Dear Crabby

Happy Leap Day, everyone. Did you enjoy the extra day? I'm sure it was wonderful. And what a stupid coincidence, but good ol' Crabby got a question about this illustrious "holiday". And with that...


Dear Crabby,
My nosy friends and family have suggested that I, a woman, should propose to my boyfriend...a man. They said that since it's Leap Day, it's totally some tradition thing that a couple flips the script like that. What do you think, is it cool for a chick to ask her guy to marry her? And who would buy the ring?!

Thanks loads,
Script Flipper

Thanks for calling, Script Flipper.
Who CARES who proposes? I certainly don't. I've heard enough engagement stories lately to make me want to carve my eyeballs out with a princess-cut shank. I personally would never propose to a dude. Mostly because I wouldn't want to tell other people that story. It's a little too cheesy for my tastes (and I usually LOVE cheese) and only the slightest bit desperate. Plus, I think you'd have to buy your own ring, which would just be so not romantic. Efficient, yes, but romantic? No. Also, I think there's a movie about a chick who proposes to her boyf in Ireland or something and it was terrible. Both the movie and the concept. Anyhooz, don't do it. Unless you want your engagement/marriage to be as terrible as that one movie. Sorry, yo.

Dear Crabby,
Is it ever okay to wear suspenders?

See ya,
Suspender Suspense

Tally ho, Suspender Suspense!
Listen, I seriously LOVE suspenders. I don't have any currently, but when I was young I had a kicka$$ pair of brown suede suspenders that I wore with a pleated, plaid skirt and white shirt. They looked bombtastic. Basically, wearing suspenders is similar to wearing a beret: Few can pull it off, but I am totally one of those people and you might not be. But in case you are, here are a couple suggestions. Never wear rainbow or otherwise whimsically-patterned suspenders, unless you want to be taken as a joke. Do not clip them to your giant underwear inside of your pants. Don't shorten them so much that your wedgie gets a wedgie. Finally, do not wear them with any other items that look like they are from the 90s. If you do that, you'll look like you're wearing a costume of Rachel from the first season of Friends.

Dear Crabby,
Any advice for a regular gal who wants to make a splash at a party this weekend? I'm newly single and know there are going to be several single guys there, but I don't usually make a very strong impression. I'm basically average in every way, so I want to spice it up a little bit. Ideas???

Thank you!
Plain Jane

Salutations, Plain Jane,
You wanna make a splash? Okay, I can help you there. First, always wear something that is a conversation starter. I usually go with Statement Stilettos or a wolf sweatshirt. But for a beginner like you, might I suggest a temporary neck tattoo? People will be all "What's THAT girl up to!? She looks like a good time!" Also, get juuuuuust tipsy enough to start an impromptu karaoke competition. You'll have to start it off, and you'll want to make sure everyone else is sufficiently boozed up, but it'll be fun. Lastly, see if you can't drum up some fake (or better yet, REAL) enthusiasm about an odd - but INTERESTING - topic. I love talking to dudes about science. I don't know much, but my enthusiasm more than makes up for it. I've been known to bring up the Large Hadron Collider on more than one occasion. I also talk about a British car show I like called Top Gear. You have no idea how cool you will sound when you say "Oh, you got a new car? I've always wanted to drive the Bugatti Veyron. I think it's the fastest street-legal car on the road...what's your favorite car?" Dudes love that crap. Anyway, those are a few suggestions. Let me know if they work out!!!

Alright dudes, that does it! Listen, I really DO want to know if any of you guys have taken my advice. So for next week, LET ME KNOW! If you've asked Crabby a question before and stupidly took her advice, please write to pharonsquare@gmail.com and let us know how it turned out! We'll catch up with all the deets next week. Sound okay? Good, Great, Grand, WONDERFUL! (NO YELLING ON THE BUS! - Name that quote...)

High Times

Who doesn't love paint fumes?! The first awesome thing I did after work tonight was spray paint a bunch of clothespins. The second awesome thing was when I did it in an enclosed space. It wasn't my fault, dudes. I have a lot of prep work to get done for my sister-in-law's baby shower this Sunday, and it's seriously raining frozen cats and dogs outside. So I had to take to the basement laundry/furnace room to get my craft on.

Anyhooz, the last awesome thing I did tonight was to sit in the basement, watching an Amish show on PBS. It wasn't even the Amish thing that was such an accomplishment. It was the fact that for 2 hours, I inadvertently inhaled the insane paint fumes pummeling me from the open laundry room/furnace room.

I'm concerned that I have gotten high off the fumes.

I believe I'm in a sort of paranoid state now. The world is covered in ice outside and I'm worried that my pink glitter spray paint had something to do with it. While beautiful, the ice - like the pretty paint - is dangerous. Whoops, I slipped on the ice! Whoops, I spent hours inhaling toxic fumes!

I've also got a raging headache. I held the spray paint can up to read the side effects of breathing in the stuff for too long, and the words just kind of blended together. My fingers were covered in pink glitter and when I went to rub my eyes to make the words clearer, all I managed to do was smear the paint in my eyes. Score.

Apparently, I'm a very chatty person when I've been inhaling fumes. I just talked to Geo for twenty minutes. For 15 minutes, I discussed everything from the weather to a girl who I want to trick into being friends with me to my inquiries of a VPN (virtual private network, n00bs). I also discussed, at length, the dragons that seem to be coming out of my fingernails.

This little experiment in Crafting Highs seems to be getting to me. Just now, my stuffed teddy bear did this awesome Chorus Line dance across my room while my Nelly Furtado poster belted out that disgustingly awesome song by Fun called We Are Young. The words of the song then materialized and floated over my head until they melted into my pillows and turned into pools of pink glitter. I'm both excited and scared to get into bed.

Well, the eight-legged unicorn is finally done painting her mural in the bathroom, so I should probably get these mosaic'd contacts out and brush my teeth (which are actually just tiny villages of albino armadillos). And before the lightning bolt made out of spider webs crashes through my ceiling, I better put my tinfoil hat on and get these wild rabbits back in their cages. Which are made out of rainbows.

UPDATE: So, my mom just called and was worried I had blown myself up. NOTE: I did NOT realize that the reason you don't use paint indoors - especially in furnace rooms - is because FURNACES HAVE OPEN FLAMES. Turns out open flames + paint fumes = something much less hilarious than hallucinations. Anyway, I had a sufficient panic attack before dragging my roommate Andrew down to the basement to locate a fan. I'll be sleeping lightly tonight. Also? No more space heater for me...

Crest White Spits

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a multi-stop person. I HATE having to stop at multiple places on the way somewhere. If I need gas and groceries on my way home from work, I will DO my grocery shopping in the frozen foods and candy aisle at the BP near my house. Need clothespins and a toothbrush? I will google the crap out of the stores around my house finding out the one place (Family Dollar!) that has both. I seriously do anything to avoid parking my car more than once.

This wonderful time saver comes in handy when I'm gettin' purdy too. I have been known to brush my teeth in the shower while waiting for my conditioner to get to work. And yes, I CAN dry my hair while putting jeans on.

Anyhoozle, while cleaning my bathroom this weekend, I found some Crest Whitestrips I got awhile ago. They are the ones you have to keep on for 30 minutes. I have no idea if they still work or not, since I got them in like 1992, but I decided "Hey, two weeks to a blindingly white smile, two weeks until Palm Springs? That is not a coincidence, that is FATE."

Hey guess what. I am BAD at Whitestrips.

I don't know what's in these things, but I've always assumed you shouldn't swallow whatever is demolishing the coffee stains on my pearly not-so-whites. So, I've developed a little process. I have to sit with a spit cup so I don't accidentally swallow the bleachy goodness. Listen, I'm not exactly proud of it, but whatevs. Also, it is physically impossible for me to wear both rows of strips at once, so it takes a full hour to complete this stupid process I will probably not follow through with.

Here's where the two concepts of this blog come together. I came home late from the gym tonight and had to shower. But I also had to put these dumb strips on. So, in my multi-tasking genius, I decided to put a row on while I showered. No multiple stops here! Hey, Two Birds, let me kill you with just this one stone!

People, it did NOT go well. I had a minor panic attack because I got soap in my mouth while trying to spit and then when trying to spit THAT out, the stupid strip started slipping off my teeth. As soon as I tried to adjust it, I got a mouth full of water. I had no choice but to swallow it.

It was...bleachy. AND soapy. And the hot water did not help anything. Meanwhile, my stupid conditioner was stinging my eyes and I had to desperately reach for towel. I don't know if I was actually crying or it was just the soap seeping from eyeballs, but it was certainly not my proudest moment.

I got out of the shower, panting, barely in one piece. The strip back in tact, the conditioner out of my hair, and God-knows-what chemicals searing through my blood. I still had like 15 minutes left of the first strip, and I was back to spitting out the bleach and soap like nobody's business.

You're probably asking, "Pharon, was it worth it? Wouldn't it have been easier to 'make multiple stops' in this process? First shower, then whitestrips?" The answer, obvs, is YES. It was definitely worth it. One, it gave me the topic for this blog. Two, it may have been poisonous, but it totally saved me time.

Oscar needs some Zoloft

Okay, so I'm watching the Oscars. Why? Because I MUST. I can't NOT watch. Here's the thing. I really only saw maybe two movies that were nominated for these stupid awards. I got into quite a discussion over breakfast this morning with Claire and Andrew. We have all seen The Descendants. I'm pretty sure it's the worst movie-going experience ever. They (wrongly) disagreed. And I came upon my main complaint about this current batch of Oscar-nominated films.

Apparently, if a movie is sad enough, long enough, slow enough...and if it's about death, cancer,death or death, it is GOING to be nominated as Best Movie of the Year.

When did the film industry turn it's focus from making exciting, escapism experiences to focusing on making people depressed and forcing us to contemplate our mortality?

Excuse me, I have the news for that.

I wonder what the process of writing a movie that will get nominated for an Oscar looks like.

"Hey, so let's open up with the death of a kid's parent. We'll call him, oh, Sad Sack. Should Sad Sack have cancer? Yeah. Oh, and let's have his best friend murdered by a child-abusing Nazi. Is there a way to work in a non-threatening mentor who will eventually commit suicide? Definitely. The kid should also have a dog that runs away during the kid's darkest hours. After 2 hours of depressing wintry montages of dying trees, let's have the now-grown Sad Sack win the lottery. But then lose all his money in a scheme by his cheating wife. Then Sad Sack will die. After being in a coma first. Boom. Oscar.

Listen, there is nothing wrong with serious movies. But must ALL the movies that are nominated be depressing? The only movie that should win ANY awards is obviously Bridesmaids. It's real. It's about love. It's about friendship and forgiveness. It's about food poisoning, Jon Hamm and a whole lotta laughs. I have watched it repeatedly and will continue to do so because it's got staying power. Will anyone watch War Horse more than once? NEGATIVE.

I can say, with complete certainty, that the best movie of the NEXT year will be Hunger Games and it probably won't get nominated because too many people will like it. (BTW I already bought my tickets to see that movie on the day it comes out. SQUEEE!)

In closing (I'm getting the "Wrap It Up" Signal from the producers...) I will say that a depressing movie does not a good movie make. And just because it's "real" doesn't mean it's really good. It's okay to smile and feel happy after a movie, Academy.

Obligatory Angelina commentary: Angelina Jolie needs to eat more blood food. She's gross and skinny and her bones hurt my eyes. Shouldn't she be hooked up to an IV or feeding tube or something? It's called Easy Mac, honey. Try it.

There's GOTTA Be a Better Way!

Are your muscles sore? Does your hair look like a rat's nest? And what HAPPENED to that dewy glow of your skin? You COULD spend thousands of dollars on a full day of spa treatments, but who's got the money OR the time?!

Now from Borrowed Kin, the company who brought you Nap Assist, comes a new product guaranteed to save you time AND money! Why spend money in treatments and tipping when you could get...

A Kid!

That's right, A Kid is guaranteed to slash your beautification regiment costs. And for a limited time, you can get A Kid in one easy payment of Babysitting!

Who needs a masseur when A Kid will GLADLY walk up and down your back, massaging sore muscles, for hours? A Kid digs their tiny little toes into all the nooks and crannies and works out all the stress. All the while, you can LAY on the FLOOR watching your favorite episodes of Happy Endings!

And have you ever felt like there was just NO TIME to tend to your hair? The frizzy mess has been neglected and it's starting to show. But with A Kid, you can play "Salon" and let their delicate little fingers gently unsnarl your hair with ease! A Kid will spend an hour just pretending they can braid, while simultaneously working out the kinks in your nasty 'do. With little effort, you can also have A Kid gently massage your scalp by telling them that that's how you start a braid. They won't know that that's a lie! A Kid is easy to trick!

Order now, and we'll add in our bonus facial treatment! That facial that you have been putting off can be tended to by using the Mini Kid! The Mini Kid is a smaller version of A Kid. Just by holding The Mini Kid in your arms, you too can get the dewy, healthy glow you haven't had since you started drinking so much. The Mini Kid is happy to drool all over your face and their hands, spreading it around like finger paint. Have you started taking vitamins?! No! You've got A Mini Kid!

These home spa products come in three sizes: The large Kid is roughly the size of a six-year-old child. It's perfect for the hair treatments! The medium Kid is about the size of a three-year-old child and works best if used to walk on your back. The Mini Kid weighs in at about a 10-month-old baby. Call now and we'll include all three!

So who needs expensive oils and a judgmental salon worker who just wants to chat? With A Kid and Mini Kid, you too can get the fresh and healthy look of women who spend HOURS in bathrooms and salon chairs.

For a limited time, we'll let you babysit these products for four short hours, and you'll see results immediately! Order yours today!

Dear Crabby

I've officially worked out twice in three days. What am I, Jane Fonda!? Needless to say, I'm pooped and ready to give my bulging muscles (?) a break. So let's get to it!

Dear Crabby,
I just met my boyfriend last summer, and I'm already ready to take the plunge. Is there a good way I can ask him to....move in together? We spend so much time at each other's places already and it just seems like the fiscally responsible thing to do. I have a feeling he thinks it's too soon, but I just reaaaaaaally wanna do it! Any suggestions?

Thanks,
Home Sweet Shared Home

Hey HSSH,
Um, have you considered faking a pregnancy? No, that's only if you want a proposal. Hmmm...adopt a giant dog and then tell him you need help taking care of that snuggle muffin? Ugh, no. Too much work. Oooh, I've got it. Unleash a giant farm of spiders or mice or something into his place. Then when he asks to spend a few nights at your pad while the exterminator poison those critters to kingdom come, pull out all the stops. Pamper him, spoil him, do everything you can think of to keep him thrilled to be there. Then, just be all "Man, we live together so well! Would you ever consider giving a cohabitation thing a shot?" In between bites of his juicy steak while watching premium sports channels, he'd be a fool to say no.

Dear Crabby,
What's with winter in Minnesota!? There has been no snow all year, and I'm really itchin' for a fun snowshoeing adventure. Are there such things as Snow Dances? If so, will you do one with me?!

Thanks Crabby!
Just Say Snow

Hello JSS,
You will shut your devil mouth. I will NOT help you generate icy, wet, heavy sky dandruff. Any amount of the stuff RUINS any shot I have at a timely commute. Also, I shoveled last night and I'm still sore. You don't have to shovel SUNSHINE, my dear. So no, I will not dance around with you. Take a trip to Antarctica if you are so DESPERATE to snowshoe. Psssst...by the way..snowshoeing is just walking. Tie some tennis rackets to your feet and enjoy the global warming.

Dear Crabby,
A girlfriend of mine just broke up with her boyfriend, and is now HATING on my relationship. She always tries to instigate fights between me and my guy, and even sent him a nasty text from MY PHONE. What should I do? I mean, I feel bad that the girl is single, but it's rude for her to take me down with her, right?! Help!

Thanks,
Not Single, No Desire to Mingle

Oh boy, NSNDM,
This chick sounds SUPER RUDE. Like, uber cray cray rude. Here's my advice. Tell her to get over herself and butt out of your relationship and find her own. Then "accidentally" drop HER phone in a toilet because she needs to be taught phone etiquette. OR! Or you could be all "Listen, I can tell you're really invested in my relationship and you have been able to figure out that we've been struggling. The truth is, I'm in love you, Friend. I want nothing more than to skip through a field of lilacs together hand in hand with you. I can tell you feel the same, given your intense interest in me as of late, and I'm so glad. Finally! I can give up the pretense of being in love with my boyfriend and I can now focus all my love and energy on you! Hoorah!" Then, prepare to not hear from her for several weeks. Unless this somehow majorly backfires and she actually IS in love with you. If that happens, write me back and we'll deal with that sitch separately.

Well, Squares, that does it for another rousing week of Crabby! Think you can do better? Go ahead and fix what needs fixing in the comments. And if you've got a question of your own, shoot it on over to pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll put you - and your problemos - in place.

The Twilight Zone (Now with more full moons!)

It was a strange, strange day in the Pharon Square household. It was Magazine Day. My roommates and I love us some glossy pages, so we each have our little niche 'zines. Andrew gets golf and lawyer magazines, Claire gets health and decor mags, and I get InStyle and Entertainment Weekly. Today, the stars aligned and almost all of them came in the mail. So, we had roughly 10 pretty little packages waiting for us when we got home.

A week or so ago, something weird happened. I found myself flipping through Newsweek. I didn't understand 95 percent of what was going on all those pages. I absent-mindedly continued "reading" and when Claire came in the room and she was all "Oh, sorry, I borrowed your Newsweek." I was all "Uh, no. This is the lamest, horriblest mag in the world. It's not mine." She's all "Hey, Einstein, check the label."

To: Pharon

Say whaaaaaaaaaaat? I NEVER subscribed to this snorefest. I figured it was a fluke and minded my beeswax.

Then, it came again today. To my attention. What the H is going on? I thought I was the only one experiencing this Random Act of Magazines, but then....THEN:

Buried between Ladies Home Journal and Better Homes and Gardens was an issue of Playboy.

Claire screamed when she took off the white cardboard shield only to discover a naked booty. "ANDREW! DID YOU SUBSCRIBE TO PLAYBOY?" Andrew, currently engrossed in his shiny, new issue of Golf Digest barely flinched. "No. I would not subscribe to that." Check the label, Einstein.

To: Claire

What is going ON?! I started randomly getting the World's Most Boring Magazine and CLAIRE gets the Playboy?! Clearly whoever is comping us these subscriptions does NOT know their audience. Claire is a smart, sophisticated lawyer. I am the free-spirit liberal who only reads everything for the articles. How could such a mistake have been made?!

At any rate, Claire tries to explain to me the articles in Newsweek and I'll retort with something like "HA! This chick says that she wants to be the author of a children's book! Okay, honey...nice boobs, by the way!" We teach each other things. She tries to encourage me to read a story about economics, I try and tell her that not only is there an interview with Paul Krugman AND David Cross in Playboy, I have discovered it's also SUPER transparent that the centerfold claims to love the book Geek Love when Katherine Dunn has written an article in the VERY SAME ISSUE (Spoiler Alert: Katherine Dunn WROTE Geek Love).

Anyhoozle, so now we've got plenty of reading materials to get us through the week. Whoever the magic Magazine Godmother is who bestowed these riches upon our household, I thank thee...

Swimsuit Calendar

Remember the traumatizing event I suffered through in order to buy skinny jeans? Like giving birth to a child, I apparently forgot about the pain and humiliation I had endured on that trip and went out today - on my day OFF - in search of a SWIMSUIT.

Cue horrifying descent into self-loathing.

I started strong, confident. "Not everyone looks like Alessandra Ambrosio in a stupid two-piece. I'll be fine." I spent some time doing research online. I already have this super nice, fancy, cute suit from last year, so I kind of just need fillers. So I wanted cheap. Cute, but cheap.

Hello, Target.

I briefly thought about enlisting some moral support in the form of a shopping buddy. But, unlike the skinny jeans escapade, this was one trip I had to take alone. Like a warrior...or a wolf...or a fat person shopping for a bikini. (Two things NOT to do prior to swimsuit shopping, BTW, include watching America's Next Top Model for two hours and eating. Both of which I managed to do.)

I strolled through the suits at Target. Surprisingly cute. Wonderfully inexpensive. I grab like 18 combinations. The fitting room attendants at Target are the worst. They actually LOOK OVER the stuff before you take it into the room. Then they make you stand there, while others line up behind you, and sort through all your giant suits to pick out six items. "Here, leave the other tents, er, I mean suits, on this counter so everyone else can judge you."

Thanks.

I grab six items. Turns out, I was too confident about my butt and not confident enough about my top. Everything was the wrong size. See, the way I figured this out was that the bottoms were way too small and somehow seemed to disappear into my skin. I came bursting out the tops in a surprisingly boobilicious fashion (thanks to my friend Kelly for inventing that term, BTW).

So, I had to pull on my jeans, shirt, sweater, giant coat and get back out on the floor. I started to walk back out onto the battlefield and the fitting room attendant was all "WHAT ABOUT THESE?!" and she starts waving the other suits in the air. "I'll be right back, Satan, sheesh."

I find some better sizes, making VERY sure to not exceed the 6 item limit. Go back in the torture chamber fitting room, get back out of my clothes and it is ONLY then, as I'm leaning over to pull my shoe off, that I realize there is a mirror behind me. Holy. Crap. Aaaaaaaaaaannnnddd....justlikethat, any remaining confidence I had managed to maintain was out the window. "Oh, THERE are the tater tots and pizza I ate last week!" Thanks for NOTHING, mirrors.

I managed to find a cute suit, though. I could squint just hard enough and promise myself just earnestly enough that I would work out constantly to believe it was the best option. I had also hung my coat on the rear-view mirror to cover it up. Whatever, I got it. Is it too late to start thinking about becoming anorexic or bringing back the 1920s style of swimwear? Ugh, both seem quite impossible, given my love of food and everyone else's love of showing/seeing some skin.

I have less than a month to get in better swimsuit-shape. I ventured out to an incredibly hard Turbo Kick class tonight and with every squat, every kick, every lunge, I thought "Rear View Mirror. Rear View Mirror. Rear View Mirror." In the meantime, I've hung my suit in my bathroom so I see it everyday and will be reminded to put down that whoopie pie and shove some carrots into my talk hole.

Kid Friendly

The bad news is that tomorrow is Monday. The GREAT news is that I have the day off! Thanks, Presidents Day! I basically have zero plans, which is just wonderful. I really need the day off because I'm still recovering from the past couple days.

The graffiti party was tops. It was really pretty funny because in COLLEGE, people were SUPER ready to scribble all over shirts. Especially the front of the shirts. Especially the front of GIRLS shirts. So you can imagine my surprise when 3 hours into the party, the front of almost every girl's shirt was blank. Sure the backs and sleeves were covered in Sharpie, but the fronts were blank. That's what you get when there are a bunch of grown ups who respect physical boundaries, I guess.

Anyway, on Friday night, I went bowling with 3 of my nieces, my nephew, my sister and my mom. We bowled for two hours, I got beat in both games by my nephew Gus. Who is in third grade. Cheater. Then we ate pizza, played arcade games, chose prizes and got back in the car. It was like 8 p.m. and I nearly fell asleep on the car ride home. It is EXHAUSTING being a kid for even a couple hours. I don't know how they do it.

I don't get to hang out with Gus and his older sister, Rachel very much. They live alllllllllll the way in Iowa. Okay, so that's only like 3 hours away, but still. Rachel pointed out tonight that I haven't been to their house in two years - "I was in 4th grade then Pharon!" I felt really bad. Rachel and Gus are two of the absolute greatest kids ever. They aren't like other people's kids who are annoying and scream and fight and all snot all over everything. They are AWESOME. They're interesting and smart. I decided that young people get way cooler once they can start beating me at games.

After spending so much time with kids this weekend, I realized that I should probably spend more time with kids. I like the same things they do. Demi Lovato songs, naps, the Disney channel, painting my nails to look like a zebra (I got some sweet zebra print sticker-nail things this weekend), talking about boys, eating mac n' cheese, wearing child-sized shoes, passing notes, doing crafts, picking my nose...wait, no, not that last one. Pretty much everything else rules, though.

So, tomorrow I guess I'll wake up, eat some Trix and try to find the prize in the box, play at the playground, take a nap, eat a PB&J, run around the yard for no real reason, do some homework, take another nap, sit too close to the TV, eat some mac n' cheese, secretly three-way call a boy that my friend likes, eat some ice cream, and then hit the sheets after cutting my own bangs. Sounds like a big day. I'd better get my rest...

PARTY

So it's my friend Kim's birthday today. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, FRIEND! She pulled through the big day like a champ. Her PARTY party is this weekend, so tonight was "prep night". She's having a graffiti party and I'm super stoked. What's a graffiti party, you ask? Well it's only one of the coolest kinds of parties EVER. It kind of prompted me to make a list of good parties. So, all fun-lovers, TAKE NOTE!

* Graffiti Party - At this kind of party, people wear white and bring markers. Then everyone just writes all over each other. It's hilarious. We threw this kind of party against Kim's will for her 21st birthday. I permitted - and encouraged! - everyone to take my markers and write super dirty heartfelt messages all over her. She has the shirt to prove how fun it was.

* Stoplight Party - The premise is straightforward. Wear red if you're "committed" to someone. Yellow if "it's complicated". Wear green if you're single and ready to mingle. This really creates some cliques, but it also allows everyone to Keep It Real.

* Theme Party - I don't care what the theme IS, I loves me a good theme. Want me to dress up like a Disney character? DONE. Does everyone need to wear superhero costumes? KAZAAM! I'm into it. Theme parties give people a great idea of what to expect and what to wear, which is always hard for me.

* Around the World Party - Rooms are separated into countries. Shots, drinks and food are made accordingly.

* Temporary Tattoo Party - Pretty self-explanatory. Bring temp tats, a sponge with water and then anything goes.

* Temptation Island Party - You drink fruity drinks, wear bathing suits and go home with someone else's date. (This is NOT my party...God love roommates...)

Anyway, go out and throw one of these parties! They'll be super fun! Let me know how it goes, and then I'll be excited for you and then mad that you didn't invite me...

Have a great, party-filled weekend everyone!

Dear Crabby

So, now that the big day has come and gone, we can all go back to taking our loves for granted and not eating anything that is in the shape of a heart. I don't know about you, but after all the drippy, sappy love and rich, delicious food, I've got a bit of a V Day hangover. So let's move on to the Aftermath. The break ups!

Dear Crabby,
How long do you have to be dating a guy before you can't text breakup with him? I reeeeeeeeeeally don't want to do the face-to-face thing, since the reason I can't stand him anymore is because he smells weird and he has this skin-colored mole on his face that I can't stop looking at. Anyway, we've gone on 5 dates, I met his sisters, and he sent me flowers yesterday. Can I please please please text-breakup with him?!

Thank you!
Break It Down

Heyo, B.I.D.,
See, I would be all for the text breakup, EXCEPT that you met his sisters. Do you like them? Do you think you guys could end up being friends? If you do think so, you have to be an adult and stare that mole in the face and break his smelly heart so they don't hate you. If you don't care about him or his family, though, text away! Five dates isn't exactly a relationship, and texting is the new "We need to talk." You probably do want to thank the poor sap for the flowers, though. That was nice of him. Sucker.

Dear Crabby,
I think I'm getting the Slow Descent breakup. My guy keeps not being able to hang out, and once said that he couldn't meet me for dinner because he couldn't find his shoes. WTF? He also says things like "Sorry, I really want to hang out, but I just can't. Don't look too much into this, okay?" But I really think he's breaking it off and is trying to not look like the bad guy. What do you think?

Thanks!
Goin' Down

Hey Goin' Down,
Yeah, sorry, but he's breaking up with you. But he also doesn't want to be alone quite yet, so he's stringing you along until he meets someone else to keep him company and ask him out for dinner. I hate to admit it, but I've done it and it's a pretty cowardly thing to do, not to mention how MEAN it is. But, you're right. It makes it hard to call a person "the bad guy" when they do that. The Slow Descent breakup is the non-fat ranch of breakups. It's not great, but it's not the worst thing ever either. But yes, you're single. Sorry. Then again, Congrats! You've dropped the dead weight! No more worrying about Shoeless Joe and his terrible cliches! Go get yourself a real man!

Dear Crabby,
Sorry to likely bring the tone down, and if you choose to answer my question, I urge you to be a tiny bit gentle. My girlfriend broke up with me just after Christmas, and I just am NOT getting over it. She's awesome and we were great together, but she wasn't ready to settle down. After two years of dating, I had decided to move in with her, but just after I gave my notice to my landlord, she told me we "were moving too fast." Anyway, I don't know what to do. None of my guy friends want to listen to me talk about her, and when we broke up, all our girl friends went with her. What can I do?

Thanks heaps,
Pity Party of One

Awww, PPOO,
I'm sorry you're taking the breakup so hard. It's never easy for a guy to actually have EMOTION after a breakup. You're all supposed to "get under someone else to get over her", right? Eff that. Men have feelings, and I GET that! With that said, honey...you're going to need to get over it. 1) She sounds like a horrible person who was a terrible girlfriend, and doesn't deserve a sensitive guy like you. 2) I hate to break it to you, but NO ONE likes to listen to someone talk about a breakup for longer than a couple weeks following the break. You're bringing people down, I'm guessing, and further isolating yourself. 3) Seriously - it's worth reiterating - she sounds like she sucked as a girlfriend. You're going to need to get over it, because otherwise you'll be too hung up on a mediocre product to trade up for a new model. Get back out there, Tiger! Try some new things, meet some new people, and buy some new underwear. (I don't know what it is, but when I'm in a bad mood, I buy new underwear. I don't know why it works, but IT WORKS.) You'll be back on top (or bottom! Tawdry!) in no time! I've got faith in you. If you need it, I can post a little personal ad for you on my blog and get you some dates! Good luck!

Turns out, I have WAY more input on breakups than I thought. Thanks for opening your broken little hearts to me this week! For those who haven't done that yet, you bes' get on it. Email me your weird little problems at pharonsquare@gmail.com. I'll see you all in Problem Solvedville!!!

XOXOXOXOXO

Hello, lovers. Happy Valentine's Day! Can't you just feel the love in the air?! Heart candy and balloons and flowers and uuuuggggghhhhh...blech. Sorry. I tried to get in the spirit today, but all that happened was I ate my feelings in the form of cupcakes and meat. I am stuck in V-Day limbo. I'm not single, so I can't go out and get crazy. My boyfriend is light years away so I can't belly up to a romantic dinner, either. No, my Love Day plans were made last night.

My mom called, see, and was all "What are your plans for tomorrow night?" I was all "Oh, I have a bunch of hot dates lined up." The laughter on the other end of the phone lasted for approx 100 minutes. My mom wasn't buying it. I don't know if it was pity or not, but she nevertheless said "Well come over and have dinner with me, Dad, Prinna and her kids. It'll be fun!" I was all, "Gee, I'll see if I can work it in to my super busy love schedule."

Luckily, all my non-existent dates cancelled so I was able to make it to my parents. I actually DO love Valentine's Day with my family. I don't care if that sounds dumb. Ever since I was little, I've had great Valentine's Days with my family. My mom makes a nomnom dinner, and my parents give each of us kids a box of chocolates and a cute little present to open. It's like Christmas, without church.

Tonight was no different. I got to my parents and my mom was prepping the fondue. The table was decorated with flowers and candy hearts, and sure enough we each had a little present to open on our plates. After cards were read, gifts opened and conversation hearts were mocked (then eaten) we dug into the grub.

I am now made out of cheese, bread and meat cooked in oil. You guys KNOW how much I love ALL those things!

So all in all, it turned out to be a pretty sweet day. I missed Geo like crazy, obviously, but if anything could fill the hole in my day, it could only be way too much food with my very own fam.

And okay, so maybe the closest I got to romance was when my baby nephew drooled on my shoulder. And no, there was no hot date or reason to shave my legs, but I can safely say that I truly felt the love. Hope you all had as great of a Valentine's Day as I did!

Valentine's Day: The Prequel

Awww, pre-Valentine's Day! The anticipation of holidays and (more importantly) gifts is super awesome. I got home from work today and there was a present from Geo on my doorstep. Yay! I sat and patiently waited until tomorrow to open it. Whoops, no I did the opposite. I texted Geo before I even took off my coat. "I GOT MY PRESENT! I'M OPENING IT!" He had gotten the present I sent him, so he's like "Wait, geez. Let me go get mine." The waiting was excrutiating. Five minutes later, we're on Skype, opening our presents. The day BEFORE Valentine's Day.

He opened his from me, which consisted of a Spider-Man Valentine, R2-D2 Pez, candy, balloons, a teddy bear, a puzzle and other very mature and masculine items. I opened mine and had 2 (TWO!) boxes of Dunkin Donuts K-Cups and 2 (TWO!) whoopie pie kits. Pre-Palm Springs diet be damned!

Then he said "I have the other part of your present. I made it! Let's see, there's one, two, three...twenty-eight things here I have to email you. They are all RINGTONES I made you!" At first I was all "Uh, wha?" And then he sent them to me and they are all funny or sweet or just awesome songs that he clipped into ringtones. So cute! Right now, every time he calls, George Harrison's "Set On You" plays. It rules.

Anyway, it was a great pre-Valentine's Day. But then Geo said "Let's start a tradition to never celebrate Valentine's Day on the real day." Because that makes no sense to me, I said "That makes no sense to me. Why?" And he's like "I don't know, it'll be our thing." I said "But what will we do tomorrow then? On the real night?" And he's all "I don't know, listen to ringtones?"

So because I couldn't sit and wait 24 hours to open a box of fun, I inadvertently set off a tradition of premature celebrating. Whoops. So now tomorrow will be less exciting. Oh well, tomorrow I will be starting my day with a steaming cup o' Dunkin Donuts coffee and making whoopie pies after work. Lovesit!

From Wolf to Where?

I'm too distracted by the end of the Grammy's to write anything thoughtful tonight. But here's the basic gist of what this weekend was for me. Friday night was dive-bar-bingo-playing night. Therefore, I dressed for the occasion:

Yes. That's a wolf sweatshirt. And some sort of fur babushka hat. I looked good. I felt more confident in that wolf sweatshirt than I ever have in the sickest leather skirt in the world. Then, when Claire's sister Camille showed up with the fur hat, I knew it would be Legen....Dary. And I was right.

After a full Saturday of feeling weird about spending a full night out in my wolf sweatshirt, I pulled myself together. And then, I figured I would end my weekend in a little bit more classy of a manner. I put on makeup, curled my hair (which immediately UNCURLED) and put on a dress for my lovely friend Valerie's birthday. I wasn't going to prom, so I didn't get a full body shot, but here's the idea of how I managed to clean myself up:

You will have to take my word for it: I had on heels, makeup, a dress and a my "fancy" coat. I even put perfume on. So, yeah. From beginning to end (wolf sweatshirt to cocktail dress) it was an entirely wonderful weekend.

Let's go out and kick this week's butt, shall we?

To Do...Or Not To Do

I'm reaaaaally ready for a weekend. I'm simultaneously sleepy and wired. That might have something to do with my dinner that consisted of a handful of chocolate eggs and tea. Anyway, I've got a lot of big ideas and plans for this weekend, so I figure it best to make a list.

Things I Want To Do This Weekend
* Shower
* Join a gym (or at least run on the treadmill here)
* Stage an elaborate play featuring the two cats as Romeo and Juliet (RoMEOW and Juliet?) on a stage fashioned out of of the impenetrable cat gate
* Clean my room and do laundry
* Eat a salad
* Wash my car
* Go to a movie
* Wear a matching outfit
* Meet up with friends
* Start a new trend
* Design a better way of organizing the Internet
* Decoupage something
* Drop 10 pounds to fit into old clothes

Things I ACTUALLY Will Do This Weekend
* Pretend to shower by wearing my hair in a ponytail all weekend and sticking dryer sheets in my pockets
* Drive to gym, get frustrated by the lack of close parking and call it a day
* Run away from the cats at least 3 times when they try and rub up on my legs
* Stay in bed all day so I can't see how messy my floor is, go shopping for new clothes instead of doing laundry
* Eat a bag of chocolate and a brick of cheese
* Decide it's too cold to wash my car
* Watch an America's Next Top Model marathon followed immediately by a Dane Cook movie of some kind that will inevitably be playing on Comedy Central
* Put on sweatpants
* Tell friends I'm super busy (NOT watching an ANTM marathon...) and can't meet them out for social activities. Stay in sweatpants.
* Search Pinterest in the hopes of discovering a new trend. Then copy.
* Design a better way of organizing my Pinterest boards
* Learn what "decoupage" means
* Order new clothes online that I know will be too big so that when I try them on, I will feel like I've lost 10 pounds

Looks like I've got a busy weekend ahead of me. Better get started! (Ooh, good news! I'm already in sweatpants!) Have a great weekend, everyone!

Dear Crabby - Luuuuuv Edition

Ah, romance is in the air...oops, nope. I'm wrong. That's just some bad cheese in the fridge. Geo was going to try to come into town this weekend, but he can't. So, I'm extra crabby towards this dumb holiday. Here are some stupid answers to your stupid love-related questions...

Dear Crabby,
Every year, my husband and I do the same thing on Valentine's Day. He picks up Chinese on his way home from work, we exchange obligatory heart-shaped candy and we watch whatever's on TV. This year, I want to do something different. Something ROMANTIC, you know? Any suggestions??

Thanks, Crabby!
Me+You=Boooooooooring

Dear Every Woman In The World,
If you can't tell by the way I changed your name, your problem is like, totally common. Did you know that men are from Mars and women are from Venus? Men think that chocolate is a great gift, even though it'll make your butt fat. Then he'll complain that your butt is fat. JERKS. The point is, guys will do and buy what someone TELLS them to do or buy. Honey, if you want a romantic night, you have got to do the heavy lifting. Don't expect him to surprise you with flowers and poems and bagels (is it just me that falls for that?!) because nothing he does will ever measure up to what you believe Ryan Gosling would do in this situation. He won't. He's a dude. He has a wife. The shiny fun of romance driven by the desire to not lose your girlfriend or boyfriend is gone. You guys are a done deal. So, you're going to need to download the romantic playlist. You can make him dump the fancy lobsters in the boiling water, but you're going to have to buy them. You will set the table, and you will probably clean up, but you can have his undivided attention at dinner. You win some, you lose some. And if you at least give him a head's up, he may - MAY - venture into a Walgreens and buy you a card - which he will barely manage to sign. Yay! Love!

Dear Crabby,
Aaaaaand LAME. I don't have any plans for Valentine's Day. And my friends all have plans with their families or boyfriends or whatever. How much more cliche can I be? But I actually LIKE Valentine's Day! I look great in red, I love sending mail that contains glitter, and I've never referred to it as a "Hallmark holiday". So I'm not a hater or something, but I wanna do something fun! What's a gal to do?

Love you!
I <3 V.D.

Oh honey,
While I appreciate your attempt at hilarious nonchalant-ness, people who love Valentine's Day love Love. Without an excuse to mail out heart-shaped doilies or put out a bowl of conversation hearts at work (which NEVER start conversations, BTW) you are just a lost puppy. I say that in the absence of a dumb boyfriend or fellow singletons, you must wallow. That's right. Enough with the ooey gooey sappy crap. Go ahead and buy your ice cream (might I suggest Ben & Jerry's Late Night Snack?) and post up on your couch with your sweatpants watching a Ryan Gosling marathon. Don't fight it. Valentine's Day, for those of us without any fancy dress-wearing obligations, is for the awesome people who appreciate fleece for it's comfy closeness.

Dear Crabby,
So my girlfriend has loved your blog for awhile now. Almost every week, she reads me some of your "advice" and claims that you are "spot on" with it. So, I figured I would ask you for your opinion. I'm going to ask my girlfriend to marry me. But I'm worried that asking her to marry me on Valentine's Day - like I had planned - will be too "cliche" for her. Is it a bad idea? Should I wait until the weekend? I'll admit I'm pretty nervous, so I want to get it right. What do you think?

Thank you!
-I Do (Not Want To Mess This Up)

Hey yo, I Do,
Asking a non-married if it's cheesy to propose on Valentine's Day is like asking a super cool girl if a trip to a Star Trek convention is a bad time. The answer is always YES. NO ONE LIKES VALENTINE'S DAY PROPOSALS. Unless, of course, you are the person getting proposed to. Yes, it's cheesy. Yes, it's cliche. But asking a person to be with you forever, even when you have an ingrown toenail or puke on your own shirt while you have the flu, is a big deal. If, for some insane reason, you've gone and decided to lock yourself down for forever, there may be no better day than Valentine's Day. Logistically, you can kill two birds with one stone. If one day can serve as both anniversary and mandatory day of love, that's great. It cuts down on the obligatory gift exchange and Google calendar reminders. Romantically speaking, it's a day of romance and love and forced companionship. So, yeah, the proposal of marriage fits right into that. Generally speaking, though, others will mock you. They will. They will say that you are not imaginative. But! Secretly, they'll be jealous. Because for the two people who are newly engaged, they will love that day forever. Unless they get divorced. Then it'll be, like, World's Worst Holiday.

Well, there we go. Ooey gooey love crap. Did I help these poor saps? If you've got better, more loving advice, please feel free to leave corrections in the comments! Otherwise, let's focus on...BREAK UPS next week! Send your heartbreaking questions to email pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll mend them all next week. Love you all!!!

Sew Cool

I have been excited for an errand I ran tonight for like days. This weekend, during my recent binge on making throw pillows, I decided I needed to really get into sewing. Luckily, my mom is an all-star sewing person (I tried to write "sew-er" but it actually says "sewer", which is just not right) so I feel like I have the talent flowing through my veins.

Case in Point: When everyone learned how to sew in 7th grad PFLS (Personal and Family Life Sciences, a.k.a. Home Ec) we had to make a final project to prove that we could thread a bobbin and back stitch like a mutha. Every guy made pajama pants, and every girl made some tiny little shoulder bag.

Not Me.

I made The Weekender. It's a bigger bag that had two straps AND two round panels on the sides. Oh, AND A ZIPPER. I know, I know. I'm an overachiever. Want proof that I totally ruled?

That's right! I still have it, and it's still in excellent condition. Now that's what I call Quality Craftsmanship. So there's the proof that I am probably the world's best sewing person. Hence, my desire to rekindle my love affair with thread, needles and seam rippers.

ANYWAY! Back to the best errand ever. I stole an extra sewing machine from my mom and dad's house, but it didn't have the fun little pedal, so I needed to dig one up. Coincidentally, KIM needed to get a vacuum belt fixed. So, we went to this place that I'd always made fun of. It's a sewing machine AND vacuum repair store! What are the odds?! I figured it would be like a trip back in time, you know? Old timey repair place for old timey machines? AWESOME!

We go in, and the dude is listening to NPR. I don't know why, but I expected him to be listening to WWII coverage or something. Anyway, he looks up the part I need and gives me an awesome old timey solution: I have to get it online.

Boo. Pretty disappointed in the fact that not only was I unable to use a hay penny to pay for a sewing machine part, but I actually have to order it online, pay for shipping and WAIT for it to be delivered. The waiting is probably the only old timey thing about the whole process.

At any rate, even though the errand back in time didn't turn out quite as I had hoped, it was still good to get started on my new obsession. For now, I am going to use my Weekender as a place to store my sewing projects that have yet to be finished...and the circle is complete.

The Award for the Worst Sister Ever Goes To...

...ME! Yay! Congratulations to me! I'd like to thank everyone who made my Worst Sister Ever status happen. First, I'd like to thank myself, for being such an idiot procrastinator with the attention span of a maggot on poop.

I can't believe I won this award! I mean, I'd like to think that previous spaciness would have surely garnered me a nomination, but to WIN it? I'm so...I don't know. Then again, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't deserve this award.

(See, it was both my sister Padrin's and her son Gus' birthdays yesterday. Double whammy! I, being the total a-hole that I am, completely neglected to call either one of them to regale them with a lovely song and well wishes. This neglect is doubly hard to achieve, given they have the SAME PHONE NUMBER.)

I'd like to thank all the people who voted for me. Everyone who agreed that I am, in fact, a crappy sister and aunt. I have done things before that I thought were lame enough to warrant this award, but it is only tonight I truly feel that I earned this.

There were so many obstacles in my way, and I really surprised myself with superior level of thoughtlessness. I spent time posting on my sister's Facebook wall - using my phone, might I add - and thought to myself, "Hey, Self. Gus doesn't have a FB wall. How will he know that you wish him a great year? Let's give them a call." Then I remembered that I had a voicemail I had to listen to from the day before, so I was all "Self, you better check that message first."

The message was all "Pharon, you better pay your phone bill." So I did that, and put my phone back in my purse. Already forgetting to call Padrin or Gus.

It is never easy working at such a thankless job. I got no praise for this achievement. No one was proud of me for forgetting to call my sister and nephew. And I'll tell you what: Even I was horrified when I learned what I had done...or not done.

At the end of the day, I guess I have no one to thank (read: blame) but myself. So, I guess thanks for the award. I feel awesome about it...I truly hope I never win this again.

In all seriousness, I know that it may be too little too late, but it also might be Better Late Than Never, so here's what I wish I would have called and said yesterday:

To Gus: DUDE! That Death Star lego thing you got looks AWESOME! Geo is REALLY jealous! I can't wait to see what it looks like when it's done! Are you having a party with your friends? How does it feel to be 9 years old? Have you found any grey hairs yet?!

To Padrin: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Are you spoiling yourself with some nomnom cake?! Did you get to do anything special today? You should play a Spanish Happy Birthday song at your next Zumba class! Anyway, I hope you have a SUPER FUN birthday!!! And I hope none of your siblings ruins it by being a d-bag and not calling!

A Whirlwind

Yay! Super Bowl! This was the first year that I didn't have to spend 3 hours setting up chairs and making food to host a party. I liked it. I went to a friend's house and watched the game with some other friends. This is, I think, the first time in 10 years that I actually sat and watched the game. From beginning to end. Even the halftime show. And the commercials.

Uhhh...what is the big deal about all that?!

Not hosting a party or drinking 40's of beer left me available to actually pay attention. And I didn't like what I saw. The commercials were DUMB, you guys. Also, I found myself hoping for a nip slip during a Madonna trapeze act while Steven Tyler drunkenly stumbled onto the field to sing a chorus of "Crazy". None of that happened. Everything about the game was fine.

Anyway, maybe the uneventfulness of it all was good. I may have had too eventful of a weekend. On Saturday after working for a few hours, I went to my mom and dad's house so that my mom could teach me how to sew pillows. (Oh, Pinterest...) While we were there, my mom got a panicked phone call from my brother-in-law, Chris.

My nephew Alec had had a seizure. He was in an ambulance with my sister Prinna, and Chris had their two daughters with him and were following the ambulance. Could we meet them at the hospital?

Here's the thing. My sister Prinna and her family have been through tornado after tornado after tornado. Every phone call from them is met with a greeting like "Hi, what's wrong? Is everything okay?" So, while the frequency with which we get these calls is disturbing, it is also almost routine.

My mom and dad and I got into their van and drove to the hospital. We have an unofficial phone calling tree, so we made calls on the way there. We got there, requested the visitor badges, and waited.

It's almost pathetically routine. My sister and her family are seriously in an never-ending cycle of trips to the hospital. If it's not terrifying seizures, it's breathing problems. If it's not sleep apnea, it's something more serious. It's horrible. And it's tragic. And there is probably nothing worse than seeing a family member in pain and distress. If there is, I don't want to go through it.

So, we get to the hospital. I see my nephew, who has since stopped seizing (it had lasted for almost 20 minutes). He was so tired and lethargic and my sister looked like she hadn't slept in 20 billion days. It's heart-wrenching.

Cue: Pharon's inappropriate comments. I complimented Prinna on her jeans and tell her how great she looks. I tell the doctor his shirt is cool. I take the opportunity to show my fancy car title to my dad. I'm just a mess of Crazy.

But it's hard, dudes. It's hard to be normal or comforting when every single one of your muscles is tight from forcibly trying to stop the tears from streaming through your eye sockets. And instead of attempting to dislodge the huge ball of fear stuck in my throat, I smiled. Or laughed. Seeing my sister and my nephew so tiny and vulnerable and tired, all I could do to hold the stitches of functionality together was to do anything except cry. So, out come the stupid jokes or statements.

At the end of the day, baby Alec is okay. He came home today and so far he's doing well. He's a fighter. He was all smiley and wonderful and I am happy.

So, although the Super Bowl was pretty blah overall, it was nice to have blah, you know?

I will say this, though. WTF was CeeLo doing at the Super Bowl? What, exactly, did he add to the halftime performance? More sequins? Yeah, because nothing says "Manly athletic game of the year" like a dude in a sparkle gown. Or Madonna, actually. Or Kelly Clarkson for that matter (who, it should be noted, NAILED the National Anthem). Was I watching football or some weird rendition of High School Musical?

Well, let's get started with the week, shall we? I, for one, am ready for it.

Car Troubles

In the midst of all my Wild Kingdom drama this week, I failed to mention my Big Girl achievement of the year! I know, it's only February, but I've done gone and grown up loads already!

I officially bought my very own car.

See, I leased my car three years ago when it was brand spankin' new. When the time came to trade it in for a new one, I realized I could pay less for my car than what it's worth. Score! So, after my dad called me a few times to remind me to "Get my car business taken care of", I decided it best to get on it.

Also, it was the last week in December, and my lease was up on Dec. 31. Whatevs.

It's seriously been an eight-week process. It started with phone calls to the wrong places. So, I called all these places to see how I could buy my car. Here's a brief list of terms I needed to look up:

* Title
* Lien
* Credit Union
* APR
* Vehicle Loan Rate
* VIN

After all this, I was basically told to go to a credit union and "get a rate". A rate for what, I couldn't tell you. So I went to the one closest to my house that had a good website. Geo came with me, which was very good.

On my first meeting with Angie, I learned I had to pay $5 just to speak with a person at a credit union and open an account. WTF?! I didn't have any money on me, so Geo forked over the cash. See? I told you it was a good thing he was there...

Blah blah blah, she said a bunch of things I didn't really get. But I came home, called a few more of the wrong companies before finally reaching someone who said they would send me the documents I'd need to present to my bank.

A week later (and one day until the end of the year), the documents came. I filled them out (sort of) and went back to Angie. I applied for the loan. Since I started my job like 3 months ago, the senior loan officer who was called to the case was all "We need more documentation from you, since it looks like you just appeared out of thin air three months ago."

I came BACK home, dug through old crap to find old W-2s and went BACK to see Angie. Yay! I'm approved! But what's this? The company I bought my car from (I'm still not entirely sure what that was) didn't include tax on the purchase agreement.

Back home. Back on the phone. "We don't charge sales tax."

Back to Angie. Call the DMV to get the amount of tax I'll pay on my car. He gives me a number, and Angie gives me a couple checks. One needed to be overnighted to whatever company it was who previously owned my car (a cool $30 charge at UPS) and the other needed to be brought to the DMV.

The woman at the DMV was all snotty. Go figure! "You don't even have your title yet." I said "Okay, well, I just have a check for you. I want to give it to you and get out of here forever." She shoves my paperwork back to me "Honey, you need the title." I shoved the paperwork BACK to her and said "Well, where am I supposed to get that?" Paperwork back to me, "Whoever owns your car will give it to you. Who owns your car?"

Touche, lady.

Weeks later, I got the title. A few days after that, I was back at the DMV. It didn't matter that the other woman who helped me didn't speak English very well, because I didn't know what I was doing anyway. I gave her some papers and handed her my check. Badda bing, badda boom, 25 minutes later she hands me a copy of my title.

FINALLY last night, I brought a copy of the title BACK to Angie. By then, it was time for my first payment, so I also handed her my first payment.

And JUSTLIKETHAT the car was mine!

Then today, I noticed a very obnoxious rattling in the door. Stupid car. This will be a very long five years...

Dear Crabby

Well, no cat drama to report tonight. I guess we'll have to move on to more PRESSING issues...a.k.a. yours.

Dear Crabby,
I have an 8-year-old daughter. She's already quite mature and pretty self-reliant. Anyway, last year, I let her taste my coffee. She LOVED it. Now, she's kind of, um, hooked. I don't really have a problem with it, but people give me really horrible looks when we're out at Starbucks together and she orders a cold press. Is there anything wrong with this, or do other people need to get over themselves?

Thanks,
Uppity about uppers

Dear UAU,
Good work! Your "mature" daughter will have A.D.D. and stunted growth in no time! Where will you collect your Mother of the Year award!? Listen, it's your offspring, not mine, so I can't exactly tell you what to do with your own child. But I can tell you this: You're an idiot. Get that girl a juice box and knock it off. Yes, people give you dirty looks when your daughter orders a double shot of espresso, because your child is A CHILD. She should have a naturally high energy level, so caffeine is just...unnecessary. And everyone knows that no one LIKES the taste of coffee...adults drink it because we stayed up all night worrying about our 401(K) and bank accounts. But whatever. It's your life. Just don't come crying to me being like "Dear Crabby - my daughter is an evil beyotch in the morning and her hands won't stop shaking. What should I do?!" Get yourself a grown up friend to go out for coffee and get the poor girl a babysitter and a Justin Bieber poster and you can just get real.

Dear Crabby,
My best friend from childhood is pregnant. We have both been super excited and buying all kinds of tiny clothes and whatnot. And she let me help her decorate the nursery when her hubby wanted to plaster the whole room in Chicago Bears crap. But last weekend, I kind of got fed up. I had been going through a trauma at work, and when I tried to talk about it with her she totally went silent and blew me off. I know soon-to-be parents are preoccupied and everything, and I'm almost as excited about her baby as she is. But what can I do to get her to listen to ME every once in awhile?

Thanks Crabber,
Sick of Pregnant Pauses

Dear SOPP,
My advice? Honestly? GET NEW FRIENDS FOR THE NEXT, OH, YEAR. Pregnant people - and new parents - somehow assume that just because they are mixing up a little human in their disgusting tummy petri dishes they can completely forget about everything else. They - and their babies - are the new center of the Universe. Maybe part of their brains are dripping through that umbilical cord thing?? Yeah. It's useless, pal. I say keep in touch, help with the nursery or breast feeding or whatever, but at the end of the day, your needs are not being met. You've been temporarily replaced by something that doesn't even have kneecaps yet. So, dip out for awhile. When she can finally drink again, my guess is that she'll come crawling back to you needing to hear some grown-up stuff over a different kind of bottle.

Dear Crabby,
I'm hosting my first Super Bowl party this weekend. I've got roughly four days to pull something together, because I haven't exactly planned anything just yet. I've got a huge TV and that's pretty much all I thought I needed. Then last night some horrible co-worker asked me what I was "serving" at the party. Say what? I don't know! I, like you, don't cook so I just do not want anything annoying. What's the bare minimum of what I need to have?

Thanks, Crabby!
-Super Bowl (of Chips or something)

Hey yo, Super Bowl!
I can't tell...are you a chick or a dude? I'm guessing that because you have a huge TV and can't cook, you are a man. Then again, you called it "hosting" a party and are actually worried about what to have for guests, so you could also be a chick. Whatever. My advice is the same. You'll need pizza or pizza rolls, chips, salsa, some sort of dip with something pseudo-healthy, and maybe like a tube of cookie dough or something. And beer. Lots of beer. If your guests don't drink, though, you'll need all that stuff too. Plus more. Non-drunk people tend to get hungry and antsy at parties. You'll probably need giant supplies of pretzels then. And Chex Mix. Maybe some trail mix. Guacamole. Fruit. Oh, and pop. However, the easiest thing to do would be to get the drinks yourself and make everyone else bring food. Problem: Solved. Yay football!!!!!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand....scene. That concludes this evening's performance of Crappy Advice. For an encore presentation, please tune in next week for another installment. For tickets, email pharonsquare@gmail.com. The End.