Book Review: Fifty Shades of NAUGHTY

Listen, I have some bad news. I - the English major, literature loving wordophile - have read Fifty Shades of Grey. If you haven't heard of these books, you are a boy or on Mars. Or a boy on Mars. Anyhoozle, let me describe what these books are.

These books are porn. For women. 

Yup. They're dirty. They're naughty and I'm embarrassed to have read the first one. I'm ashamed of myself for reading the second. I read the third one, too, but I have no bad feelings about that. I always finish what I start.

It all started on a dark and stormy night. I couldn't sleep because the thunder woke me up and I was scared (true story). After watching Alyssa Milano talk about using Wen hair products TWO TIMES on TV, I decided to do some reading. Fifty Shades was on the cover of my other intelligent pastime - Entertainment Weekly - so I decided to check it out. I did not know ANYTHING ABOUT WHAT THESE BOOKS WERE.

I got, oh, 15 pages through before I was like "Ohmygod, this book is the worst-written book in all of history. It's so bad it's funny. Like the Twilight movies. It's like when I eat peanut butter sandwiches dipped in blue cheese dressing. So very wrong and bad, but I'm okay with that."

So I kept reading.

Then came the porn. 

I put the book away for a few days, ashamed that I had gotten sucked in to some middle-aged woman's erotic fantasy life. But d@mmit if Anastasia and Christian (the main characters) didn't get me hooked. So I went back to reading. I didn't tell anyone. I told people I was reading an Ayn Rand book. But I finished the first and, spoiler alert, it ends with a giant cliffhanger.

So I HAD to buy the second book and keep reading. Then, duh, I bought the third.

I'll explain the hype to you guys. These books are about a 27-year-old billionaire gorgeous dude named, appropriately, Christian Grey who can have any woman he wants. He's, uh, a little "off" but we don't know why yet. Then we meet Anastasia Steele. She's 21, a brunette, and a mousy-but-perky journalistic independent virgin who has two left feet. But darnit if there isn't something Grey finds intriguing about her. He falls for her and we learn that Grey is, let's see here, totally messed up in head. He's into bossing girls around. Like, you know, DOMINATING them.

But guess what! Anastasia can't be dominated. She's too clever and independent. Blah blah blah, there's loads of sex and loads of questions about whether or not Anastasia can ever give Grey what he needs in a woman. They bicker and make up constantly.

So the author is British and not 21 or 27 years old. Her references to pop culture are juuuuust far enough off to be pretty funny. Also, even though she's writing PORN, she's still proper, miladies. She'll be talking about some crazy scene in the Red Room of Pain (yes, it's exactly what it sounds like) and then she'll be all "Anastasia's bottom was smarting." Literary gold. I can't help it. I have a serious soft spot for raunchy Brits.

I just finished the last book and I talked about it with a couple other girls this week and we were all blushing and fumbling while trying to explain how we could read that smut. Turns out, though? I think chicks like some smutty books from time to time. And if it's written by a proper British woman who gets that she's not a good writer (it's true...she thinks it's hysterical that people are actually reading her crap), I'm all for it.

So, there you have it. My review of - and defense for reading - all three books in the Fifty Shades of Grey trilogy.

Have any of you guys read these books? What did you think? I know my friend Madeline, who is a librarian and basically a professional reader, HATES these terrible books and will never read them, but maybe this awesome book review will change some minds. Will any of you guys read them?

If I Had $1 for Every $20 I "Found" This Weekend...

Do you ever start a telling a story and lose interest in finishing it? Like, THAT'S how boring your story is? Then, you know, you change the ending to spice things up a bit? I feel like this weekend/post is a lot like that.

I spent a LOT of time with chicks this weekend. Like...a LOT OF TIME. It turns out, I get very nervous and fumbling when I am talking to a lot of girls. I end a lot of stories with a lie because I have completely lost my audience. You know, like you tell a very uneventful tale and end it with "Then I found $20! to redeem yourself?" I probably had to whip out a version of that line 235 times this weekend. I couldn't help it, though. I was boring mySELF to tears.

Friday night was happy hour with Kim and a couple other girls. Fun fun fun. Saturday I drove around for HOURS with Liz looking at apartments. As Liz described it, it was a "fabulous rainy day activity." Saturday night, I went to a bridal shower/bachelorette party with approx 15 girls I did not know. Lots of estrogen. Then this morning, Kim threw a little lunch for me and a couple other girls who recently have gotten engaged.

So yeah, SO MANY GIRLS. My feet are sore from stilettos, and I have consumed my weight in wine and mimosas, but it was great fun. The problem, though, is that I get extremely nervous around girls. Especially when there are SEVERAL in a group. Listen, I can small talk with a dude all day long. But for some reason, that same chit chat falls totally flat with girls.

This weekend in particular, I spent more time babbling on nervously about nonsense than ever before. I'd be 45 seconds into a story before thinking "Um, hey, dumb dumb...are you REALLY telling a story about your inexcusably long leg hair? TO A STRANGER?!" Upon realizing I was knee deep in b.s., I'd just lunge ahead to a strong finish.

Once, I took a huge swallow of wine and faked a cough-attack until someone else started a new story.

Another time, I ended with "But, you know, it's not as gross as you think it would be. Speaking of gross, did you guys hear that Rihanna and Chris Brown are back together?"

When I realized I had been talking for far too long about all the gaseous vegetables there are - seriously, Pharon? - I sort of just faded out my voice. I talked super quietly for a second and then randomly said "So, yeah. But then I went shopping!" And mercifully transitioned into a convo about shoes.

Oh, and let us not forget that when I get nervous and have wine, my forehead gets really sweaty. And I start my bad stories very loudly.


The poor chicks who had to suffer through my terrible stories, sweaty face and assaulting tone of voice! Maybe it's because I firmly believe that guys tune out girls most of the time anyway, so I don't worry about losing their interest. I probably never had 100% of it in the first place. But with girls, they are such earnest listeners and their faces are so emotive that it is painfully obvious every single time a story is failing or is super inappropriate.

Anyway, fun weekend but too many chicks I think. I need to hang out with a bunch of guys who fart and fight who won't really care about what I'm talking about. Then I'll hopefully find $20.

Blahhhhhh

What is going on with Thursday nights? First, last week I had writer's block. Now, I have writer's block AGAIN. It just didn't help anything that every time I tried to sit down and write tonight, I'd get attacked by adorable puppies wanting to play. Priorities...

I'm just going to keep it real. I got nothin'. I babysat puppies all night tonight. I cleaned up pee and watched a fab show about Jane Fonda, who is BOMB by the by. So, needless to say, I have no material for tonight.

Here's where you come in. Listen, I can generate all the material I need on weekends and when I do something fun during the week. But, when push comes to shove, sometimes I come to the well and it's dry. It's almost been 2 years of blogging and tonight, I come to you for backup plans. What do you want to read about? What have I not said yet? I refuse to promise that I'll write about what you suggest, though.

I ask my family and friends for ideas all the time, and - much like tonight - sometimes I get only 'meh' suggestions. I asked Geo what to write about and he said "THE NFL DRAFTTTT!!!!!!" Really??

So, tonight, cut a girl some slack. Fill up my well with some ideas for what you want to read about. You can just smack 'em down there in the comments or email them to pharonsquare@gmail.com. How's this for an incentive: The person who sends me the best idea will win a super awesome PharonSquare tee from the Official Pharon Square Cafe Press store!!! Sound good???

I'll give you the weekend to think about it. I fully expect you guys to help me out. If you don't, I'll be mad and just write like 20 posts in a row about my dreams. Don't tempt me...

Dear Crabby

Well, I'm an emotional wreck. I said goodbye to my super awesome, amazing friend Ally tonight because she's moving away to a stupid Mexican island. For a boy! Rude! I came home to just kind of, you know, decompress, and instead all I got was cuddled by the best dog in the world that I'll never have. Cue tears...Anyhoozle, let's get down to some real drama!

Dear Crabby,

I've been having these super vivid dreams about an ex of mine. Not like "sexy" dreams, but like just shopping and watching movie together dreams. Do you think this means I still have feelings for him?? My current boyfriend would be crushed...

Thanks, Crabster!

In My Dreams

Hey there, In My Dreams - 

Unless I'm supposed to wear a boa constrictor around my neck while singing "Straight Up" by Paula Abdul in front of my 3rd grade class while Geo's entire family looks on, dreams don't mean anything. And if they DO mean something, I feel like I'll have a hell of a time finding a giant snake who will wear a top hat and tiny gloves.

Dear Crabby,

So, I read your blog last night and I've been thinking about it. I love my bf and we've been together for a couple years now. We never had that "You're the one!" spark going on. Do you think this means it's not meant to be? Do you think all couples feel that way??

Thank you, Crabby!!!

-Sparkless in Seattle

Hi, SIS - 

No. Under NO circumstances should you take any sort of love or life advice from MY mindless babbling. Except for this specific answer. You do NOT need the "spark". Although, I will testify that the spark is pretty awesome, so if you have an opportunity to find that, I'd say go for it. However, if you and your bf are totally happy sans spark, why mess with what works? Plus, what do I know? I am marrying a man who I once tried to set up with 12 of my friends...I'm clearly unhinged.

Dear Crabby,

Do you think it's weird that when I'm sleeping, I put one stuffed animal on each side of my head because I'm convinced that if someone breaks into my house, they will think I'm ALSO a stuffed animal? You know, like in E.T.? 

Thanks!

Stuffed

Dear Stuffed,

Yes. That is most definitively weird. Clever, but weird. Wait, does it work!??!?!

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand there you have it, kids. Another wildly successful Dear Crabby. Send your weirdo questions to pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll totes solve all your problemos!

The B's in Apartment 3B

Well, this little lady has had quite a good Happy Hour/Girly Time. I went to my friend Liz's house and I have decided that I'm SUPER PUMPED to move into my own place soon. Liz has the best apartment to hang out in because it's all super cute and put together and fun. She has cute stuff on the wall and there are no visible half-eaten burritos or dog poop, which is, you know, TOPS.

We talked about girl stuff, including so-called "love at first sight" kind of junk ("sight" not "site" as was the case in yesterday's post). We had been discussing the concept of chemistry, as some of our friends are out in the dating world and meeting new peeps and going on first dates and whatnot. One of my friend's is dating someone who she had no chemistry with and we decided it wouldn't last. Then again, we both think it's hysterical that I HATED Geo when I met him. Sure, I thought he was cute, but I also thought he was mean. I cried when I learned I had to share a bathroom with him.. Definitely NOT love at first sight.

Then I came home and asked Andrew and Claire if THEY fell in love over long, loving glances across a crowded room. Both of them laughed HYSTERICALLY at the idea. Andrew said "Definitely not. Plus, you have to TALK to someone first, before you know if you could love them or not."

I'm pretty sure I had 100 conversations with Geo before we actually even enjoyed being in the same room together.

But then I remembered my sister Padrin coming home for her first break of college and telling me, "Pharon, I met the man I'm going to marry." I swooned. I was in the prime adolescent phase and was very impressionable. (I was obsessed with the movie Speed and was very busy copying Keanu's trademarked "two collared shirts at one time" look. See? Impressionable.) I therefore assumed that that's how everyone felt when they met their beloved. Idiot. But guess what! She married that man. Yes, she is STILL married to that man. I have unfair role models.

Case in point: My parents are still married. I know! Awesome! My mom told me at one point how she and my dad met when they worked together during college. She told me about how my dad proposed to her, and la la la 100 kids later, the rest is history. THEY definitely didn't hate each other at first.

I guess I have a lot to live up to.

Whether or not Liz and I believe in the concept of love at first sight, we both agreed that her apartment is a super fun place to discuss such topics. I'm going to start looking for an apt near her now, because then she can come over and chat at MY house and we can drink wine and finish up that half-eaten burrito I'll surely have lying around.

Love at First Site

I am computered out, y'all. After working all day, my sister, mom and I went on a venue tour for a site we are looking at for our reception. I was all "Yay! First time out, and we hit the JACKPOT!" I was convinced this wedding thing was going to be easy peezy, lemon-squeezy.

What a n00b.

While all of us totes loved the place (including Geo who toured the venue with us via FaceTime), my mom made me face a reality. Like boys, you can't just marry the first one you like. You have to date a few other venues, at least go on a few first dates, before deciding on The One.

Finding venues and asking them out on dates is EXHAUSTING. (So is this venue/boy metaphor, but I'm going with it.) I've searched websites for the past couple hours, clicking through photo galleries and emailing event managers. All the emails start the same "I really like you and would like to get together for a drink/tour. Whaddya say?" Do we have a date? Not really. How many people will we have? [Shrugs shoulders].

All I really know I am not interested in a "Conference Room B" wedding. I want the "tall, dark and handsome" of reception venues. Hard to find, but totally worth the hunt. Or so I thought... I'm already pretty overwhelmed. Tonight, I just kind of threw my hands up and resorted to Googling and searching only by location and site size. All the "financial" stipulations were just getting in my way, so I eliminated them. (Mom? Dad? Don't read that, k?) And I guess I've started lowering my standards - which, luckily, I never had to do to meet Geo. Awwww! But I almost considered flirting a little bit with Conference Room A.

All this after I've found The One, too! But my mom was right. I found a few more places that look pretty spectacular, so I'm anxious to check them out. I feel bad, though. Like I'm cheating with My First Love with some random dudes. I guess we'll see if love at first sight prevails, or if I needed to second trip around the block...

Punky Rocks

So, we got new foster puppies this weekend! On Saturday, I came home from an excellent Happy Hour/Girl's Night Out with my friend Angie and my sister-in-law Leah to WORLD'S MOST ADORABLE PUPS EVER. I almost cried, they were so adorable. So Claire and I hung out with the pups and named them. She said I could name one...she's my favorite dog in the world. She's the runt of the litter, and the best dog on the planet. I named her Punky because that's what people used to call me because I was so small. So, I fell in love with Punky.

Geo said I was "absolutely under no circumstances" allowed to adopt her. I cried. I want to keep her very badly. I told Geo about how cute and tiny she is - "Like a teacup piglet, Geo!" - but he was all "No." Fun hater. To prove my point as to how small and wonderful she is, I took this series of photos to illustrate how tiny and perfect she is.

She's smaller than an iPad:

She's smaller than this newspaper!

She can fit inside my boot!

She's smaller than this Frisbee!

Teacup piglet? More like Coffee Mug Puppy!

She's only slightly larger than the $27 filet we used to bribe her to take these pictures:

Where's Punky? Oh, INSIDE THIS HAT!

Proof that Punky is, by far, the cutest dog in the entire world...

How can you say "no" to this baby???

So, Geo, let's go ahead and change our minds about this one because she's the cutest dog ever and I want to keep her so that I can keep putting her in stuff and taking pictures. Okay?

What Writing Looks Like

I've started to write a blog for tonight like 8 times so far. I got distracted every single time, though. I remember at work, there was a phrase going around my fellow blog writers that went something like this: "Being a good writer is 10 percent talent, 90 percent not getting distracted by the Internet." Tonight, I guess I'm a bad writer. I have exactly 7 tabs open in Google Chrome right now, so here's what my "writing process" looked like tonight.

[You can click to enlarge this pic, but I break down the tabs one-by-one below.]

* Blogger - Because, duh, I'm blogging...

* Pinterest - For some reason, I wanted to do some crafting in the next few days. And for some OTHER reason, I have a lot of bubble wrap lying around. So, natch, I searched "bubble wrap crafts" and was looking through loads of pins for inspiration.

* A website titled "The 4Cs of Diamonds" - I'm gearing up to do some wedding band shopping and don't want to forget my p's and q's of the 4 C's

* YouTube - It's the easiest way for me to play Nelly Furtado's NEW SONG Big Hoops (Bigger the Better) over and over!!!

* Wikipedia - I had to use it because I had a small nagging question about the large hadron collider. Is it in Sweden or Switzerland?!

* DSW - While watching TV, a commercial came on for the most adorable canary-yellow wedges ever. I had to see where I could find 'em. Yay! I get to go shopping this weekend!

* Something called The Hollywood Hair Virtual Makeover - I wanted to see what I'd look like with red hair. Here's what I found:

Can you guess who I am in these? Try and not get distracted by how AWESOME I look in all of them...

Anyway, have a spectacular weekend!!!

Dear Crabby

This just in: Breaking news on PimpleGate 2012. Remember a couple nights ago when I told you guys I had a person growing out of my forehead in the form of World's Biggest Zit? Well, I tried to "fix it" tonight. My roommate Andrew came home, took one look at me from INSIDE OF HIS CAR and said, "Whoa, what happened to your forehead? Did you run into a wall?" Needless to say, it is not better. In fact, it is much, much worse. Let's move on to things I CAN fix, shall we?

Dear Crabby,
I just got a new puppy and I LOOOOVE her! She's a little naughty so far and has had a few, uh, accidents in my shoes. I know your roommates foster pups like mine, so any suggestions? What would you do?
Thanks!
Puppy Love

Hey Puppy Love,
Full disclosure: I don't know what to tell you because my roommies always deal with the "accidents". I gag and tear up at the mere mention of a pooper scooper. Case in point: The latest dog we had, who got adopted today (THANK GOD!), was perfectly wonderful to begin with. All of a sudden, he started pooping. We were glad that he did it on the concrete floor in the laundry room every time. But then all of a sudden, his bowels apparently stopped working altogether. He pooped EVERYWHERE. We left him on the porch yesterday morning while we all went to work, and I was the first one home. I took one look in the porch and the Exorcist had made a visit. There was poop and pee EVERYWHERE. The dog had eaten my moccasin. He ripped open a baggie of bottle caps. He scooted the poop across the floor. And then he had the nerve to stand there, looking at me through the window, WAGGING HIS TAIL. I gagged for 10 minutes and hightailed it over to my parents to escape the carnage. So, I guess what I'm telling you, Puppy Love, is to get a roommate who will clean that all up for you. Or invest in puppy diapers.

Dear Crabby,
There's some chick who is really good friends with my boyfriend who is ALWAYS AROUND. He seems to really get along with her and they've known each other for awhile. But I cannot STAND her. She's like little Miss Perfect all the time. She's talented and smart and generally likable. Why do I HATE her so much? And how can I get her out of the WAY!?
Much Love, Crabster,
Girl Fight

Slow your roll, Girl Fight!
Listen, I know how you feel. I have known many a "gal pals" in my life. I've actually BEEN the "gal pal" on many occasions. One thing they/we all have in common is that they/we are only as threatening as you let them/us be. One method I find effective in eradicating a fenemy (FEMALE ENEMY - I just made that up. It's MINE) is to prey on her insecurities. What's that? She doesn't have any? Make one up. Say something like "You know what I love about you? I just love how unconcerned you are with that unsightly nose hair. You go girl!" Or maybe tell your bf that she spies on him while he sleeps. This is only helpful IF SHE IS THREATENING. If she just happens to be a cool chick who sees some of the great qualities in your BF that you do, who cares? You're the one who's got him now and if you're not careful, you're the one who could ruin it all. If she does suck, though, all's fair in love and "gal pals."

Dear Crabby,
I'm torn!!! I've been known as Krissy my whole life, but I'm really considering going by Kristin now. It just sounds more professional, right? I mean, I don't want to give up "Krissy" forever, because it's, like who I am you know? I just feel like I need to be more grown up. What do you think??
Thank you!
Identity CRISIS!!!!!

Dear Identity Crisis,
You sound pretty irritating. I'm sure I don't care WHAT you "go by". Krissy? Kristin? Who cares? My name is PHARON for crying out loud. Pick one and go with it. Or don't. This just does not register as a "real problem" to me. I'm sure whatever people call you will be just fine. Like, right?!

Well, my forehead is throbbing so I guess that means it's time to call it a night and go back to staring at my underdeveloped twin emerging from my face in the mirror. If my twin doesn't eat me in the next week, I'll be back with more answers next week! Email your questions to pharonsquare@gmail.com and me and my Zit Twin will tend to all your emotional boo boos.

Dinner for Shmucks

So tonight I went out for a loverly dinner with my sister and her three kids. My sister has had a pretty rough few days here, and nothing says "Let's go and relax" like Kids Eat Free night at Perkins.

On the car ride to Perkins, my six-year-old niece Annabelle gave a 2-hour recap of the movie The Lorax. I still have no idea what the movie was about.

When we got to Perkins, my two nieces bumped into 73 people trying to get their sticky hands on a balloon. Which they lost track of 72 times. There were kids everywhere and all the servers looked...homicidal. We sat down and I played a few games of Tic Tac Toe with Annabelle. I lost twice. Meanwhile, Eve was trying to smoosh her face onto my face without hurting my "bump" [a.k.a. giant tumor zit].

Trying to keep kinds entertained while waiting for food is almost impossible. We had 4 crayons, 2 kids menus, balloons, a clown doing face paint, and 12 mini creamers to make towers with. That took care of the first 5 minutes of waiting.

Finally, the food came. The girls each ordered blue pop and pancakes with chocolate chips and sprinkles. My 1-year-old nephew ordered "pieces of whatever everyone else was eating". It was delicious. I think. The girls were like VULTURES. Annabelle would reach over and snatch up a piece of bacon from Prinna. Eve would slip her tiny fingers onto my plate for French fries when I wasn't looking. Do parents EVER get to eat a whole meal?

Prinna had to get up and meet someone in the lobby quick and said "OMG. I'm sorry...I'll be back as soon as possible." I was all "Psht, what could go wrong in a booth at Perkins in 5 minutes? Take your time!"

Alec started whining as soon as Prinna left the table. I dumped 800 pieces of French fries and pancakes in front of him which worked for a bit, until his balloon flew into the ceiling fan. Then Annabelle dropped her creamer tower in a pile of ketchup and they rolled everywhere. She picked up each one, sucked off the ketchup, and put the creamers back in the bowl. Eve was hopping up and down next to me on the bench before she accidentally did a back flip off the bench and landed on the ground. She immediately looked at me, fighting back the tears and surprise, and said nervously "I'm okay, Phawin," and then spit blue pop all over my shirt laughing at herself.

That was FIVE MINUTES. When Prinna came back, I was 10 dog years older. My shirt was covered in blue pop and red ketchup. I had syrup in my hair and all my French fries were gone. I had been reduced to eating pancakes covered in apricot syrup. APRICOT. GROSS. I forgot how much I LOVE pancakes, though!

When the complimentary cookies came for the kids at the end of the meal, the girls were "too full of sprinkles" to have them. Prinna is off sugar right now, so I had to man up and eat the cookies myself. They were pretty good, though. Not to mention the fact that my hands were covered in syrup from picking at the pancakes. Mmm! Double-sugary goodness...

On our way home, I realized Prinna hadn't even gotten to eat her whole meal herself, but I managed to eat part of mine, part of Eve's and all the cookies. Prinna has given up sugar, I had tripled my daily dose in 15 minutes. I don't know why people think sugar gives kids a high...I was completely drained on the ride home.

Anyway, dinner was...an event. Now I know why kids go to bed at 7 p.m. I'm exhausted.

About Face

Oh...HAI THERE. What's that? No, it's just me here. I don't have a second person coming out of my forehead. It's just my delayed adolescence rearing it's ugly head. Yes. It's just an enormous ZIT. Smack in the middle of my forehead. Big enough to look like I got punched. Deep enough to have given me a headache all day. It seriously HURT MY EYEBALLS. My sisters and I call them "tumor zits."

What kind of cruel joke is it that I still need to fight against pimples while keeping an eye out for wrinkles? Is there no break in between my facial maladies? RUDE.

The last time I loved the skin covering my skull was when I was about 8 years old. My sister Prinna was smack dab in the middle of adolescence. I'd sit and watch her study her changing face in the mirror, periodically eradicating a pimple. I was a little brat who laughed and laughed at her. I'd smear - yes, SMEAR - Oxy lotion all over my face and be all "I don't even need to wash my face! I just put this on it and I've NEVER had a zit. Hahahahahahahaha!"

Oh Karma, you are a mean lady with a long memory.

The day I cut the tags off my training bra, I discovered a whole bunch of new bumps...on my face. I was BUMMED. The only people I knew who had zits were the guys who couldn't swim during gym class because the Accutane they took made their skin way too sensitive to chlorine and sunlight.

I tried Biore pore strips for several months. Nada. I even tried the more aggressive Duct Tape pore strips. Nada. (And OUCH.)

Several years ago, I fell victim to the promises of Katy Perry and Jessica Simpson who convinced me that I "didn't need to live with acne any longer." I ordered up some Proactiv. Cut to 2 weeks later when my face was red, swollen and itchy. Thanks for nothing, Justin Bieber. Guh! Now that I think about it, my face DID feel smoother...very burny, but smoother.

I don't know what to do about this. I have friends with perfect skin. For many of them, it seems like A LOT of work, though, and it's just not work I'm willing to do. Is that the only way to get it? I drink nearly inappropriate amounts of water all day long. I can barely remember to put makeup on most days - except, of course, to cover up whatever has exploded on my face over night.

After I spent a good 15 minutes staring and poking at my face in my parent's bathroom mirror this weekend, I came out red and puffy and declared "What is WRONG with my face?!" My mom was all "Stop picking at it, first of all. Second, have you been sweating more than usual? Sometimes that causes breakouts."

I would LOVE to be like "Yes! I work out every day and work up a sweat!" But in the past week, I've only been to the gym once. Sure, I tried to do math which made me sweat for a few mins, but other than that I've been cool as a cucumber.

The point is, I'm pretty sure my face is still angry at me for smearing Oxy all over it for weeks at a time before my pores had a chance to fully develop. Between the pimples and promise of wrinkles, I think the stress is definitely not helping.

In a Bind

What a weekend! I actually got things ACCOMPLISHED. Comedy show with Valerie and her bf J.P.? Check. Apartment hunting? Check (but so far unsuccessful). Oil change? Check (and about 1,500 miles too late). But my most productive thing happened today with my mom and Prinna.

After plans for a brunch changed this morning, I found myself with a free afternoon. What to do? I didn't want to go back out looking for apartments because it's too hard to do alone. On Saturday, I just ended up driving to one area, getting stressed out trying to call phone numbers while fending off tailgaters and avoiding parked cars, and just went back home instead. I spent 10 minutes on craigslist this morning before hurling my computer against the wall and calmly deciding to do something else.

I talked to Prinna and we decided to go to my parents' house for the day. When we got there, we needed a project. Something to "tackle".

What's that? I can start planning a wedding now? WHAT. A. COINCIDENCE.

I will not drone on and on about what we three ladies decided. I won't tell you that we totes found flowers, a possible venue, a theme, a hairstyle and bridesmaids gifts. (But we did.) What I WILL tell you is that we did this:

That, friends, is a wedding binder. Prinna insisted I should have one, because I LOVE me some hole punches, sheet protectors and organizers. Natch, I picked a green one and then Prinna designed that awesome cover. See that Pharon Square girl? Yeah, she has a wedding dress on. No biggie. And those diamonds? That's my ring. We saw that Jane Austen quote on a birthday card at Target, and I loved it. (Ironically, we discovered that a party can, in fact, be too large if the venue is too small.)

So I have my binder. My mom got me zillions of wedding magazines and we got to work tearing out pages and clipping them into the right category. I know that there is Pinterest, and it's great for inspiration. However, all the things I like I want to KEEP TO MYSELF, dur. I don't want to sit and broadcast my dress or the fact that we also designed a KILLER LOGO for what we want the wedding to be like. I certainly don't want other people repinning and copying that, so that's where the binder comes in.

It's full of my secret plans for wedded bliss. I decided to share some of these secret plans with Geo. He's part of this too, I suppose. I was nervous and worried that he'd shoot down the plans we had made, so I prefaced the conversation accordingly.

I waited until AFTER I dazzled him with a thematic song, a link to the venue I liked, clear description of the ambiance, and the logo Prinna made before I showed him The Binder.

He was impressed with my organization and my power performance of my elaborate presentation. He said "Awesome! And hey, I just want it to look good. I don't care how it happens." The binder was proof that I am into those very details. He also said "Whoa, a binder? I don't have to get one of those things, do I?"

Silly rabbit, wedding binders are for brides.

And there you have it. I've pretty much planned the wedding and we've got like a year now to just relax and browse through the binder. And what a binder it's turning out to be...

Funny HA HA

I have thought long and hard about tonight's post. I have LOADS of material I want to share, but I must balance the Fan Girl material with the need to feel cool. Do I sit here and blab about names that were dropped over happy hour or do I take a chill pill (Hey there, 80s! Radical!) and not mention a word of it? Turns out, I'm fresh out of Chill Pills.

Oh. Mah. Gah. I was in the company of someone who knows famous people.

I went to have some sushi, wine and good times with my loverly pals Valerie and Lana. Val brought her friend who is a straight up hilarious dude with HOLLYWOOD connections, apparently. I had a great time conversating but realized too quickly that I had exhausted my "regular people" material and started stealing some from my favorite comedians, as I am known to do.

I was quoting Sarah Silverman before the second round came. While I would have been perfectly content stealing material from my favorite comedians and passing it off as my own, I only got so far before Val's pal called me out.

"Hey, isn't that a James Adomian bit?"

Yipes. A comedy know-it-all. Well, there goes the rest of my bits conversation. I decided to embrace it. I was all "You know who James Adomian is? I love him. He's on the WORLD'S FUNNIEST PODCAST called Comedy Bang Bang. You've probably never heard of it because I'm the hipster of comedy."

Well, not only did he KNOW of the podcast, he actually KNEW THE PEOPLE ON IT. Immediately, my face flushed red and I almost returned all the nigiri muki naki or whatever I had just eaten. I fancy myself something of a comedy savant. I am the one who is a fan of EVERY COMEDIAN before they come out with a hilarious show or movie. And now, I was in the position to prove it.

I tried to impress my new best friend and spit out minutes of material I had stolen from successful comedians. It was like I was bulimic with bits. I couldn't stop myself. I knew, at about my third impression of someone else doing an impression, that I was an official Fan Girl.

Guess what! No one likes a Fan Girl. I may have come off as more of a deranged stalker than a fan.

Listen, in my defense, I'm crazy. (That's a defense, right?!) I listened to the WTF podcast when Todd Glass came out. I know what projects Jessica St. Clair is involved in. I know that Carlos Mencia steals material. I am embarrassingly well-versed in the lives of comedians.

So all of a sudden, I was in the presence of someone who could appreciate it. When he mentioned Melissa McCarthy, I nearly fainted, but I didn't. I played it cool and just smiled, nodding at the possibility of meeting her. Was I drooling? Yes. I am pretty sure I came out looking good. Except when I told him how I acted like a total boob (hehe!) when I saw local comedian Nick Swardson walking down the street. Instead of regaling the comedian with compliments revolving around my favorite things he does, I just gaped and slowly passed by him, staring. COOL.

I decided tonight that I am ill-equipped to meet anyone I idolize. I'd rather bump into Jennifer Aniston than Melissa McCarthy or Scott Aukerman. With Ms. Aniston, I'd be all "Be cool, Pharon." But with Ms. McCarthy or Hot Saucerman (CBB fans you know what I mean), I'd be all "HERE ARE 100 IMITATIONS OF THE THINGS YOU DO!!!!" Who wants to run into THAT girl?

In closing, I would like to encourage you all to listen to the Comedy Bang Bang podcast and get even the tiniest taste of my idols. If, for some reason, you don't think it's funny, I'll give you your money back. Or, you know, try and make fun of you...

Have a hilarious weekend, everyone!!!

Dear Crabby - Game of Thrones Edition

So, I've just recently caught up on the second season of Game of Thrones. If you don't like or watch the show or read the books, uh, I don't know what to tell you. (Granted, I've only made it through the second book myself. Whatevs.) This week I've only gotten questions about medieval problems. You guys? Winter is coming.

Dear Crabby,
My husband was recently beheaded and my son my is kind of bossing me around since then. What, is he like the KING of me? I really just want my daughters back because they've been taken prisoner of the evil, product-of-incest, teenage King. What do I do?
Thanks pal,
Catherine, Queen of No One

Hey there, Cat,
Men! They are incorrigible, amiright?! Listen, my advice to you is to probably just not do anything to screw anyone over. These men, these KINGS, are so INSECURE! You can't hurt his feelings, and you can't exactly challenge him to a duel. So, my advice to you is to play dumb. Twirl your hair and act like you know NOTHING of war. Then, when he's least expecting it, go ahead and solve the war. Just flirt your way through negotiations and try and marry the least revolting, yet most powerful, man ever. You'll be Queen in no time!

Dear Crabby,
Listen, I know how this will sound. But I had like three babies with my twin sister. I INTENDED to use them to strengthen our claim to the throne, but everyone is all "NASTY! Your twin sister?! Gross!" Everything is just falling apart, though. Our eldest son is crazy and I'm only kind of PRETTY SURE that it's a result of...you know. His parents' twincest. How can I "reign" him in?
Muchas gracias,
Drama King

Hey there, Drama King,
Well, you sound pretty nasty. I hope you get captured by your enemies and are kept in a cage. Do you know the biological - and legal! - repercussions of sleeping with your twin?! GROSS! You disgust me, yo. I only hope that your effed up family comes to some horrible, bloody demise. Best of luck, sicko!

Dear Crabby,
So I'm no good at fighting so my parents gave me to a barbaric gang of men who protect the entire world from zombies. I've never had any sort of skills with the ladies, and I'm pretty overweight. But since my time of being surrounded by men and oaths of honor, I think I've found my chutzpah. I'm ready to get back out there, any suggestions?
With love and hugs,
Sam Hugsalot

Hey there, Sam,
Listen, ladies are a tricky business. While we like bravery, we don't like idiocy. You seem to have made a horrible decision to focus on brotherhood, rather than womanhood. It will only invite questions for a lass of why you've spent so many...SO MANY...years in the company of men. I say that you defect immediately if you love her. Just take off. It's not like you have GPS. Just take off, pillage your woman and live peacefully somewhere that the Night Walkers can't find you. I'm thinking Jamaica.

Hopefully I've been able to help all you crazy, medieval nutjobs with your "problems". Have you guys NOT heard of jobs crisis we are facing?! If you have a not-so-crazy-but-equally-entertaining question for Crabby, go ahead and email pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll get the job done.

They're Just Jealous

In my line of work, I spend a lot of time reading weird articles. Okay, fine. In my spare time, I spent time reading weird articles too. But remember that post I wrote last week about how the Internet was making me stabby? I thought I was over it.

Then Samantha Brick came into the webosphere.

For those who prefer not to read the long, drawn-out ridiculousness that is Ms. Brick, allow me to summarize. Some lady wrote an article about how beautiful she is. While I would typically applaud these self-appreciating tributes, this one was BONKERS.

She blames everything - EVERYTHING! - on her looks. Her female bosses hate her because she's too pretty. Other women hate her because she's too pretty. People give her free stuff ALL THE TIME because she's the most beautiful thing in the universe. Except she's not.

Cue: Internet Backlash

People EVERYWHERE are writing about ridic this woman is. The vanity! The gall! Puh, she's not even THAT PRETTY! I even read an article about what a bunch of doctors in Orange County would do to MAKE her pretty.

Here are my thoughts. When we were young, my little brother got a teeny bit spoiled. The last of five kids and utterly adorable, the kid was one cheek-pinch away from a Gerber commercial. People naturally loved him. When he'd get something special, such as the easiest chore in the world after dinner (pushing in the kitchen chairs), all the rest of us kids would moan and groan. My mom always said the same thing: "Oh Perek, they're just jealous."

But we WEREN'T jealous (all the time). We were annoyed that the same courtesies were not extended to us. And we were angry at the smugness of that little Gerber jerk. Luckily for Perek (and his wife), he didn't go the way of Samantha Brick. He didn't grow up assuming that everyone who expressed any sort of displeasure, annoyance or hatred towards him was simply JEALOUS of him. No, he grew up to be an awesome dude.

Here's the thing. Something in Samantha Brick's twisted mind still believes that everyone is "just jealous" of her. Could it be that people don't like her because - gasp! - she's VAIN and SELF INVOLVED? Do bosses not like her because she is, oh I don't know, BAD AT HER JOB? And is it POSSIBLE that men buy her drinks and flowers because they are MEN and they MEN DO THAT? (I mean, come on. Were these super hot, eligible bachelors? I doubt it. My guess is they were average dudes thinking they had a chance with an average chick and wanted to be nice. How DARE they!)

My own annoyance at this article is not that a woman thinks she's pretty. I WISH more women would have more self confidence and less competition with other women. But this lady is ruining it for the rest of us. She, in fact, set us all back a few decades by putting all her worth in her appearance. I'm worried that instead of being confident and feeling beautiful, women may now be too afraid of "pulling a Brick" that any expression of self-appreciation will be avoided.

So the woman is completely conceited. And while it's totally commendable that she takes care of herself, she now needs to learn how to GET OVER HERSELF. (The MOST ANNOYING PART of all this is that she will likely take this outrage, this volatile level of disagreement, as further evidence that people hate her because of her looks. Sorry, Lady Brick. I don't hate you because you're beautiful or I'm jealous. I hate you because you make womenkind look bad.)

Looking for a New Flat, Er...Apartment

It's about that time again, kids! This Square is looking for some new digs. Since Geo locked this (*Points seductively at my pink fleece sweatshirt, modge-podge stained pants and children-sized moccasins*) down, I have decided to get a new place for the next year. As much as I love living with Claire and Andrew, I miss my own dishes and talking to myself without judgment.

So I've been looking for spacious one bedroom with a jacuzzi tub, pool, utilities paid, in a nice neighborhood, with a waterfall and doorman in the lobby, and covered parking. Oh, and it should be super cheap. Shouldn't be too hard, right?

Surprisingly, my options are limited.

My mom has almost no faith in me. In her defense, I have a pretty terrible track record with apartment hunting. She helpfully reminded me of the time I wanted an apartment in a diverse neighborhood. It was all good until I found an apartment I thought I liked and saw a woman pushing a stroller out of it. I sneered "Ugh, a BABY!? I'm not living in a place with KIDS."

Anyhoozle, I found one today that was obvs too good to be true. Super cheap, utilities paid, in a nice-ish neighborhood. I emailed the poster and was all "Is it still available? What is wrong with the place?" I got an email back this morning from the girl regaling me with promises of 2 bedrooms, 2 bathrooms, washer/dryer in unit, central air, and almost 1500 square feet.

Where do I sign?!

Then it got weird. The owner lives in the U.K. She's the only one with keys and doesn't know anyone in the United States who could show me the place, so I can only see it once I sign the lease agreement and get the keys. And payments involve "shipping".

Suddenly, I had serious images of mail-order bride type stuff. Hidden cameras. Unannounced visitors from the U.K. Trips to the bank to convert my money to Euros or whatever. Inaccurate measurements due to the whole metric system thing.

It sounds amazing and I was almost convinced that it's the place for me. But, alas, my parents didn't raise no dummy. I learned my lesson looking for apartments for years that when they are super nice and cheap, there is something wrong. In this case, it is a possibly sketchy, possibly not-female, possibly amateur spy landlord keeping me from my dream pad. In a way, though, I'm glad she emailed instead of calling because I'm a sucker for a British accent. I would have agreed to trade the apartment for a baby. Not mine, obvs...just A baby.

Anyhoozle, the search will continue. Do you guys know any cheap, gorgeous, luxurious apartment I can live in starting in June? Oh, and if the landlord lives in the U.K., it better be Adele.

That's Got a Ring To It

So, Geo left tonight. He was here for a blissful like 1 hour and then he left. So, I'm here, sans Geo. Drinking wine and periodically deciding whether or not I'm sad or happy. Is there anything more hilarious than reading about a chick who is drinking and sad?!

Yeah, so Geo got here Friday night, we hung out with friends and drank beer. Later, we spent Easter with my family and had good ol' fashioned family time. The poor guy spent a lot of hours talking with women who are PUMPED about a wedding. And he came through, relatively unscathed.

Before all that fancy girl talk, Geo was the best sport ever and we went looking at wedding bands.

One? This process is actually fun for NO ONE. I started sweating when the 4th of 7 staff members asked me "what I was looking for". I was all "Um, well, something with emeralds. I LOVE green and I want emeralds."

Six of seven women told me I couldn't have emeralds in a wedding band. The seventh simply laughed in my sweaty face. "They're too weak. Emeralds chip under intense heat. You can't have them in something you wear every day. No biggie, even though all your dreams are dashed." Ouch, that felt personal...

Geo kept comparing the rings to how many Mac computers I could buy. "Well, would you rather have a new Mac Book Pro or a wedding ring?" I said "Well, based on the intensity with which Apple updates their products, I think emeralds and diamonds are lower maintenance. And also? EFF YOU! I want the jewelry!"

We looked at things under microscopes. I had roughly the same amount of interest in that scientific process as I did the time my 5th grade science teacher made me look at my fingernails under the microscope. He was intent on teaching my generation that we should not bite our fingernails. I didn't get it. It was all sciency so I didn't get it.

But the rings at the store? So SPARKLY!!!

Anyway, every time I was all "Well, let's get to Banana Republic and think about this," some other salesperson would pop in to tell me what great taste I had and how "NOW was the time to BUY!" SO ANNOYING. I'm pretty sure that when someone wants to buy a freaking WEDDING BAND, they don't need some hard-nosed, transparent sales tactic. They want to go in and be all "Hey, the wedding is next weekend, so show me whatcha got." Idiots.

Despite the fun I had dripping my finger in diamonds while Geo laughed silently to himself and rethought the whole proposal thing, I got super bummed when he left tonight. I got all excited hanging out with him and having fun again that having him leave so quickly just hurt. You guys? We even coordinated SPREADSHEETS. Can you believe that? A man, a woman and a spreadsheet. True love.

In Geo's absence, I'll just go ahead and cry my way through a very elaborate PowerPoint presentation. Sure you can say I'm crazy, but no one will ever call me disorganized...

Internot

Guys, the Internet just made me MAD today. I made the mistake of reading the Hornette petition on change.org. (Yeah, it's right by a petition to STOP PEOPLE FROM COMMITTING RACIALLY MOTIVATED MURDER. They are SUCH similar causes.) And Facebook has been making me so mad that I want to scrape off all my skin. Internet, I hate you. Except when it comes to blogging. I am a fan of this.

I spend a lot of time on the Internet. For work, for blogging, for looking up how to add fractions, for finding pictures of Ryan Gosling cuddling with a teacup piglet...the good stuff, you know? But I have seriously been brought DOWN by the Internet.

First was that petition. (Remember my Dear Crabby post from yesterday about those beautiful, horrible bullies?) That set it all off, I think. It was ridic, you guys. Turns out, anyone can write anything in a petition and spread it around. I'm going to start a petition that's all "Stop the injustice! I shouldn't have to be too broke to shop at retail Kate Spade stores! STOP THE MADNESS!" Then just sit back and wait until the signatures come in. Then I can bring the petition to Kate Spade and be all "Look, these 137 people agree that I should be able to shop here with no money. We good?" Is there no accountability for PETITIONS anymore? Ugh. Wasn't there like a petition to like bring back alcohol during Prohibition? THAT is a cause.

Anyway, then I checked Facebook and decided to punch myself in the face. People have been driving me NUTS on Facebook. Bragging, whining, boring...when people look back on this time and are like "What did people do with this awesome power of social media?" And then they'll just see billions of people who complain about EVERYTHING. People who simply want to WHINE about something. Viva la REvolucion! #not UGH! So annoying! But then there are super fun and funny people who I love checking in on/stalking so I can't bring myself to get the eff outta Facebook. Until I figure out what to do, pay no attention to the girl punching herself in the face while updating her status.

Even Pinterest is starting to irk me. I don't have much time to browse through it anymore, but people just keep pinning the same things in some vicious circle so when I CAN sit and look through it, the same fugly lamp has been pinned 145 times. By the time I stop seeing the lamp, I'm out of free time. I know, I shouldn't complain about it, because I do love it. Have you seen the emerald/diamond ring I pinned? It's super FETCH.

I'm going to take a break from the Internet this weekend. I'm going to stop my FB updates from being pushed to my phone, I'm only responding to wicked important emails, and I'm surfing the 'net only if I have a math question that can only be answered by Yahoo! answers. Geo's going to be here this weekend anyway, so it'll be nice to have a real life distraction. I'll talk to you all on Sunday night - that is, if I've decided to merge back on to the Information Superhighway. Have a great weekend everyone!

Dear Crabby - Ulterior motive edition

This week, on a very special episode of Blossom...I mean, Dear Crabby. "Bullies are jerkwads."

Dear Crabby,
My daughter is getting bullied at school. I don't know what to do! I feel horrible and don't want to make it worse by punching some tween in her acned faced. What should I do?
Thanks,
Bully Beatdown

Dear Bully Beatdown,
I'm dedicating alllllll of Dear Crabby this week to this question, because it is THAT important. It's also a little relevant because this notorious organization in my high school has filed a petition. I'm told there are typos in said petition, but that's neither here nor there. Just really satisfying to know. From what I can grasp based on my limited research - I can only stomach so much revisiting of past traumas - the group is kind of being unofficially disbanded. Not surprisingly, current and former members of the group are none too pleased about it. Here's the thing: I'm pretty sure this disbanding came, oh, several years too late. At least for my sake.

My high school mascot was the hornet. Natch, the group was called the Hornettes (yes, the "Whore" jokes write themselves...) They were dancers, but didn't compete in anything. They danced at halftime shows and pep rallies. Most of the dance moves were of the high kicks/splits /pelvic thrust variety. And also several of them had zip dancing abilities.

But they were pretty. And SO popular. They had bright white teeth, perfectly tanned skin, zero percent body fat, they were the kinds of girls who everyone wanted to be at one point or another. Everyone knew their names.

But they were mean. Like, REALLY mean.

And okay, caveat, not ALL of them were like this. I knew girls who were otherwise super awesome, but the group as a whole put the girls in Mean Girls to shame. For the most part, mercifully, they ignored me. I was like a great mix of nerd, musician, free spirit, bandie, athlete and class-skipper. I flew mostly under the radar.

At least until I was a sophomore. That year, I was minding my unassuming beezwax, drooling over the senior guys in my yearbook. A group of the Hornettes strolled by and SPIT ON ME. Laughing and laughing, they SPIT on me. Worst of all? They SPIT on the picture of my senior guy crush! RUDE!

It was bad. I knew then that they not only knew who I was, but they were probably not going to join my fan club. I cried and felt HORRIBLE. Jerks. Skinny little tanned jerks. In later years, I would lose friends to the Hornettes who would inform me at my locker that they couldn't be friends with me anymore, because I mean, come on. They were clearly too popular to be seen with the likes of me.

So the group is associated with scarring me for life. I know for a fact they destroyed the self-esteem of some of my dearest friends. And no matter how awful they were, people still joined. They WILLINGLY went through the brutal hazing. There were rumors of girls having to drink until they puked, and then they had to EAT the puke. Some claim that if you were a new girl on the "team" you had to sit there while the veterans circled the fat and imperfections on your body. They could ruin your relationship with you boyfriend if one of them wanted him. And they'd openly spit on super awesome chicks who they didn't even KNOW. They ran the school from their self-appointed, better-than-everyone thrones.

Back to my first point. The group is in "danger" of being disbanded because some people may have figured out that they don't add anything to the strong competitive, musical or academic reputations of the school. Given the fact that it's the group who spawned the wretched, brutally mean girls who cast a shadow over many days for me, I hope it happens. I do. To my knowledge, the group is nothing but an elite group of pretty girls who bounce around in sports bras and short shorts during pep fests. As I mentioned, they didn't compete in anything. Except, maybe, hurting outsiders' feelings. There were dance teams and competition cheerleading squads (of which I was a member) and during my time at school, no one really knew WHY the Hornettes existed. Except that they were pretty to look at. But what was the cost of this?

All I wanted was to be liked in high school, and all it took was a few of these Hornettes to briefly shred what little self esteem I had. The fact that the school supported this behavior - or at least looked the other way - made it acceptable. Putting an end to it is something I support.

(Granted, I developed esteem in SPADES in subsequent years because, I mean, I am awesome.)

To the second point, I don't know what to do about bullies. They are nasty people and I don't know what would make them stop being nasty. Hell, I don't know what would make them START being nasty. Luckily, my fellow nerds/soccer team/cheerleaders/band geeks still liked me and I ended up loving a lot of high school.

Bullies are awful. If it helps, though, pretty much everyone gets bullied. Sadly, I'm sure I'm not entirely innocent from bullying at some point. Not all bullies are bad people, I guess. They just don't know any better. But that doesn't help YOU. The younger a kid is when it starts, the worse it can feel I'm sure. I guess my suggestion is to love your daughter, teach her to be nice, and helpfully point out that lots of bullies get fat or have bratty kids eventually. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

P.S. While I am particularly proud of this specific blog, I can't bring myself to post it on my Facebook page, like I normally would do. I have since friended some former Hornettes who may take offense. And while my intention is not to hurt their feelings, all of this is true, to the best of my knowledge. Also, pathetically, I'm still way too concerned with what those girls think of me. If you read this and are a former Hornette, I'm sure you have a different point of view. But, to be blunt, I don't particularly care about your point of view. This is simply MY point of view. And, ta da! It's my blog. Go team!

Keep In Touch

Finally! Okay, so I know business cards are so...I don't know, not for me. What am I, Christian Bale in American Psycho? No. My job doesn't exactly call for it. I mean, I don't even know my phone number or email at work because I don't work with clients or anything. To be honest, I like to keep that part of my life, like, private. I'm the opposite of Jennifer Aniston. I'll tell you everything about my love life and the crap in my trash, but my work is MINE.

But my brother Peter gave me this A-MAH-ZING Kate Spade business card holder for my birthday. It's shiny and silver and it says "let's do lunch" on it. It's beautiful. I couldn't stand not filling it up with business cards.

So yay! I go to Vistaprint, fill out a few boxes, and wham bam BUSINESS CARDS!

I made them as vague and general as possible. I mean, I have 500 of them! It was going to take light years for me to give them away. I needed the info to be relevant in the year 4012. So, natch, I just put my blog info on it.

At first, I was all "Now I'll be able to hand these out to E'ERYONE!" But turns out? No one wants my business card. Mostly because I have no business having cards. Every person I meet either befriends me on Facebook or hopes to never see my face again. In either case, there's no need for a card.

But I've been determined to give out these cards. I've put several in the fish bowls promising a free lunch at Chipotle. I gave one to my parents. Fine, maybe I gave 40 to my parents. A few weeks ago, I gave my card to a friend of Claire's. Later that weekend, I saw that same card tucked under a table leg on the back porch. Ouch.

Whatevs. But tonight, I hung out with 7 awesome people who I used to work with at a nomnom Happy Hour. If there are ANY people I want to contact me whenever they fancy, it's these guys. They rule. Also, they work in publishing, which is a total plus.

Anyhoozle, I can't remember what exactly prompted me to whip out my shiny card case, but I did. Then I threw cards around like I was at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. I'm 99 percent sure no one actually WANTED a card, but oh well. I came home and needed to refill my shiny case. Yay! Only 468 cards to go!

trashy

Some guy, a long time ago, referred to either Kim or me as "BFI". BFI is the company that collects trash around the city. So yeah, he was calling us (or her...certainly not ME) trash. RUDE! But, ever since then, we call things BFI when we think they are trashy.

Guys? I am BFI.

After a productive day working from home, I continued straight into the night. I ran errands, came home and cleaned my room, then went to the gym. The gym! And when I came home, I stared at my super clean room, very very proud of myself.

Except for one thing. The giant, lawn-sized garbage bag full of garbage in the corner. My roommate Andrew always asks me, after I've cleaned my room and come downstairs with a lawn-sized garbage bag full of garbage, "Pharon. How in God's name do you have that much trash in your room every few weeks?"

Before I brought the bag down tonight, I did some searching. What am I hoarding for three weeks only to eventually throw away? So I did some digging. Not literally. NOT LITERALLY.

Okay, literally...

I opened the bag and peeked inside. All I saw was mail and shoe boxes. And I don't know if you can tell by the name, but Entertainment Weekly comes EVERY WEEK. So, there were a bunch of those in there. Empty toilet paper rolls, discarded craft materials, one or nine two empty diet Coke cans, cotton balls with nail polish on them, wrapping paper scraps, receipts, bills I don't want to pay, shopping bags, and empty body wash bottles. So, it's not like it's GARBAGE. No rotten food, no banana peels, nothing sticky or gross. It's just, I don't know, TRASH.

So I sat here thinking about how I amass all this garbage in the span of just a few weeks. Most of the time, something major has just happened. Like Christmas, or Geo's been here, or - as was the case here - I took a trip somewhere. But I also realized that I spend, oh, 90 percent of my time in my room. Most of the time, people split up garbage between rooms. I use my bedroom as living room, family room, craft room, and - OKAY - kitchen. So, all my tossables are tossed into the two cans in my room.

Or, in the general vicinity of those cans. Semantics.

Ergo, technically it's not my fault. I may bring down one ginormo bag of trash every few weeks, but I challenge YOU to keep all your garbage in one room for three weeks and see what happens.

I have a feeling you'll be on the curb ready for trash day right along with me.

The Yolk's On You!

Shock of the year: I didn't do my taxes this weekend. Still no password reminder. Rude. That's just, like, MEAN. Instead, I hung out with the fam (it was my nephew's first birthday!) and partook in the 2-for-1 beer deals at the bar with some friends. Claire got a new foster dog so I played with him and overfed him and he got diarrhea. He is cute. Then tonight, on April Fool's Day, I decided I was feeling crafty.

My aunts Sarah and Cindi make these super elaborate Easter eggs every year. They drain out raw eggs and then modge podge all kinds of lace and doodads and fun stuff all over them. They are amazing and beautiful and I decided to give it a shot.

All I've got to show for my night are broken blood vessels in my cheeks, traces of raw eggs in my system and some goopy paper stuck on empty eggs.

Here's how it started. I bought a billion eggs. I hard-boiled half of them (only cracking 80% of them) to dye with Claire this week. The other half I decided to empty out and fancy up like my aunts.

You have to poke a hole in each end of the egg and then blow out all the insides. Seems easy enough, right?

After several failed attempts to avoid putting my mouth directly on the egg (marinating syringe, twisty straw, fast bursts of water), I realized I couldn't avoid it. I sat for, oh, 2 hours blowing into the eggs.

Ironically enough, the pin I used to make the pin holes was a Pro Choice pin. I laughed with Andrew being all "Ha! Look, I'm giving this egg an abortion!" He was like "Pharon, that's just wrong. Also, the egg is unfertilized." Sheesh, humor-hater.

Anyway, I sat and blew and blew and blew. My cheeks throbbed. I was lightheaded. I had to sit down while I did the second half of them. I accidentally INHALED more than once and was rewarded with a mouthful of salmonella.

I finally finished. I had, let's see, 15 eggs? 24? Oh, no, I have SEVEN.

Then I printed out some adorbs Kate Spade wallpaper patterns. I was all "La la la, I'll wrap the paper around the egg, slap some goop on it, and voila! Fancy eggs!"

NOTE: Apparently, you can't WRAP a flat piece of paper around an oddly shaped EGG. Stupid math! (Or is it geometry?) I had to cut each cute pattern into strips and slap them on the egg, smearing the Modge Podge all over, which made the perfect colors run. And is it just me or is the salmonella making this room SUPER hot?!

So it was like my first failed craft project. And I guess it wasn't a "failure" but they do NOT look like the fancy, intricate eggs my aunts made. Mine look like I woke up in the middle of the night and did them in my sleep. Whoops. Also? I didn't do the second coat yet. And I only did four out of seven. Here they are...

I suppose it's best to get my half-assed efforts out of the way this weekend, though, because I've got a full plate this week and need to get some things seriously accomplished. Because if I do my taxes or have a happy hour with the same level of meh-ness, it will not be good.

How was your weekend? Did you give it your all?