! I thought all theft was done online and in the form of empty Nigerian promises. What is the world coming to!?

Yeah, it's pretty sucky. I mean, it's good that nothing was stolen that can't easily be replaced (oh, except that whole "safe in my own house" feeling,) but whatever. Thieves are jerks and I hate them.

Monday, December 17, 2012

Trials and Treebulations

I'm so helpful! In exchange for Claire driving me around all night, getting me pizza, entertaining me for the evening and letting me watch cool cable shows at her house, I agreed to watch her buy a Christmas tree. It was sooooooo hard. First, she drove me to the tree lot and then I watched two men strap a tree to the roof of her car, and I was EXHAUSTED. When we got back to her house and she was all "Okay, let's get this thing inside," I was all "Whoa, lady. I'm not a robot."

FINE. I'll help. We pulled up to her house, and the job didn't look too bad.

[There is supposed to be a picture of the tree wrapped up on the roof of Claire's small sedan-sized car here, but my computer blows and refused to load the image. Rest assured, the tree looked small and not sharp and harmless.]

See? Not too bad. Two smart ladies can get this thing inside and upright in no time. But here's the thing...for as brilliant as Claire is, she sees no point doing some things properly. She prefers to do them quickly. So when the two of us were lugging the surprisingly enormous tree up the extra-icy walkway and I suggested "Let's take the trunk in first so we don't end up pulling all the bottom branches off trying to get through the doorway," she scoffed. And then she just yanked the tree the wrong way into her house.

[OMG. Now Blogger is not uploading ANY pictures. Blogger? YOU. ARE. THE WORST. Okay, so here's where you'd see a picture of the bottom of a tree with super mangled and splayed bottom branches that were shoved the wrong way through a door frame.]

Beautiful. If Mother Nature had to forcibly shove a tree the wrong way through a door frame, this is totes how she'd do it. So, after we cleaned up 304 pounds of pine needles that were mercilessly ripped from the tree during the process of being pulled through a door, we had to get it into the stand. Trees are heavy and tippy, so we decided to lay the tree on its side and put the tree stand on sideways, then tip it upright like magic. It would have been relatively easy had the boy scout "troop leader" in charge at the tree farm known how to use a freakin' saw. He didn't. He "trimmed" the base of the tree as only a non-boy-scout man could have: completely slanty.

[EFF YOU, BLOGGER. Here's where you WOULD see a picture of a tree stump cut at basically a 90 degree angle making it nearly impossible to get all parts of the trunk in water. IDIOT.]

Once we realized that the trunk was ridiculously uneven and giant, we decided, "Eff it. We'll just put it in the stand and hope for the best." Except we are two tiny women and Claire's tree stand consists of four extremely complicated nut-bolt-basicphysics prongs that need to be hinged, twisted and properly placed. At the same time. It's not like a normal tree stand. It has four of these wingnuts and four of these crazy bar things that you're supposed to measure and line up and Claire and I just lost interest immediately. We figured it would be far easier to leave one of these "crucial" pieces out.

[Here's the picture of the leftover pieces of the tree stand. I HATE YOU, BLOGGER.]

But, with sap on my fingers and Claire's brute determination, we FINALLY got the tree up, straight and "stable."

[Picture of amazing tree.]

Isn't it amazing?! Yes. Two little women put that beast together. Sure, we tried to get Geo and Claire's neighbor Bryan to help, but they couldn't be bothered. So, we pulled through and erected this beauteous tree. It's a little crooked and Claire believes it's "not sturdy enough," but whatever. When I left that place, the tree was up, straightish, and not my problem anymore. Merry Christmas!

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Dress for Success...Eventually

Well, that vacation was too short. Isn't that always the case? Tomorrow, it's back to routine and schedules and serious efforts at this blog. I have a few gems from the past few days which could make for some great blog fodder (yoga class, a rather significant purchase, a mid-weekday manicure that was nearly ruined by the company of a couple ridiculously spoiled and vapid 20-somethings, cancelled engagement pics because of rain, and a trip to Home Depot to name a few) but will have to save them for another night because I haven't gotten that boost of creative energy I need after such a long time off.

Well, fine. I can't wait on this. I'll talk about my rather significant purchase. I officially ordered and purchased my wedding dress! I know that about a month ago, I wrote this post about about finding the dress, but I went back this week, tried it back on to be sure, and WAS sure. So yay! We got the dress!

Here's a pic of me and the girl who turned my "I want it to be traditional and whimsical and glamorous and royal and new age and one-of-a-kind and on major sale" wishes into reality. This girl dealt with my insistence on making and cancelling last minute appointments and walk-ins, seemingly endless requirements in a gown and yes...she saw me in my Spanx more times than my mirror. Anyway, she was the bomb. We could probably be friends outside of business, but I think that no commission in the world could help her recover from the aforementioned Spanx sightings. Anyway, here we are confirming that I indeed needed to buy her friendship by signing this friendly little contract obligating me leave her alone now/never come back until my dress comes in.

Side note: I'm more than a little bummed that I look like the devil here, but whatever. Thumbs up!

After I essentially said "Yes!" to the dress by jumping up and down and squealing in approval, my mom sealed the deal with this rarely discussed, but very common wedding tradition. It's called Initiating the Payment for the Dress.

Ahhh, sweet, sweet tradition. Anyway, after this transaction, the dress was MINE. Well, in 4 to 6 months it will be mine. For like a day, and then I'll have to send it out for alterations, after which I will likely have to store it at my parent's house because I have too many bags of bags taking up space in my closets. But come my wedding day, that sucker will be ALL MINE.

It's a pretty sucky  process, actually. I make this HUGE decision and this HUGE purchase, and I have nothing to show for it when we leave the store. Sure, I can look at pictures of OTHER people (a.k.a. MODELS) in my dress, but I wish I could have taken it with me and hung it carefully in my closet to look at from a safe distance periodically.

As lovely as this idea is, the reality would obvs be much different. I would drag the dress through my dusty floors and into my room where I'll try to get it on by myself, tearing a seam here or there, and then I'd lounge around watching Family Guy reruns while drinking red wine in it. By the my wedding day rolled around, I would be walking down the aisle in a red-spattered white dress (oops! I guess I should have said "Spoiler alert!" before saying it was a white dress...) with a ripped hem and flattened tulle. Oh, and is that a pair of sweatpants dragging behind it??

So yeah. That was my big, exciting news for the week! Woo hoo! One major task: DONE! And it only took two months...Yikes. This does not bode well for the rest of the process...

Thursday, December 13, 2012

Letter to Teacher

Dear Blogger,

I apologize for Pharon's absence from blogging last night. She was recovering from a fun tubing outing for work and Geo got back into town. She was overwhelmed by all the activity and just couldn't be bothered to type a blog.

I would also like to inform you that she will be absent for tonight's blog as well. Pharon is taking a couple days off work and has turned off her brain, effective immediately. She can't even remember how to typeoifjmkalkdfh.

She'll be back, and better than ever (or worse than ever) next week. Please send her homework home with some nerd who will do it for her. Thanks!

-Mrs. Square

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

The word "Hero" is thrown around a lot...

Listen, I KNOW I'm harping on the fact that Minnesota has winter and it sucks, but I don't care. There is nothing else of more import than the snowy beyotch that is ruining everything. Oh, wait. There is one important thing that likely happened tonight. I'm pretty sure I earned a medal.

That's right. This humble blogger has participated in acts of heroinism tonight. It started with plans for dinner with Claire. But I got home from work and ate 100 quesadillas and took a nap first. Heroes need their rest, y'all. So when I got to Claire's and was all "Oops, I'm not hungry. Also, I forgot the acorn squash I was supposed to bring for dessert. Let's watch cable instead," she was not proud of me. But then, Claire's OCD kicked in and she decided to shovel her roof. SERIOUSLY.

I stood by, monitored her progress and shoveled her back porch and walkway like a boss. When she tried to climb to the peak of her roof, I stopped her and reminded her that Minnesota roofs are more resilient than we think they are. Just like Minnesotans. Then, I made her get off the roof and come inside to watch Storage Wars. I don't want to call myself a lifesaver, but I may have seriously saved a life tonight.

Not satisfied with my roof-management heroism, I decided to continue my bravery when I got home. I myself enjoy the perks of 4-wheel drive, which is all but required in this godforsaken state. Other peasants, however, are not so smart. After my rockstar parallel parking job over mounds of icy snow, I approached a motorist in need.

I mentioned the other day that 100 cars have gotten stuck on the ridiculously slick road by my apartment. The city is not salting anything and people are left to their own devices. So when I saw a navy-purple Mustang spinning its wheels trying to get out of their street parking spot, I knew the driver needed a hero. I yelled "You need help?" and a girl who was horribly underdressed for the weather popped out of the driver's side door. She was like "Yeah, but no offense, I think we need some guys."

Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realize my pulsating muscles were useless.

I assured her that I was stronger than I looked. I pushed and pushed and pushed her car as her wheels spun, spitting dirty snow in my heroistic face. Her friend came down to "help" but she was, I think, high. She came out with tennis shoes on and no socks. World's worst apparel choice for this job.

"Together," the "two" of us rocked and pushed and steered the girl's unfaithful steed onto the more forgiving path of what we could only assume was a "street." I am pretty sure I was solely responsible for any movement that car enjoyed. But I, being the humble hero I am, high-fived my cohort once the World's Worst Winter Car was on its way back home and claimed "I couldn't have done it without you!"

Um, I could have.

Anyway, now my back is super sore and screaming at me because I'm too old to be shoveling hundreds of pounds of snow and pushing cars out of icy ditches all on my own. I'm a hero, you guys, but I'm not a superhero.

Monday, December 10, 2012


[Okay, for all my fellow Lost fans, you will hopefully get that the title of this post is reminiscent of something Michael would yell into the woods at least 12 times an episode. Hootie hoo! WE HAVE TO GO BACK!]

Anyways, I'm officially over winter. That's it. One day and I'm over it. I have to leave 45 days early tomorrow morning just to get to work in time because despite the relentlessness of winter EVERY SINGLE YEAR, Minnesota has not figured out how to properly clear the roads. SERIOUSLY. Isn't it someone's job to make it safe for cars to travel 25 yards without skidding into a stop sign? I would assume that person should be seriously fired.

For as long as Minnesota has existed, it has been snowy. We ALL know this. And yet, the farthest we've come in terms of DEALING WITH IT is making people move their cars from one side to the other every few days and dumping salt on the road. (OH, by the way?! If you SAY you're going to tow someone, City of Minneapolis, TOW THEM. Plowing around a car that hasn't figured out the snow emergency rules makes every other person's life miserable who has to park in that spot that's just 10 feet of built up, plowed-around snow.)

Here's an idea: Let's put heaters under the streets. I remember in high school, this girl Molly had this super giant, super fancy house. She had heated floors in her foyer and her bathrooms. Your feet were never cold. It was genius. And that was a billion years ago. Can we seriously not figure out how to simply melt the g.d. snow and ice on a road?!

Or, HMM. How about putting barrels of sand at all the bus stops or corners or something so that if your car starts sliding around uncontrollably and you can't get up a 1-foot hill, there is something there to HELP YOU. What, is sand really that expensive?! No. It's a cheap solution that everyone can enjoy. Ship it in from the beach. There's LOADS of it there. Or SALT! I'm going to have to start carrying this giant thing of sea salt I have for cooking in my glove compartment. If I ever get stuck, I'll sprinkle some on the ice, quick make a margarita and be on my way.

I listened to a car stuck on a patch of ice for 90 MINUTES tonight in front of my building. There were people down there helping him out, so I felt fine hanging out in my apartment, just being annoyed by the constant revving engine and spinning tires. I wanted to yell out "ALL YOU'RE DOING BY SPINNING YOUR WHEELS IS MAKING IT ICIER!" But I didn't because it's very cold out and I didn't want to open my windows.

I just don't get it. It's ice.I can BREATHE on ice and it melts. In fact, I complain about it MELTING TOO FAST in my drink. It is a simple, scientific process that happens ALL. THE. TIME. In our own freezers, even! How does this state, every year, be like "What?! ICE?! Well, eff it. I guess all we can do is wait it out because there is no way to melt ice. Maybe drive over it a bunch of times to make it nice and slick. Snow tires? NO MATCH. Let's just not do anything so that our cars are constant death-traps and every person ever is late to work." Ice? Yeah, eff you.

Sorry. I'm annoyed. Everything is 100 times harder in the winter on Minnesota roads. And rather than move out of this godforsaken state, I have decided to send an email to the boss of Minnesota or weather or whatever and tell them "This just in: Heat melts ice and snow. Can we maybe explore that concept a bit? Maybe instead of salting the roads, can we just drive over them with heated tires and hair dryers strapped to the side of the car?" How is that so far out of the realm of possibilities? If the Google car can map every single road in the county, some guy can drive around with rockets on his car saving everyone else 152 days in their commute.

Anyway, sorry. That is all. I have to get to sleep so that I can wake up 4 days ago to get to work on time tomorrow.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Snow way!

A few, blissful days ago, I lamented over the possibility that there would be no snow for the engagement photos Geo and I are taking next weekend. We wanted pretty Minnesota winter pics, but this place looked nothing like the snowy state I have known. Not one flake. Not a patch of black ice to be seen. I was all "Boo, Minnesota. BOO."

Oh, the ignorance of my three-day younger self! I woke up this morning to an absolute white-out. The property manager had to dig my car out so I could drive 10 blocks away to the store, which turned out to be an hour-long commute. My car skidded through no fewer than 2 stoplights and by the time I got done brushing my car off after it sat for 20 minutes while I shopped, my hair was soaking wet and I couldn't feel my fingers. I was all "Boo, Minnesota. BOO."

I got to my mom and dad's house to celebrate my dad's birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, POPS!) after a white-knuckle drive, and it felt great being inside and warm. After like 20 minutes, though, I was like "I wonder what it would feel like to be freezing cold and wet again," so I went outside to build snowmen with my nieces. Mine was super big...and not to brag or anything, but mine was waaaaay better than atrocities that the 7-year-old and 4-year-old built. Pats self on back.

Part of me felt like a kid again as I rolled and packed and ate snow. But a bigger part of me felt very old because my back started hurting and I was overly frustrated with the proportions of the girls' snowmen and button placement. After the 52 days it takes 2 kids to build (and be satisfied with) 2 snowmen, I had had enough. My super big, down coat weighed approx 126 pounds after soaking up all the snow. My fingers were totally frozen and wet from insufficient (but adorable!) glovewear, and because I have no snowpants, the only protection my lower body enjoyed was the thin fabric of leggings. My hair was...well, it has looked better. Actually, it has never looked worse, and I've skipped washing it for 4 days before. I has a hot mess. Wait, no, I was an icy mess.

But after warming up with a mug of hot chocolate, I felt much better. I got hopeful for the engagement photo session and excited about the wispy, airy delicacy that tiny little snowflakes provide.

Then I left to go home, spent 20 minutes deicing my car windows and locks, skidded through a stoplight and parked in a spot I know I will not be able to get out of tomorrow. Then I decided I will be moving to Florida.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Mourning TV

Until recently, I couldn't have even pretended to have an opinion on morning news shows. I had never seen them, unless I was home sick, blind and delirious with the flu. I always assumed they were just very bad because I couldn't understand words at that point. However, during the couple days that I was working from home with a sore throat and an unexplained alarm in my vents going off every 2 seconds, I had to turn on the TV to drown out the beeping and the wheezing.

What I saw was an abomination in entertainment. Half of the morning "news" shows feature drunk hosts who are insufferable but somewhat entertaining, while the others are so mind-numbingly boring and  uninformed that I have considered sending a care package of tequila and issues of Entertainment Weekly to them. After seeing one particular morning show, (Fox 9 "The Buzz"), however, I literally wanted to rip my fingernails out and throw them at the TV. It was the worst show of all time. And I'm taking every Tyler Perry show into consideration, here.

After watching four people on an entertainment program struggle to remember WHO Jessica Simpson was once married to, I lost all faith in humanity. Well, more accurately, I lost all faith in morning show entertainment. I then came up with a new goal in life.

I will fix morning TV.

Now, we all know that I have paralyzing stage fright. There is nothing scarier to me than speaking in front of a camera. But I'm seriously considering giving all that up so that I can fix TV. I mean, I have an embarrassingly impressive wealth of knowledge when it comes to entertainment facts. I know everything about everything. (In Hollywood.) I am a seriously underutilized resource in morning television.

So I'm going to get over my stage fright and find a job on TV. Seems super easy, right? I think the toughest part of this goal will be dealing with the inevitable fame I will immediately enjoy. So many autographs, so little time.

For realsies, though, I really think I could spice up morning TV for the fives and tens of people I know who actually watch morning news shows. I OWE that to them, you know? I could explain how bad it is that Rihanna and Chris Brown are apparently attending the Grammys together or why Alessandra Ambrosio is ruining everyone's life with her pre-Victoria's Secret fashion show diet/severe problems with malnutrition. These are the REAL ISSUES, people!

Also, I can talk about the weather based on which pair of leggings I will wear that day. Priceless.

Yeah, so I'm going to just go ahead and decide to fix morning TV. I'm not entirely married to the idea of being on camera, but I'm sure that I'm better than all the other people on there right now, who incidentally, gets someone else to do their makeup every morning. That perk alone might make it worth my while.

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Dear Crabby

It's late, you guys. I'll admit it. I've been waiting for my computer to cool down enough so that I can place it on my lap to type because I spent approx 2 hours watching back eps of Happy Endings and Don't Trust the B---- in Apartment 23. It's still pretty hot so I'm going to make this quick. But it's time for the triumphant return of......

Dear Crabby! Hooray!!! (Or Boooo! depending on your preference.) I'll admit...I've missed Crabby. Did you? Let's find out what's been waiting for her attention.

Dear Crabby,
I think my dog is a total perv. Seriously. He humps EVERYTHING and ANYTHING. Last night, he got in a fight with this huge dog because he went up and started humping him in the dog park. And my zebra slippers are but an innocent victim. ANYWAYS, I'm worried that my dog is going to get a reputation - or "puputation." What can I do?
Slutty Puppy

Um, hey there, SP-
I'll admit it. I didn't understand where your question was going. The whole "puputation" thing threw me for a major loop. But really? Are you seriously concerned with your DOG'S REPUTATION? What do you think is going to happen? He'll get bullied on Facebook? Shunned in the cafeteria? Sorry, SP, but your problem is not a real problem. Maybe stop bringing your horndog to the dog 'bout that?

Dear Crabby,
ARGH! Where do I start? Okay, I was at store to find a wafflemaker because I was SUPER in the mood for waffles. While I was there, I got a phone call from my old manager at the restaurant I used to work at. He was all asking me about my new job and what I liked about it, and I got this feeling that he was trying to get me to come back to work. But he and I had had this weird thing going on, and I thought he was married, but he's not and it all got weird and I didn't know what to do so I left, so when he called and sounded like he wanted me to come back, I was pretty shocked. I tried to explain to him that I was happier at my new job, but he just kept asking me questions and  was being pretty annoying. When I tried to tell him that I wasn't looking...
-Preemptive Edit

OMG. I stopped that question because not only is it the longest question in the world, but it's also the most boring of all time. To the question asker: You're too longwinded and your question is not interesting. Sorry. But actually, you should be apologizing to ME for having to read eternity's longest email in the history of the world.

Dear Crabby,
I know a parent should NEVER say this about their child, but I can't help it. I've been trying to teach my kid to tie her shoes for seemingly 12 years, even though she's only 5. Is she a dummy, or am I teaching her wrong??
Shoe To-Do

Hey Shoe To-Do,
If there's anything I'm an expert in, it's judging other people for how they raise their kids even though I've never raised one of my own. (Details, details.) Based on my expert opinion, my guess is that you are teaching her wrong. She's a child, not a Kardashian. She can learn. I'm pretty sure you need to rethink your teaching methods and stop being so hard on your poor daughter. If you're not careful, she'll end up crazy...AND she won't be able to tie her own shoes. Tread lightly, lady...your kid is probably smarter than you give him/her credit for.

UGHHHHHHHHHHH! That was so CHALLENGING, you guys! I'm so GOOD at giving advice, but people with problems are so DIFFICULT. Anyways, if I forgot anything or got anything wrong, let me know in the comments. Now, my thighs are on fire from this devil computer so I'm calling it a night. If you have a question, totes shoot 'em to and I'll get to them as soon as my skin recovers from these 1st degree burns.

Pharon's Phridge

Hey nerds. Let's take an intimate journey into the life of one of the most prestigious bloggers in the world, shall we? I do this solely for my own vindication and in the hopes that someone somewhere will tell me where I've gone wrong. I'd like to take you guys on an exclusive tour of my refrigerator. Doesn't sound fun? Well, TOUGH. It will be fun and YOU WILL LIKE IT.

I'm doing this primarily because I have been completely confused by food lately. Every single edible item on the planet is hated by half the population while being hailed by the other half. No-fat diet? No! Do the All-Fat Diet! Eat vegetables and fruit? No! Fruit is packed with sugar! I'm sick of trying to figure it all out. For days a long time now, I've been focused on eating things that are not boxed or in bagel form. I feel good, but the expected "shedding" of pounds has yet to occur. And with a wedding date barreling towards me with relentless speed, I'd like to look like a rockstar with as little effort as possible. Now, before you guys get it twisted, I'm actually a happy, confident young thang who feels awesome but simply cannot give up carbs or red meat. But there's always room for improvement.

So, I took a picture of the contents of my refrigerator tonight. By all accounts, it would appear that I'm a good eater. (Both in quality and quantity.) Anyways, I basically just want to know what about MY food differs so greatly from others who do not find the same level of comfort in sweatpants as I do. So, without further ado, let us take a peek into the secret contents of the world's most famous blogger's refrigerator.

**QUICK FURTHER ADO: This is meant to be FUN, so any smarty-pants foodies who make your own tofu or only eat cayenne pepper need not apply. I love you, but do not have the same level of dedication to healthy foods that you do. **

Ta da! (I'll wait while you guys tweet this to Perez Hilton.) Now, I'd show you my dry food cupboard, but just trust that it is all just olive oils, cans of various beans and cupcake decorating materials from Valentine's Day. And I seriously have done absolutely no editing of the items in this picture. All that's in there is what you see.

And what you see is: Stupid brown eggs, kale, annoyingly expensive "good for you" bread alternatives, chicken breasts, cilantro, a half-eaten red pepper, an apple from a couple weeks ago, Greek yogurt, deliciously aged Parmesan cheese, more carrots than any human should ever own (in baby and shredded form) and unsweetened applesauce, which is exactly as untasty as it sounds. Oh, and the coconut milk is for smoothies I make every once in awhile. Using 2 tablespoons at a time means that that giant carton is likely close to expiring, if it hasn't already.

Honestly? It looks like I'm some hipster Trader Joe's junkie who shops in the XXS section of European stores. Spoiler alert: None of that is actually accurate. And also, it looks like I've never cooked a full meal in my life. Which is more accurate than not.

So, how does all THAT turn into fat that sticks to every withered muscle in my body? IT CAN'T. That's the answer. Or it's magic. Evil, stupid magic.

Now, I'd really like to re-emphasize the fact that I'm not ACTUALLY looking for people to be like "Here's some nutrition information." I don't want HELPFUL or CONSTRUCTIVE feedback, I want "YOU'RE RIGHT" feedback. That's all. But I also want people to know that despite my penchant for leggings and baggy shirts, I do think I make some good choices with food. Plus, in one week, this refrigerator will look VERY different since Geo will be back and will pack it with bacon, Coke and leftover pizzas. So, I wanted to capture this moment of effort for posterity.

FINE. Maybe I'm NOT looking for feedback. Maybe I'm simply trying to assure myself, in public, that I'm not so far gone. But, if you DO want to sing my praises and erect statues in my honor for my healthy habits that still somehow pack on the pounds, I shall not stop you and will attend the dedication ceremony. With a stomach full of coconut milk and carrots. And maybe a bagel.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Car Care?

Tonight I was chatting with my pal Liz about the ridonkulousness that is "getting your car fixed." It's a stupid-crazy process. To begin with, car guys are mean. They expect everyone to know what a serpentine belt is (which I DO know) and why you "absolutely must get your air filter replaced," (which is NOT TRUE). So Liz paid a bunch of money to have her car checked out only to learn two weeks later that 100 things have gone wrong in her ride.

So, in the interest of teaching you guys a solid lesson, I've decided to give you guys some tips I've learned over the years in regards to car care at the auto body shop. Keep in mind, please, that I have tested these methods over several years. I once got talked into buying two new tires during an oil change. But I am certainly much "smarter" now than I was back then.

Anyways, the next time you see that irritating "Check Engine" light flash in your car, or any other stupid-annoying warning light for that matter, run through these steps.

* If you don't believe that whatever warning light is on is real, either ignore it or simply place a piece of black electrical tape over it.
* If that stupid light has persisted and you worry about the state of your ride, FINE. Bring it to a dumb auto body place. Find the one with the cutest guys who work there and follow the next steps.
* Wear an adorable outfit that highlights your favorite assets.
* Walk in to said auto body place with confidence about yourself to replace the complete ignorance you feel about whatever thing is making your engine smoke and rev involuntarily at stop lights.
* Tell the kind gentleman behind the desk that you are just a stupid little woman who cannot possibly understand why the tire pressure light on your car is on and only his level of expertise can save you.
* Suppress every instinct you have to call out the guy when he tells you that your phalanges need cleaning.
* Make sure to slip in a comment like "I don't want to pay a lot or anything, but," then try and generate a tear or two, "I just am worried about driving my car if it's dangerous because I'm so cute and vulnerable."
* Knowing full well that your car is probably not going to explode, pull yourself together and then head over to the waiting room to read 3-month-old back issues of People.
* In several minutes, someone will come and tell you that your Check Engine light is on because you have left your gas tank door open for the past 6 days
* Laugh adorably before suggesting that maybe the guy should check your oil levels and tire pressure before sending you on your way. He wouldn't want you to get stranded, would he?!
* Stroll out of the auto shop on a cloud because you just pwned the system for a free checkup

I know it's not particularly feministic (real word? According to spell check, NO) or whatever, but hey. If a shop full of dudes wants me to be dumb and girlie so they can be the hero, I will play the part for a free checkup. If you are smart, you'll do the same thing. Unless you know something about cars, in which case I fully expect you to marginalize the dude trying to tell you that your culottes need fluffing.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Dec the Halls

I have been saying for years that I don't "seasonally decorate." I don't really get it. My mom and sisters all have their knick knacks and various holiday-themed bathroom towels and whatnot, but I've never picked up on that. My idea of decorating my house for the holidays involve a buttload of white Christmas lights and a scented candle for whatever the special day calls for: Sugar Cookies for Valentine's Day, Pumpkin for Halloween and Thanksgiving, Pine Tree for Christmas and Beer and Bagels for my birthday.

But this year I decided to give it a real shot. I think they call it "nesting," but I call it "bored and living alone." I dug out some of my alleged Christmas decorations. The decorations I have now have all been pilfered from my mom's boxes of "not quite good enough to put in my own home" over the past couple years. I mostly have chosen things that I think are either funny or only vaguely Christmas-y. So, it's all kinds of weird mish-mashy stuff. Usually, I put a few things up and it looks Christmas-ish in my apartment.

So tonight, it was a totally different world when my sister Prinna and I decided to surprise my mom by decorating her house for Christmas while she was out of town. My mom basically lives in a Macy's parade when it comes to Christmas decorations. There is an entire area of the home dedicated to storing her life-size Santa, musical elf things, cranberry wreaths and all that mumbo jumbo. I had no idea what I was in for.

I got to my parents house, and my dad had taken down the 1,405 red-and-greeen Tupperware cases full of decorations. Prinna and I stood among them, and felt totally lost. "Did this Noel banner thing hang on this wall or downstairs? Where were these candles last year? Does Mom like these tumbling snowmen sets anymore?" It was balls. I got overwhelmed immediately. I told Prinna, "I can't do it. There's too much stuff. There are just too.many.knick.knacks!" She calmed me down by saying "We don't have to do everything the same way Mom did it. Let's do our own thing." Then she described how to decorate a table with similarly-themed things and how to swoop garland on a staircase.

Not to brag or anything, but I really excelled in the candle-placing and light-stringing areas of decorating.

Anyways, we finished decking the halls of the main level of my parents' house in a brief 6 hours or so. We couldn't have been more proud of ourselves. We gazed over our beautifully arranged nativity scenes and bookshelf nooks and breathed in the piney goodness of the house. After walking around the house and finalizing lighting strategies, we were finally satisfied. It will be interesting to see how much of my mom pukes at and changes, though. I made an entire shelf of about 12 random Santa figurines and Prinna was like, "Oh. Um. So, that's a lot of Santas." And I was all "I know. It's the theme of the shelf...DUH." And then I stuck a candle in between them.

When I got back to my house, it was lackluster to say the least. The cranberry "garland" I haphazardly wrapped around my everyday TV set was no match for where I had just left. And even though I put white twinkle lights around my giant window and put my pine tree-scented candle next to a stack of back issues of Entertainment Weekly, I suddenly felt like my whole apartment was naked. So I pulled out all of my mom's reject decorations and threw them all around. It's not as good as my mom and dad's house, but at least it's something.

Thursday, November 29, 2012

Acting the Part

So, I was just laying on the floor in the middle of my apartment thinking about some really important stuff. Initially, I was all "OMG, I have GOT to sweep these hardwood floors" but then I was all "Poor Lindsay Lohan."

Homegirl got in another accident last night. There's nothing I like about Miss Lohan except her memorable turn as a normal person in Mean Girls. Great actress? No. Certifiably insane? Likely.

But I feel bad for her, you guys! She's the ideal butt of every joke ever. She's crazy, she has a crazy family and she continues to do crazy things seemingly on purpose, and I think that everyone has just decided that she's going to be crazy forever. So, I'm pretty sure that people automatically think she's a straight-up dummy.

So what, she apparently got in another accident the other night at 4 a.m.? BIG DEAL.

Here's my argument in favor of La Lohan: She is a very target-able person and people all over everywhere are set to take advantage. I mean, come on. The girl put her 100% into a critically panned movie about Elizabeth Taylor and then when it fails, we are supposed to be SURPRISED that she wants to blow off some steam and hang out until 4 a.m.? Tell me what YOU did the last time you found out that everything you worked for was hot garbage.

What would YOU guys do if you had just learned that not only did you fail at your job, but every person on the planet would learn about your poor performance? You would NOT be cool about it. Oh, OH! AND she just found out she has a half-sister. Gee, THAT'S normal news we all get and have to deal with every day...#not.

I'm not saying LiLo is sane...or sober...but I am saying that every person ever has automatically decided that this chick is a total mess and she's always drunk driving into herds of cats or kids or whatever. It's just not fair for the horrible little actress. She's gone to jail and rehab...what else do we want her to do? Everyone needs to calm down and stop deciding that these head-case nutjobs who we have granted instant fame need to "behave themselves."

Rude. If I were famous tomorrow, I'd do unconscionable things. I'd skip out on tabs, buy cars and leave them wherever they are when they run out of gas, find rich friends, buy rich friends, park wherever I darn well pleased, buy monkeys for pets and let them throw their poop everywhere...things like that.

My point is that crazy starlettes in Hollywood are both annoying and fragile. I mean yes, they are likely insane and desperate for attention, but that doesn't mean we need to add insult to injury by acting all innocent and surprised when our insatiable need for a juicy story causes them to have a nervous breakdown or crash into a person on the street as they are fleeing from paparazzi. Let's just all relax and stop being as terrible to them as they are in their latest "acting" role. Okay? Okay.

The Waiting Game

What time is it? Where am I? What's going on? You guys, I'm a little out of sorts tonight. I only now just remembered that I hadn't posted a blog today. It's been a whirlwind evening. All day, there's been some alarm going off somewhere in my building and it's been making me act all wonky after listening to "BRRP! BRRP! BRRP!" for like 10 hours (and counting). After work, I took a nap then made a terribly unhealthy dinner, but it wasn't until about 3 hours ago that I made the biggest mistake of all.

I downloaded a game on my iPhone. A WAITRESSING GAME. There is something so incredibly addicting about this genre of video games for me. It started harmlessly, with an innocent purchase of a game called Diner Dash many years ago. It was the actual CD of the game that I put in my computer. That's how long ago it was.

All these "Dash" games consist of is WAITRESSING. The player is Flo and she serves people food, sometimes drinks, then clears their dishes and takes their money. The customers provide various levels of difficulty and timing, but it's essentially the exact same every freakin' level. I have lost SEVERAL hours to the Dash games.

The reason this is doubly weird is that I was once a waitress in real life during college. And I was REALLY BAD AT IT. Seriously. I couldn't get the timing down, I didn't have patience for indecisive customers, I forgot people's salsa roughly 90% of the time and on an average night, I'd pull in less than 10% in tips. Plus, I'm probably the clumsiest person I know. I just did not have the skill set necessary to be any good at it. I was so bad that my really good friend at the time, who was the manager at the restaurant where I worked, had to be like "Listen, you should maybe quit. Or I would have to fire you." Ouch.

So I don't know why I'm so obsessed with playing a video game version of the one job I was incredibly bad at. I thought I had kicked the Dash habit years ago. I had played the game for way too long and I eventually threw away the CD. A couple years later, I downloaded it again and got hooked again. I managed to give it up again and thought I was done with it for good.

Then today, when I was playing Words With Friends (a much more intelligent time-waster), a banner ad came up for WEDDING DASH. OMG. A Dash game that's WEDDING themed!? What are you doing to me, gaming gods?! Before I could repeat the 10 steps of addiction in my head, I found myself punching in my iTunes password and yelling at my phone for not downloading the game fast enough.

That was almost 3 hours ago. My phone battery died at one point and I sat against the wall charging my phone and playing simultaneously. The only reason I managed to pry myself away from the game - which, I should add, is EXACTLY the same as the other Dash games, but Flo serves wedding guests instead of customers - was because I wanted to talk to Geo before bed. I told him I had gotten hooked on another Dash game and he was like "OMG, you are a loser." And I was like "I know, I know. But listen, I've got tables waiting so I gotta run."

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Missed The Target

There are a few times in a gal's life when it's okay to just kind of hang out and wait. Service at the bar? Waiting list for a hair appointment? All totally normal times to try and be patient. But pharmacies are not bars or hair salons, people.

Listen, I know I'm impatient. Geo tells me that every single time we are driving or in line for coffee. This girl hates herself a wait time. But I nearly lost my mind today when I woke up a sick, hot mess and needed some pharmaceutical assistance. I did the decent thing and woke up at dawn and WAITED for my doctor's office to open to call in a prescription. Then I WAITED for the stupes pharmacy to call me with the wonderful news that feeling better was one script and a short drive away.

The call never came.

I kept working, kept feeling crappy, kept waiting for the pharmacy to call and be all "You're all set, lady!" And I ate breakfast and then I ate lunch and then I kept waiting for the call. Eventually, around 1:30 p.m. I decided I couldn't take it anymore.

See, when a person makes it her business to fill a prescription 1 hour before a pharmacy even OPENS, I feel like it should be taken seriously. It's not a refill on eyelash growth hormones or something. No. I feel crappy and would like to feel better. Stat. (That's a medical term.) (Also, I realize I sound like I'm talking about crack or something, but I'm not. Just good ol' fashioned scientific advancements.)

So when it rolls around to like 5 hours post-refill request, I get worried. I ended up deciding to just get proactive. I called the pharmacy to be all "Here's my D.O.B., where's my Rx?!" Instead, I was met with "The pharmacy is closed for lunch. Please try later."

Um. Squeeze me? You're a business catering to sick people and you la-di-da off for 1/2 hour because you only hire one pharmacist at a time at a global corporation? Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Why?! WHY are there no backups for lunch? When I worked at Gap Kids, everyone's lunch was scheduled in order to keep the store running for the full day. There was never a crudely written "Be back in 30 minutes" sign hanging on the door. Nope. We managed to stay open the entire time we were OPEN. And our customers just wanted a good deal on a tshirt of moderate quality, not healing medications.

I broke into a cold sweat when I heard the "be back later" message. Was it because I was sick, or mad? Who's to say...? The point is, I was angry at the ridiculous waiting time. Eventually, when I got through to a human, I was all, "Hey, you got a 'script for me?" And they were all "Totes," and I was all ", WHEN were you going to call me?" And they were all "Uh...whoops. Did we say we were going to do that?"! And I was all "YES. I'VE BEEN WAITING A BILLION MINUTES FOR YOUR CALL," and they were all "Well, it's ready now. We cool?"

No, we are decidely NOT COOL. I'm waiting for pharmaceuticals, not a table a TGIFridays. I was promised phone call updates when I agreed to have Target as my drug dealer in favor of Walgreens. Who, I might add, does not close over lunch AND is open 24 hours. Ugh, but they just don't have the bedding and wide variety of boot socks that I need so badly when I'm shopping for drugs and toothpaste. Decisions, decisions...

Anyway, I finally got some justice when the super nice lady at the pharmacy told me to have a nice day, and all I said was "Hrmpf." BAZINGA. At least now I'm on the mend and Target will probably never recover from this crazy-fierce tongue lashing I've dished out on this blog for ones and tens of people to see.

Monday, November 26, 2012


Hey everyone! Look who's back! Did you all have a great Thanksgiving weekend? The 10 extra pounds on my thighs will attest to the fact that I definitely had a delicious holiday. Geo just left tonight, so I decided to skip last night's blog because he was not thrilled when I tried to talk him into helping me think of what celebrities had what food for Thanksgiving on his last night back. Instead, we played Settlers with some friends and stayed up late battling barbarian hoards. COOL.

Which brings us to today. Back on track. Back to the ol' schedule. Back to non-gravy-covered food.

Lately I've been making a lot of hard-boiled eggs. (Talk about your all-time best transitions...) Anyway, I love them and they have protein and they are easy to make. Well, NOW they are easy to make. I definitely had to make them like 20 times with my "How to Boil Water" cookbook open before I had any confidence in boiling water and eggs all by myself.

Here's the problemo with hard-boiled eggs. Um, they smell like farts. Bad farts. And they make your whole apartment and refrigerator smell like bad farts. Pretty soon you're not sure if you've unknowingly transported to a sulfur mine or if your eggs are ready. Yum!

And yet, I still love 'em. Is it because they are so versatile and filling? Maybe. Is it because they are the only things I can "cook" now without a cookbook handy? Probably. In any case, hard-boiled eggs are some seriously delicious, ridiculously bad-smelling foods. Which is SO counter intuitive!

Think about it: You never are like, "Wow, whatever you're cooking smells ridiculously bad. Can't wait to dig in!" No, it's more like, "That dinner you're cooking up smells like bagels or bacon. YUM!"

Eggs. Gross.

I'd really to know who the first person was to hard boil an egg. Every other kind of egg is equally delicious but has, essentially, no scent. Scrambled? Sunny-side-up? Even soft-boiled? All great, all scentless. But then someone somewhere was like "Let's dump these eggs in water, boil 'em up and wait until they smell a cow's butt then chow down. Who wants to be the first to try one?!" Then there were probably two camps of people: The ones who ate them with mayo and bread, and the ones who decided to start throwing rotten eggs at people's houses who were mean and wore WAY too much makeup for a 10th grader and who, despite repeated polite requests, still TOTALLY took John to the hayride even though she definitely knew I you liked him.

I digress.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Smelly eggs. (Wow, really? That's where we are tonight? Okay, whatever you say, subconscious rambling.) Anyways, luckily I have unpacked my box of Christmas decorations already, and there were like 100 Christmas Tree scented candles inside. So, instead of sulfurous air pollution, my whole apartment smells like holly and Santa. And I got to add some much-needed protein to an otherwise uneventful spinach salad. Yeah. Pretty amazing day indeed.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Not Quite

I'm not quite ready to come back after the super awesome Thanksgiving weekend yet. We'll return to our regularly scheduled hilarity tomorrow. Love you guys!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

You're Welcome

Gobble gobble, nerds! It's just about Turkey Day! I'm boycotting Dear Crabby today because I really think it's important to address one very important issue.

I'm pretty sure I don't love Thanksgiving food.

How un-American is that?! I don't know what is wrong with me. I feel like the components are all there. Starches? CHECK. Butter-slathered vegetables? CHECK. Gravy covered EVERYTHING? I mean, it all should really be considered CHECK.

And yet? And YET. I find myself continually shoving food in my mouth that I wouldn't typically choose over, say, bagels. I feel bad for the pilgrims and native Americans who simply didn't have access to a Bruegger's at that first dinner.

But I love eating with my family. I love passing various foods and suffering various levels of burns from touching certain dishes with my bare hands. I love chatting with cousins and aunts and uncles about what I should be doing about my the current problem in my life. It's probably not fun for them, but it's very helpful. And for that form of free therapy, I am thankful.

Thanksgiving for me is about overindulging on appetizers and coloring the "Oh, You Turkey" page in the newspaper. But then comes 120 plates of various dishes and I get overwhelmed. Instead of loading up on turkey, cranberry, stuffing, green beans and whatnot, I just panic and load up on anything made with potatoes.

Because yes. Everything potato-based is delicious, and as my mom says "Potatoes are the perfect food."

I feel like maybe I just can't handle Thanksgiving. I've never been known for my ability to pace myself when it comes to food, so I'm sure I front-load on apps and bread. I'm the cheapest date ever.

But I'm thankful for this holiday. Not only is it a four-day weekend, but it is a carb-approved holiday, which is just great. I'm also super thankful for my family, my parents, my siblings, my fiance who traipsed into town for 4 hours before leaving me again, and I'm thankful for YOU guys. Anyhoozle, I hope you take a tiny minute to be thankful for for stuff like family and friends and bagels. I know I will!

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

A Truly Bad Start to every morning

I'd like to write this post to complain to the "fine" people at TBS. Now that I'm Amish and only have like 5 TV channels (one of which is Fox News, so, I basically have 4 channels) I rely heavily on the programming choices made at TBS, ABC Family and TLC. And let me tell you, people, I'm not liking what I'm seeing.

I don't know what happened when TBS decided to change their morning lineup, but I think there was a fire sale on terrible shows and TBS pounced. There used to be Saved by the Bell reruns every morning, which made getting ready for work downright amazing. Zack Attack? Yes please! But now? Allow me list the shows that command the "prime time" spots.

My Name is Earl. Home Improvement. According to Jim. Every single show ever produced by Tyler Perry.  

What!? What ARE these shows? They're the WORST SHOWS EVER. They're one episode of Two and a Half Men away from ruining TV forever in a single morning. But what am I supposed to do, watch the NEWS in the morning? Turn off the TV? NO THANKS. So, I end up watching these atrocious excuses for entertainment and there's simply nothing I can do about it.

Is there any person on the planet who truly enjoys these shows? I mean, I KIND OF understand Home Improvement. (Who didn't have a crush on that middle kid when they were a preteen?) But the rest of them are simply tragic. I've pooped funnier plot lines than even the best episodes of these shows.

You'd think that a network with enough sense to get Conan and keep showing Friends and Family Guy would understand that not one show on their morning schedule elicits even one tiny chuckle from anyone who is not the boringest person ever. TBS: Very funny? I think not. Maybe the joke's on me.

Also, TBS? I GET IT. COUGAR TOWN IS COMING TO TBS IN 2 FREAKING MONTHS. I swear, if they don't stop playing the promos for Cougar Town, I'm going to buy an actual cougar to eat my TV and my eyeballs.

For all it's redeeming qualities, TBS has seriously missed the mark on entertaining me in the mornings. It's like they don't even CARE about cheering me up when I inevitably wake up cranky every morning and only want to add fuel to the fire. I don't even mind that they repeat movies mercilessly until I can memorize every line in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. But filling morning time slots with the worst shows on TV is almost enough to completely cancel out the 2 hours they dedicate to Friends in the afternoons.

Oh, also? I've watched the Tyler Perry shows. Spoiler alert: THEY ARE ALL EXACTLY THE SAME SHOW. EXACTLY. THE. SAME. 

Here's a helpful hint for the suits at TBS: Instead of vomiting all over my mornings, maybe consider going back to the days when you'd play Dawson's Creek or Saved by the Bell reruns. I'd even settle for a 2-hour block of pilot episodes from failed TV series.

In closing, I'd like to formally request that TBS changes its programming schedule in my area sooner than later. If I see one more scene where Tim Allen mixes up the lesson he supposedly learned from Wilson, I'm going to punch myself in the face and then punch my TV. Get it together, TBS.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Traitor Joe's

There are many things I simply do NOT understand about the human race. People who eat French fries with forks. Bicyclists. Eating eggs with ketchup. Slow walkers in the mall. People who wear those Bluetooth headpieces. People who compost. But far and away, the thing that probably confounds me most is people who can grocery shop during the day.

I work from home three days a week. But I still typically do all my food shopping when I'm starving on a Saturday morning in my sweatpants and mascara smeared down my cheeks. Stores are ALWAYS busy then, but I GET THAT. But today, I got a serious hankering for some homemade chicken salad and needed a couple supplies. I decided "Oh, I'll just breeze in and out of the store because it's a work day and people work." I decided to go to Trader Joe's because I also really wanted to be one of those people who buy brown eggs. Which I also don't understand. But, it's trendy so I thought I'd give it a shot.

Really?! I had to circle the lot TWICE to find a parking spot. I was shocked. I finally found a spot and went inside. I do NOT understand these people. It was like 2 p.m. and the place was PACKED. Not even for Thanksgiving stuff, either. There were people bustling around the cheese aisle, the cereal area and the dietary supplement section. Fewer than like 5 people had kids with them (which likely makes them stay-at-home parents and thus, understandable) and everyone was all dressed like normal people.

I, not anticipating a crowd, only managed to match my sweatpants to my socks tucked into slippers that only SORT OF pass as shoes.

But all these people were relatively young, put together and seemingly in no hurry to pack their chick peas or organic whey macaroni and tofu cheese or whatever into their carts. They were just THERE. I looked around as I scurried to find some celery and brown eggs and saw only people who seemed to have nowhere to go but were dressed as if they were headed to a very grown-up activity. And yet they still had enough money and cooking skills to knowingly put shallots and organic diamond bean curd in their baskets.

Who ARE these people?! No kids? No place to go? Casually reading the ingredients in some sort of carbonated carrot/beet juice on a Monday afternoon? What is going on?

Grocery shopping during the day is a serious LUXURY. It's like going to a doctor's appointment between the hours of 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. It's just not something most people can do. And yet, there is an entire population of people mulling around the most indulgent place in the universe without any sort of sense of time or day.

Anyway, what started as a crazy excursion into Brown Egg land turned very quickly into a complete spiral down the rabbit hole. All these people have somehow found a loophole in the regular work schedule and didn't have the decency to share their magic grocery-shopping-schedule formula with anyone else. Traitors.

The moral of this story is that I don't get people who aren't stressed out or crazy-busy during traditional work days and I now think they are witches. Also, I ended up getting white eggs because I decided brown eggs looked like they came out of a chicken's butt.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

(Don't) Say my Name

I was sitting in a charming little neighborhood dive bar with my friends Claire and Kelsey on Friday night. We had each ordered a beer and were having a good time. Approx 5 minutes later, a dude approached our table. "Hey," he opened. "Hey," we replied. (Most interesting opener ever.) He asked for our names, and Claire responded "I'm Claire, that's Kelsey, and that's Pharon." He goes "Wait, WHAT'S your name?" And I said, very clearly, "SARAH. I'm Sarah."

Claire gave me a weird look and Kelsey laughed out loud. I HATE explaining my name, how it's spelled and where it came from to some random shmuck who can't even think up a creative opening line. So this guy got suspicious at my friends' reactions, I could tell. He looked at me while Claire and Kelsey said, over and over, "Yeah, that's SARAH. Right, SARAH!? Want some nachos, SARAH!?" I hadn't said it to try and deceive the guy, I said it because Pharon is interesting and likes to talk about her name and her super awesome life. "Sarah" does not. Sometimes I really like Sarah.

My friend Kim used to resort to the same thing. When she'd say my name, inevitably someone would say "WHAT is that girl's name?!" Yelling my name, spelling it and where it came from over the boom of bar music was just heinous tedium so she too changed my name. To Barb. No one asks questions about Barb. Everyone knows how to spell Barb. Sometimes when she's mad at me, she still calls me Barb.

See, this is different than just lying about your name to be mean. But we would totally do that, too. In college, Kim and I would ALSO alternate telling people one of our names was Allyson, who was our very real friend in Minnesota. Then "Allyson" would give someone our REAL friend Allyson's phone number. We knew it had been a fun night when we'd get a call from Allyson the next day being like "You guys! STOP IT! Also, call someone named Shane back."

But the worst part about any name lie, whether for ease or deceit, is keeping others in the loop and being cool about it. About 30 times throughout our drink this weekend, one of the girls would call me Pharon and then overcompensate by repeating "Sarah" over and over and over. And loudly. SO not smooth. It's also why I can't give a fake name at Caribou. The people taking my credit card always say "Wait, what's the name on this card then?!" UGH! What's with the third degree!? Can't you people just ACCEPT a fake name when it's given to you!?

It's not that I don't love my name. I do. I just have places to be, people, and don't have time to explain my name and my siblings' names to every person on the planet. I also don't have time to hear about that one time you met a guy named "Farlen," which is just sooooooo close to Pharon, right?! No, it's not. I don't tell every Nick I meet about the times I met a Rick or Victoria.

Anyway, as we were leaving the bar on Friday night, the jig was definitely UP. "Sarah" was left behind because "Pharon" was the buzzkill making us all leave because she was driving, and the protests from Claire and Kelsey were VOCAL. If anyone around us had grown fond of Sarah, they may have been confused to learn she was just a front. Poor Sarah fans. I hope they were okay.

Besides the name confusion, this weekend was great fun. I spent Saturday dress shopping with my mom and today cleaning my nasty apartment and buying child-sized moccasins at Target. Sooooo totally Pharon.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Vom Boards

Allow me to change your life in amazing ways tonight. I have this bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and just worrying about things I have to do. It's like brain vomit. There's nothing I can do about any of it at 3 a.m. so it's just a mean little thing I put myself through for no reason. Every once in awhile, I'll write down the reasons for my anxiety so I can deal with it in the morning, but after like 45 minutes, I'm tired, worked up and have nothing to show for it.

So last night was one such night. I fell asleep watching Green Street Hooligans (yum) and woke up in a sweaty panic about planning a honeymoon. SO. USELESS. Then today during work, I kept thinking of things I needed to take care of in terms of the wedding and jotting down my thoughts on random scraps of paper. I looked at this giant pile of paper with half-asleep, half-coherent mind vomit on them and thought "This is ridiculous."

I needed one big ol' space to put my reasons for freaking out when I couldn't deal with them right away. You know, a place to store my brain vom so I wouldn't forget it and can remember to deal with it later, without the billions of pieces of scrap paper. So I made this:

I put a giant piece of paper on the wall, got my markers out and just doodled all my reasons for spazzing all over it. It's all in one place, it's colorful and it's totally removable. Now when I find myself stewing about something I can't do anything about yet, I can be all, "Oh crap, what am I going to do about [insert current reason for spazzing out]? I'll just slap in on the Vom Board and deal with it later." The Vom Board is just a place to keep all the uncontrollable things that keep you up at night or distract you from work.

Now, I've seen vision boards and bulletin boards and chalkboards and notepads and planners and all that, but I've never seen a Vom Board. For one thing, it's very cathartic to write on the wall (or at least a big piece of paper taped to it). It feels empowering, like "This is so annoying and important I have to aggressively record it right on the wall." (Flashback to the cave on Lost, anyone?) For another thing, I was just laying on the couch and staring at the vom board and was like "Okay, it's all on there now and I can handle anything that fits on one piece of paper covered in doodles." Finally? If I get up in the middle of the night again, I can just walk over to the wall and jot down my concerns and then deal with them in the morning. No crappy scrap paper, no boring black pen, and it's just all there in one place. Oh, and when I'm done with everything, I can just fold it up and throw it away. No muss, no fuss.

I initially wanted to get a roll of adhesive whiteboard paper, but I didn't want to ERASE stuff. I want to cross stuff out. Violently. And I don't want to worry about rubbing up against it and accidentally removing 10 very important thoughts regarding candles.

Side Note: So, while I was looking at these adhesive whiteboards online, I was reading the reviews because many of them don't actually STICK to the wall. But then I saw a review by this guy who wrote, "I love this product! I stuck it in my shower because I always have the BEST ideas in the shower, amiright?!" I thought to myself "Who puts a WHITEBOARD in the SHOWER. One errant stream of water and the whole thing is gone!" Oh, and also, the only thing I think about in the shower is "OMG, I'm so late. There is simply no time to shave." Probably the worst place on the planet to put a piece of adhesive whiteboard is the freakin' shower. Idiot.

So I opted for the plain ol' paper and magic markers. I'm worried that I look like a serial killer, though. A wall covered in nonsense and doodles that I add to in the middle of the night? NORMAL.

Yeah. So, it's all under control now. I highly suggest using the Vom Board method for things like Christmas shopping or job hunting or deciding what to wear to the next holiday party and other important things like that. It's great. If you decide to start your own, go ahead and send a pic of it to me! In a couple weeks, I'm going to take another pic of my Wedding Vom Board and I bet it looks amazeballs AND crazeballs by then! Who knows? I may have just finished planning the whole wedding by then!

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Dear Crabby

What a nice break in the tear-inducing, knuckle-wringing, math-paralyzing week! It's time for Dear Crabby! PHEW!

Dear Crabby,
Um, I'm a GUY. As in: A MAN. But I decided to get some boudoir pictures taken for my fiance as proof of what I looked like when she agreed to marry me. They were supposed to be tasteful. But the shoot went horribly awkward before I could even explain why I wouldn't shave my chest. And let's just say there was at least one military cap placed atop my head. It turned out really terribly if I need to say that. I'm worried that the super amazingly bad pics will show up somewhere. I don't know the photographer well, and I don't know what to do now. How can I make sure they don't show up on some tumblr account or something?! 
Yours truly,

Well, Embarrassed,
There's really only one thing you can do. Why don't you go ahead and email me the pics and I'll do some laughing hysterically super-awesome highly technological watermarking to keep your allegedly "tasteful" pics safe. If I accidentally send them to everyone I know, I apologize in advance. But, seriously, you should know that there is no such thing as "tasteful male boudoir pictures." Really? What possessed you to do that? More importantly, what possessed your fiance to MARRY to you!? You sound different and weird and vain. Good luck, bro. Move to Europe and consider a career in weird, hairy adult films.

Dear Crabby,
How long is "too long" to breastfeed? Do people really get that upset by it?
Bottles don't Only Offer Booze

If you're old enough to ASK about breastfeeding and access a computer and type that question after learning to read and write, you need to step away from the teet. Also: Somewhere in my logic is an argument about strip clubs and seeing breasts in public, but I can't quite figure out the joke yet. I don't know. Ugh.

Dear Crabby,
OMG. I GOT A HICKEY. A HICKEY! WHAT DO I DO!? HOW DO I GET RID OF IT?!?!!? MY DAD IS GOING TO KILL ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

Um, okay...Job 1 NSSH?! STOP YELLING AT ME.
Now, getting rid of a hickey is very simple. All you need to do is go back in time to elementary school when you learned to give yourself a hickey on your arm and ABSORB THE LESSON. Then bop ahead to middle school and teach the guy sucking on skin to stop doing that because he's an idiot. Then quick hop back to the 1980s and say "What up!" to me and my bowl cut before eventually traveling back to the beginning of whatever terrible date you were on tonight and call in sick. Easy peezy.

Wow. SO MUCH GOOD ADVICE TONIGHT. Did I miss the mark on these? Did I miss your question? Go ahead and shoot me an angry or super-complimentary email at and I'll decide whether or not I want to waste my genius on you.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Budgets and Math and Numbers...OH MY!

So...budgets are The. Worst. I remember my dad telling me that I needed to "stick to a budget" when I opened my first checking and savings account. I remember thinking "But this 'money' is just numbers! Those can be flubbed, right!?" They couldn't. I bounced my first check when I was about 17 years old and wrote a check for gas. I was like "Well, I didn't write down every cent I've spent this month, but I'm SURE there's enough in the good ol' budget."

There wasn't.

I didn't understand that money is a very real thing. Once it's spent, it's gone. It doesn't just magically reappear because you add wrong or forget about that pair of jeans you just HAD to have. Money is so RUDE.

When I wanted more than 250 minutes a month on my very first cell phone, despite having zero other friends with cell phones, my parents were all "Hey, if you want more, you gotta buy them." Um...extra minutes back then were EXPENSIVE. I was bouncing my next check to AT&T before the first month was done. I learned the value of a dollar. And that dollar didn't get me that many minutes, back then.

I discussed a wedding budget with my parents tonight. It SUCKED. All of a sudden, I had to attach a monetary value to certain things that I had previously been like "There is no dollar amount that can be placed on confetti guns." Because there is a monetary value for EVERYTHING. And it's HARD to figure it all out. And I am NOT GOOD at math.

Who knew that there was so much math involved in planning a wedding? Okay, fine...clearly, EVERYONE knew that except me.

I had a nervous breakdown tonight after the discussion with my parents. There was math and Excel equations and brain was rough. I was having flashbacks to the time when I accidentally enrolled in Logic and Reasoning in college because I was promised there were no numbers involved. Turns out, there were no numbers because they were instead represented by SYMBOLS. I had to know numbers well enough to TRANSLATE them into other things and I still can't believe I (barely) passed that class. Thank God for grading on a curve...

But, thanks to Geo and my parents, I eventually calmed down. Also, I'm more than a little concerned that once the math and calculators and percentages and figures were out of my immediate sight, I decided to completely disregard them again to relax again. I guess it's a vicious cycle.

Oh well, I guess will go ahead and agree with Geo that "It will all work out," which is something I almost never believe will happen, at least not without careful and constant meddling. He's just way better at math than I am.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Three's Company

What a boring Monday. I mean, it snowed a little and I was pretty stoked to finish work and get to dinner with my mom, my sister Prinna and Claire, but other than that...I mean, boring. Sooo boring.


Wanna see a picture?

You didn't REALLY think I'd splash a pic of me in a dress all over the interwebs, did you!? No, see, that up there is a perfect score from the critics. Remember last time I went shopping? My sister Padrin, who couldn't be here tonight, made us these awesome scoring chalkboards and we all rated each dress on a score from 1 to 3, where 1 was "Bad", 2 was "Meh" and 3 was "LOVE IT". Tonight was the first time I got threes from all of them and actually gave myself a strong 4.

We kicked the night off with an awesome dinner (at which I ate less than half of a half salad). It was me, my mom, Prinna and Claire and we all headed over to the shop. I was not super stoked because the place was PACKED with other blushing/shoving brides. It was rough and crazy-busy. But I got in my fitting room and put on the robe. The curtain this time was MUCH more substantial than the last time. In the comfort in my own room, I squeezed slipped into dress after dress while the girl helping me tried to figure out why I liked THIS lace but not THAT lace. Why THOSE beads were okay, but not THESE beads.

Then I put on one that had everything I wanted, and I loved it. It's a smoosh out of the agreed-upon price range, so it's not the done deal I would have liked it to have been. I'm kind of hoping to find it on a 50% off rack sometime soon, though I'm not holding my breath.

But, I had a MUCH better time shopping this round and tried on dresses that actually fit, which is just tops. I guess this means I'm THISMUCH closer to knocking off another To Do on the annoyingly aggressive bridal checklist I get from every week. Hooray! I'll give THAT a definite 3.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Missed Call

What an awesome weekend! My sister Prinna performed on Saturday night in front of 1,000+ people at a show called The Moth. She stood alone on a stage for 15 minutes and just told one of the most moving and emotional stories ever. The audience was captivated. Those who weren't holding their breaths were sniffling and wiping away tears. It was amazing. She was definitely a showstopper.

I planned to come home and call Geo to tell him all about it, but instead I texted him. "Hey, you still up?" A few minutes later he responded, "Kind of. Already was sleeping though." And instead of ringing him up to run through the fabulous night, I wrote back, "Okay, wanna talk tomorrow?" And he's all "Yup."

Quite frankly, I was relieved. I was exhausted and had already been texting him all night about the show, so there was not a load more to say. Plus, I was about 10 seconds away from drooling on my pillow and snoring (#sohot) and I hate talking on the phone when I'm tired. In fact, I just am not a fan of phone calls to begin with.

Yes. I'm in a long-distance relationship and I am the worst phone-call talker ever. I get distracted, bored, tired, or confused when I can't see the other person's reactions. Most of my conversations with Geo consist of me stressing about wedding stuff and him reliving some awesome thing in Halo or something. After about 5 minutes we are both markedly checked out of the conversation. Ugh, phone calls are so HARD!

I was talking about this with some friends tonight and we said "Ugh, remember when were we teenagers and we'd sit on the phone for HOURS talking to people we had spent all day with!? What in God's name did we talk about?!" Back then, I could talk for 2 hours about what so-and-so wore and now I can barely make it through a 15-minute conversation with the man I'm going to marry who lives in Alabama about travel plans for holidays or what the groomsmen should wear at the wedding.

I also hate companies who force me to call them. No online appointment page or email address? I will not be visiting your salon/restaurant. I also don't have email contact information for my onsite property manager or the church for our wedding. No, instead I have to CALL them up, talk to a live person, and I can't go back and erase any poorly-executed jokes. There are also people who take forever to form an actual thought, and I would much rather wait 20 minutes to get a clearly-worded email than spend 5 minutes trying to figure out what a person is trying to say. Plus, there is no documentation from a phone call. With an email, the time or date or whatever is right there in black and white. Rely on my memory or crappy notes for that kind of information? BAD IDEA.

As a point of reference, I will tell you that my phone plan gives me 450 minutes of anytime minutes every month, and rolls over any minutes I don't use in a month. I've banked like 1,574,900 minutes. My last phone bill claims I made it through the month with using 102 minutes.

I don't know when I started hating talking on the phone, but it happened. If a phone call is going to last longer than 5 minutes, I just put it off. Sadly, I've lost touch with a lot of friends because I've procrastinated The Phone Call. Then it just gets longer and longer and I know that there will be MORE to catch up and the vicious cycle continues.

This is not to say I don't appreciate phone calls. Often and under the right circumstances, a phone call is important, funny and more convenient. We just need to teach everyone in the world which information would be better communicated through email/text and which info needs to shared by phone. What do you think, should we start a phone tree or just send out a mass text?

Thursday, November 8, 2012


In the ongoing saga that is My Our Wedding, I have been confronted with issue after issue on a near-daily basis. And we're still 275 days away from the big day (according to the very annoying countdown clock I have somehow subscribed to). If it's not a "real" issue, it's a manufactured problem that has seeped into my subconscious that I end up dreaming about at night and freaking out about the next day.

I don't KNOW if the water on site is purified or contains spiders. I feel like that detail wasn't in my info packet. Better send an email requesting clarification STAT.

Anyways, we all know that I'm about as photogenic as Gary Busey. I've been stressed about the whole "photographic evidence" part of the event so I had been putting off the search for the poor soul tasked with attempting to find my good side on the big day.

So I was not exactly stoked when my mom and I made an appointment with a photographer earlier this week. I didn't know what to expect, and I was worried that it would be one of a billion meetings where I'd have to explain "Someone needs to be in charge of telling me to stop sticking my tongue out."

My mom and I met at the studio and officially started the process. I was sweating before we even got inside. We walked into the studio and it was great. Relaxing atmosphere, beautiful pics on the walls, and the friendliest guy on the planet headed towards us with a smile and a hug. The photographer.

We sat down and chatted about this 'n that and then got down to the deets of the wedding. (Although, it only took about 5 minutes for my mom to say "Yes, I have four other kids. They're all married. Except Pharon." Ouch.) Anyhooz, about 10 minutes into the appointment, I realized how much I missed Geo when the photographer was like "Tell me about Geo" and I blathered on for way too long about his likes, dislikes, eating habits and shoe size. The photog was all "Um, okay. Thanks for that...very...elaborate description." Anyway the appointment went on until I felt downright weird without Geo there.

The photog was like "Tell me when you knew he was the one." I shifted uncomfortably next to my mom and was like, "I dunno. I hated him first. And then I didn't hate him." How very articulate, Pharon. Remind me to sew that into a pillow some day. Maybe include that in our vows?

Okay, so the appointment continued and then he did the coolest thing. He laid out all these other wedding pics in front of me and had me choose the ones I liked...the ones I was drawn to. Then based on my choices, he told me my style. Even though I started the appointment with "I loooove architecture and landscape and lush green and nothing too cheesy," I was informed that I, in fact, am NOT drawn to those images. Instead, I am equal parts Classic, Romantic and Details. And even though were iffy. Turns out, I was overwhelmingly drawn to Playful. Great. I guess I want my wedding to look like the afterparty of Prom. Classy!

Anyways, it was AWESOME. I actually had FUN talking about photos and must-have shots and location. It was pretty great. I was really nervous talking to a pseudo-stranger about my "vision" for the wedding, but it turns out that's WHY some people are amazing wedding photographers and WHY I need to hire one. I don't know squat about photos, and this guy did. He was inspiring and reassuring and confident and everything I can't seem to be in this arena. It was great.

It would just be straight-up tops if picking a photographer was as easy as meeting one and loving him instantly. If that's how wedding planning goes, I don't know what everyone's complaining about...