Thursday, June 28, 2012

Devil in the Details

Hey Squares. What. Is. Up. This girl had a rough day, you guys. I don't plan to go on and on about wedding stuff, as I'm sure 50 percent of you don't care (Fine! Then you're not invited! Hrmph!) but today was kind of the beginning of what I'm afraid will be an avalanche of me pouting and overeating out of frustration. Here's how it all went down.

My apartment is FINALLY put together enough that I could invite my parents over. Sure, there was some last-minute crafting and rearranging furniture, but whatevs. I had some crackers, cheese, salami and iced tea out so I could use all my fun dishes. My mom and dad showed up right on time and gushed appropriately about my place and pretended to ignore my hoarding of packing paper in the front closet. It was lovely!

Then we went out to get some dinner across the street. I was all "Ooooh, Michaelangelo's is supposed to be good!" So we walked over to the the so-called "good" restaurant. Turns out, the inside was a Chuck E Cheese. There were, hmm, approx 154 kids screaming for like the first hour we were there. Peaceful! 

Finally, the kids left and my mom said "Woo! Now that we can finally hear ourselves THINK, how's the wedding planning going?"

This is where the night went from fun to frustrating.

Geo and I thought we had a pretty good plan in place. We couldn't please everyone, but we tried. I had confirmed availability with places and knew that our plan could work. What I DIDN'T plan on is everyone not agreeing with me.

No. There were objections almost immediately. My parents were like "Whoa, okay, slow your roll. You haven't thought this through. That place is too small and disjointed." Like any adult, I got defensive immediately and secretly fumed while Geo sat mute next to me. In hindsight, what did I really expect him to say?! My mom and I were butting heads on a few things - little stuff, you the RECEPTION - and we were going back and forth for a few minutes while Geo and my dad quietly prayed that they could be transported anywhere but a dinner table with two women planning a wedding.

Despite my hours of work on spreadsheets, venue tours and emails it was brought to my attention that I may have missed a few details.

What, like I'm supposed to just KNOW how much things cost?! What am I, an accountant?!

I was so frustrated. I've spent a lot of valuable time trying to figure out a venue plan for a wedding. And, if I'm being honest, a lot of the time it felt like I was doing it alone. So when Geo and I finally came to an agreement, I thought it would go off without a hitch. I wanted to say the plan, have everyone love it and be jealous that they didn't think of it themselves, and then toast to my genius. Was that too much to ask?

But, it wasn't solved by the end of dinner. However, my dad and Geo finally spoke up and were surprisingly, and annoyingly, level-headed and rational. My dad, always the logical one, helpfully mentioned that I needed to figure out how much stuff costs. My mom pleaded with me to consider the ugly details - you know, the boring, realistic, unglamorous, logistical, mathy details. Eventually, we agreed that I needed to do some more work, which made me start to cry a little inside. But, we  finally went back to normal and headed home.

Then, 20 minutes later, I was sitting here, contemplating what my parents had said. I started rethinking things I thought I was sure of. I cracked open my mind a bit and decided I could see their points. Then, my mom called. She and my dad had driven past a venue we disagreed on. (I loved it, they were not crazy about.) But they drove by it tonight and my mom was calling to tell me that my dad "loves it, too". And tasked me with nailing down some details.

However, now I'm afraid I'm back to square one. Now I'm not even sure about that which I was so sure of an hour ago. I feel like I need to just start all over. And it feels horrible. So, instead, I think I'm just going to break up with Geo and scratch this whole wedding thing. Ta da!

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Dear Crabby

Well, here we are. Hump Day, as they say. I've gotten a few questions this week that will hopefully make you feel better about yourselves and take you straight through to the weekend. Let's see what we've got...

Dear Crabby,
My boyfriend - well, ex-boyfriend I guess - broke up with me like 6 months ago. How long do you think it takes until I'll stop being so sad?? My friends say it takes half the time of the duration of a relationship to get over it. But I dated my boyfriend for almost a year, and I just haven't gotten over it. Is something wrong with me? 
Adele's Got Nothin' On Me

Oh boy, AGNOM,
There is no equation. There is no math that will guarantee when you will not be so sad about breaking up with someone. Yet ANOTHER way math has failed me in my everyday life. Sometimes it takes years, other times it takes minutes. It all depends on the relationship. But, I'll tell you this: You'll get over it. Eventually, and on your own time. I could spit out cliches like "He obviously isn't good enough for you if he couldn't appreciate you!" And while that may be true, it's nothing but lip service. Here's the truth: It sucks to get dumped. It hurts your feelings and it takes all your power away. But, it's not the end of the world. Eventually, you'll meet someone else. And if you don't? You'll just get 100 cats. The point is: There are bigger things headed your way.

Dear Crabby,
My friend just totally blew me off for like the 100th time. She makes happy hour plans and then bails. She promises me that she's got a guy for me to date, and then nothing ever materializes. Most recently, she said she'd hire me as a Freelancer for a project she's working on, and then didn't tell me that the project had fallen through until like 3 days after I had prepped the presentation. What do I do?
With Friends Like These...

Wassup, WFLT,
Um, it sounds like you've been duped. You know that saying "Once bitten, twice shy"? Or even "First time, shame on you. Second time, shame on me"? Yeah, you should probably have learned your lesson the first 99 times it happened. You, my friend, are in the presence of a bail artist. I say, check out now. Stop taking her word at face value and make your own magic happen. In the end, who can we count on if not ourselves? My advice? Find your OWN man. Get your OWN job. Make your OWN happy hour (and don't invite her). Then your fun and your success will be yours, and yours alone.

Dear Crabby,
You're getting married, right? I'm freaking out! I've got 9 months until my wedding, and I am so intensely overwhelmed that I can't even think straight. Every day at work, I'm distracted by venues, dresses, colors and favors. And how am I supposed to know what I want the DJ to play in NINE MONTHS? I don't even know if people will still LIKE Carly Rae Jepsen! Any advice??
Blushing - and FUMING - Bride

Did you crawl inside my head? Are you my subconscious? Yes, I'm getting married, and I too am freaking out. Um, if I'm not mistaken, aren't weddings supposed to fun and wonderful? So far, they are NOT fun and whatever the opposite of wonderful is. I hear ya, sista. Planning a wedding is nothing like they make it look like in the movies. Also? I'm not a Bridezilla, so I can't even check in to TLC to see what to expect. Girls like us, BAFB, are regular people who just want an awesome ceremony and party. Unfortunately, everyone else has their OWN ideas of what "your day" looks like. So, we've got 100 opinions and, likely, zero help from the groom-to-be, so we're responsible for making or breaking this thing. Here's really the only thing I can tell you, because I tell myself this every time something ruins my plans: Your wedding day is about getting married. It's about promising to spend the rest of your life with someone - or, you know, at least until you divorce. It's about seeing your crazy family hang with your crazy friends. Whatever they are wearing, and wherever and whenever they are partying, the day, ultimately, is about you and the guy you claim to be in love with. Yes, it should be nice and pretty and whatever. But after whatever awesome or $hitty party you throw, you'll still be married to that lug nut who wooed you in the first place.

OMG. Heavy stuff, guys. HEAVY STUFF. Let's try to lighten it up next week, shall we? Actually, next Wednesday is the 4th of July. I may or may not be celebrating my freedom or fireworks or whatever, so let's aim for two weeks from now for the Dear Crabby questions, aight???

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

It IS a small world after all!

Oh. Mah. Gah. Holy small world, Batman! So, I went to happy hour with some co-workers tonight. La la la, 2-for-1s, good company and just a grand ol' time had by all. Everything was all fun and good until this conversation happened:

Co-worker: Yeah, I love Sebastian Joe's ice cream. I live right by there.
Me: Hey! I used to live by Sebstian Joe's! Where do you live?
Co-worker: On insert my old street name here.
Me: Hey! I used to live on insert my old street name here.
Co-worker: Where abouts?
Me: 2108?

After 20 minutes of me trying to pull my jaw off the ground, I managed to determine that my co-worker lives in GEO'S OLD ROOM. I told him that I used to live in the room painted Kate-Spade-green and he's like "Oh man, we were WONDERING who would paint a room that color!"


So it turns out that I work in the same department of the same company with a guy who keeps his ketchup in the very same fridge I kept MY ketchup. Caaaaarazy.

I'm not exactly used to "small worlds." I went to a Big 10 University where I knew approximately 20 people. Out of, what, 30,000 students?

And sure, I knew all the people in my high school, but I've never like run into a famous person who lives with my high school student president now or something. I've never made a weird connection.

Well, I did work with a girl for a few months before figuring out she was BFFs with the brother of my former co-worker/friend. And I once saw a TV show that had a girl from my high school on it. But so far, none of those stories top the "Hey, I just met you...and this crazy...but here's my address, it's the same as yours was." (Thumbs UP to those of you who got the Carly Rae Jepsen reference.)

Anyhoozle, instead of playing it cool tonight, I managed to exude the kind of creepiness I tried so desperately hide. But how many times do you get the opportunity to meet the person who lives in your old house? ALMOST NEVER. So, again, instead of being COOL, I said "OMG, can I come and look at your house?! I wanna see where you put your couch!" 

Sweet. That's NOT creepy! Thankfully, I followed it up with "I mean, I wanna see your house, but not in a CREEPY way!" Yeah, 'cause SAYING it's not creepy makes it less creepy...

Okay, so the point is I have finally made my "Wow, what a small world!" connection. I remember seeing the "It's a Small World" exhibit or ride or whatever at Disneyworld and realizing I had no idea what those creepy little Animatronix kids were singing about. But now? Now I AM a creepy Animatronix kid!

And the allegedly small world makes sense again...

Monday, June 25, 2012

The Help?

You know, having Geo around consistently for the past few days has been pretty nice. We're having a great time, and it's starting to feel normal again. Plus, I had forgotten how helpful having him around truly is.. From moving all my stuff to, well, that was the biggest thing really. I probably couldn't have moved without him. Anyway, now that a couple days have gone by, I've found myself wondering if he really IS helping...

Helping: He hooked up the Xbox tonight so we could watch Netflix
Not helping: He refused to write my blog for me
Helping: I was too tired from kickboxing to get off the couch and get my computer charger, so Geo got it for me and then plugged my computer in for me. 
Not helping: I asked what I should write about and he suggested "Write about how all I do is hit home runs all day with my awesome ideas and solutions." When I said "What would the title be?" He's all "No title necessary. The post would speak for itself."
Helping: He explained the Tuskegee Experiment to me
Not helping: When I asked him initially, he called me an idiot for not knowing what it was
Helping: He got my microwave all set it up for me.
Not helping: When I asked him what he wanted from the grocery story, he requested what a little kid might request: "Peanut butter, white bread, chips, raisins, Coke - NOT DIET COKE, PHARON - macaroni and pizza." Gee, thanks for the help with the diet, bro...
Helping: He came up with a great solution for my closet space problem
Not helping: The reason I HAVE a closet space problem is because he has more clothes than 4 regular guys put together
Helping: It's been awesome going out on dates again
Not helping: The last one we went on was a dessert date. Again, thanks for the help with the diet, bro...
Helping: He's super funny and I love having a source of a good ol-fashioned belly laugh on a daily basis
Not helping: Today, while I was writing a blog, he tried to make me belly laugh by putting on one of my boxing gloves and pretended to fight with me. It started hilarious, but then got dumb because he gave me the left glove and then just stuck his long monkey arm out holding me back. I never stood a chance.

It was all pretty even-Steven, but he really sealed the deal when he came home and I was surrounded by wedding magazines and instead of running away or making fun of me, he asked "Find anything good?" And then helped me calm down when I was freaking out about having none of the checkboxes for "What to have done by now" checked out. What a guy...

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Working/Blacking Out

Hey, does anyone recall me saying at any time last week that I wanted to spend my weekend accidentally working out? Yeah, you don't remember it because I never said it. But, well, the universe had different plans for me. Very, very fun plans.

We had a loverly morning today at my niece's baptism and it was great. Then, I was really trying to make sure Geo remembered I was a down chick because this is the first full week he'll be home. So, I agreed to go golfing with him. While fun, walking with a bag has never been harder in anyone's life ever. I was exhausted before pleading "What are we on, like hole 100?" And Geo was all "Um, this is hole 3." Down chick, indeed.

So, the hiking/golfing was unexpected but fun. Saturday I spent doing nothing, mostly, because I was recovering from Friday night. Friday night was the funnest workout class ever. Well, it was the beeriest.

Friday night was my sister Prinna and her husband Chris' 10th anniversary. They have made it through the thickest and thinnest together, and it was definitely a milestone to celebrate. So we got on board the Traveling Tap.

The Traveling Tap is probably the healthiest/scariest way to get drunk. You and 13 of your best friends all get on exercise bikes attached to a bar. Then you get all excited when the bartender gives you your very own beer in your very own cup holder. And then the "conductor" is all "Okay, everyone! Start pedaling!"

I forgot about the pedaling part. I also was unaware that the pedaling part is the hardest thing in the world. I couldn't drink enough beer to make up for the amount of sweat I was losing by taking that accidental spin class, though I tried. Boy, did I try.

So, you pedal around the city, which is nice and everyone takes pictures of you and smiles and makes a mental note to "definitely call Traveling Tap for work party." And you have music playing, and you're chatting, and there's all that beer. Did I mention the beer? The problem, though, is that you are on REAL STREETS. And you can really only go about 3 miles per hour. Pedaling around downtown Minneapolis on the Friday night of Pride weekend was...well, it was...chaos.

Also, the human body can only pedal for so long. Eventually, you can pedal no more. So the Tap stops at whatever bar you want, and you go in to said bar and drink even MORE. Geo, Perek, Leah and I didn't make it in to too many bars. We hung at the tap, chatting with the creators/conductors/bartender because the beer on board the Tap was free. Me likey free.

At any rate, 4 hours - FOUR HOURS - of pedaling later, and my legs were jelly. I was too tired to understand if I was drunk or not. But after we decided to hit up the bar afterwards, I realized about 3 minutes into my epic dance montage that I had, in fact, managed to absorb much of that beer on the Tap instead of just sweating it out. I tried to soak it all back up with Pizza Luce with the guys, but I was probably a lost cause.

The point is, I accidentally got a little work out in not once, but TWICE this weekend. First there was the FOUR HOUR beer-sponsored spin class, which was followed immediately by Pizza Luce. Then it was the monumental hike through a par-3 golf course. Followed immediately by a Jack's pizza with Geo.

Hmmm...I guess between the pedaling/hiking and pizza, I may come out even in the calories in/calories out arena...

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Pillow Fight!!!!

I don't know why, but I woke up today with a mission. I would MAKE PILLOWS tonight. I'm finally getting comfy in my place, and I actually have a place to use a sewing machine. I think. I'm not entirely sure how much space I'll need, but whatevs.

So, I got home from work, ran to the fabric store with Claire and got started. I had to hook up the foot pedal dealie because mine is missing that key ingredient. I actually went through the trouble of ORDERING the part weeks ago. I felt so domestic.

Anyhoozle, I hook it all up, and I'm ready to go!

Machine with working light? Check. Fabric? Check. Wine? DOUBLE CHECK. Okay, let's get started!!!!!!

Um. What do I do?

Right. Okay, download the manual. What's a foot pedal? How do I thread the bobbin? What happened to my wine?

I'm following the illustrations as best I can. I am having a surprisingly difficult time reading pictures and figure I must be missing a piece. Let's check out the toolbox...

Okay, so no help in there. All that's in this thing is a bunch of things that are supposed to replace other things. Or something. Whatever. Use your brain, Pharon! What did you learn in 7th grade??

Shockingly, I GET IT GOING. I have no idea how or why or when, but everything looked exactly like the poorly drawn pictures in the manual. Let's see it if works.

Yup. Looks perfect. I tried two lines. One went right above those words in a straight line, as expected. The second one went about 2 inches too high in a decidedly UNSTRAIGHT line. Meh, That's probably good enough.

So, a couple months ago, I made a pillow with my mom. She is really good at this stuff. She showed me how to measure and pin and backstitch and whatnot. I managed to retain almost none of that information. I just pinned two un-measured pieces of fabric together. La la la, started sewing. The lines weren't "straight" per se, but who sees the INSIDE of a pillow anyway?! The wine was helping my confidence and I stepped all the way down on the pedal, which controls the speed, and flew through the first side.

What was that my mom said about not pulling and stretching the fabric? Do it? Don't do it? I better try doing it. Oh, oops. Yeah, she said DON'T do that. Again, NO ONE sees the inside anyways.

So I get 3 1/2 side sewn up. Nice! I toast myself to my success. I flip the fabric inside out and get to stuffing it with all this random stuffing I have somehow hoarded. My mom said "Don't use stuffing. Use a real pillow. Otherwise, it'll look misshapen and be uncomfortable." Sorry, Mom, but if I don't dispose of all this hoarded stuffing material I've kept in a grocery bag in the back of my closet, Geo may break up with me.

I stuff the pillow. She's right. It looks like my pillow has tumors. And it is most definitely not comfortable. But, whatever, it's soft and fine. I sew up the rest of the pillow and voila! New pillow!

Okay, here's the real test. Below is a picture of the pillow I made with my mom, and the one I did by myself, half-buzzed, using a machine that I only barely understand.

Not bad, right?! Obvs the one on the left is the one my mom helped me with. It's smooth and straight - and I know you can't tell from a picture, but it's WAY more comfortable. The lump-fest on the right is my bastard pillow. Full of hoarded stuffing with crooked stitches. I must say, though, it doesn't look TERRIBLE. I mean, it's really pretty uncomfortable, but it LOOKS pretty good, right?!

Whatever. I think it looks great, for a n00b anyway. I'm going to toast to myself again. Cheers! Have a great weekend everyone!

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Dear Crabby

Happy Summer Solstice, everyone! Did you enjoy the longest day of the year? Looks like we've got plenty of time to get to some Dear Crabby questions!

Dear Crabby,
Whose big idea was it to put 6 McDonald's between my work and home? Even though it's cheap, it's seriously hurting my wallet, since I end up going like 3 times a week. Also, I'm getting super fat. Suggestions?
Beach Body

Hey Beach Body,
I'm pretty sure it was probably Satan's idea to put all those McDonald's on your work route. However, it is strictly your fault for eating there 3 - THREE! - times a week. That's rough, lady. Although, I can't help but sympathize. There is a Bruegger's Bagels less than 8 blocks away from my apartment now, and every day I have to fight the carby urge to shove 5 everything bagels in my mouth hole. So far, I've succeeded. But if I had to pass up the urge 12 times a day, I would probably give in too. But, it's making you poor and fat, so you should probably knock it off. I guess my suggestion would be to stop eating there. Bring a snack to work so you aren't hungry on your way home. Or just wear tight pants that are a, eh hem, firm reminder that fast food is not helping anything. Good luck, though. It ain't easy bein' greasy...

Dear Crabby,
What's it like to a kiss a boy?
Lip Smackers

Dear Lip Smackers,
How should I know? I've never kissed anyone. I did learn something from my 3-year-old niece, though. She said she could share germs via a sucker with her sister because their parents kissed at their wedding. Total non-sequitur, but still pretty important science lesson. I guess until you're ready to have kids who can share germs, you should probably avoid kissing at all costs.

Dear Crabby,
What's up with your Kate Spade obsession? It's kind of creepy, don't you think?
Good luck, chump,
Kate Hater

Gee, what a privilege it is to hear from you, Kate Hater!
If you couldn't tell, that was sarcasm. My obsession with Kate Spade is the equivalent of a guy's obsession with a sports team. Geo loves Lebron James, I love classic lines and quirky details. Although I hardly think I have to defend myself to the likes of YOU, Hater, I will tell you that I simply appreciate any and everything Ms. Spade creates. I have reserved a place on my wedding guest list for her - and a guest! - in the hopes of getting rejected on beautiful stationary. Is that REALLY so odd? No. Okay, FINE. Probably. Whatever. I love her and I don't care what you think. Unless you're her, in which case, I would TOTALLY love it if when you file a restraining order, you have it delivered in a flicker bon shopper. Is that really so much to ask?

Alright, kids. The sun has finally gone down and I've officially gotten distracted by shopping for a new purse, so you're on your own for the rest of the night. Have more questions? Send 'em to and I'll try and get to them next week. Maybe. Give it a shot and we'll see, I guess...

Tuesday, June 19, 2012

Bowled Over

Hey guys. So, it's ridiculously hot outside. Therefore, my hair has taken flight like I've never imagined. I have 10,090 pieces of hair flying away, aiming for the heavens. It ain't pretty.

I sat outside in the humidity with my pal Liz tonight and came home to something that can only be described as maniacal. Mad scientist. Gary Busey. My hair is aggressively fighting for its freedom. It stretched out, in all its wiry goodness, and fought its way out of my carefully crafted ponytail. It cried "I refused to be constrained by this piddly binder any longer! Let me free!"

It makes me long for my bowl-cut hair days. No split ends. No frizzy fly-aways. Just enough hair to cover my dome. No more, no less.

I have had this obsession with growing out my hair because I had a boy haircut for the most important developmental years of my childhood. But now, it is actively fighting against me. I have 1 billion split ends. I have 6 billion broken hairs at my hairline. It's like my hair is telling me "It's time to give up."

When I was young, every girl I knew either had bows in their hair or bouncy ponytails. I had opted for the Mary Lou Retton look because it was the easiest way to get me out of nap time and on the street for night games. I am nothing if not efficient. Eventually, I decided  to grow out my bowl so my mom could expertly French braid my barely-long-enough hair. I was determined to not be confused as a boy. I was a LADY. So, I grew my hair out. Forever.

After college, I read an article called "Change your hair, change your life!" Unfortunately, I was unemployed, impressionable, and definitely looking for a change. I figured "Hey, Cosmo has never steered me wrong!" So I opted to chop my hair off. It was the only time in my life I made my own decision to cut off inches and inches of my own hair. I cried as Alecks (yup!) chopped layer upon carefully-grown layer off my noggin. I stared at myself in the mirror afterwards. I was six again. I had a bowl cut. 

Okay, so yes, I DID get a job a month later, but I'd like to think it had more to do with my abilities and less to do with my pseudo-updated bowl cut. The point is...I haven't chopped my locks since.

But tonight, as I looked in the mirror with Mr. Busey staring back at me, I realized I need a change. Should I chop it all off? Should I dye it? Does anyone have a bowl handy?

Monday, June 18, 2012

Sweat Shop

Man, it is AWESOME living on the 6th floor of a building. The views, the distance from street's just amazing.

Hey, you know what's NOT amazing? When the only elevator in the building is...dun dun dunnnnn...Out Of Service.

I didn't notice it until tonight when I was on my way out to the gym. Thaaaat's right, I pried myself away from the cool comfort of my apartment to go sweat in a room full of other sweaty people. While it was 92 degrees outside. Gross! But, I'm just a baller like that. Anyway, I was in a hurry, so I only barely registered the OUT OF ORDER sign on the elevator doors. I shrugged and bopped down 6 floors to class. 

You caught that part about "barely registering the sign" right? Because after class, I had the genius idea to do some grocery shopping and even decided to pick up a bottle (or 4) of vino. I got out of my car and carried my water bottle, groceries, wine, and boxing gloves to the front door of my building. I had barely managed to get my key in the door when I re-registered the yellow "OUT OF ORDER" sign on the elevator inside.

I briefly considered moving back to Claire's right then and there. All I REALLY need is food and wine, right? I could just move right now. 

Could I leave my food in the car? Milk. And eggs. And it was still like 204 degrees outside. I certainly couldn't leave my gloves behind, because, you know, the cool factor. So I decided to go for it.

I was on the 2nd floor when I remembered a story a friend of mine told me. I think it was my former co-worker Kathleen who told me a story about her friend who went to a spinning class. She was all sweaty and gross and when she got home, she decided to clean her attic on a whim. The first sweat reabsorbed and then the second round of sweat like mixed with it or whatever, and she ended up like getting really sick or hospitalized or something.

I was still on the 2nd floor when I broke out in a panic-sweat. The more I tried to stop sweating, the more I seemed to sweat. What's a girl to do? 

It took me 45 minutes to get from the 2nd floor to the 3rd floor because I didn't want to sweat and the air was getting so thin I could barely breathe. I stopped and looked longingly at the floor I COULD have lived on, but Nooooooooo...SOMEone (me, duh) needed a "sick view of the city." I wanted to cry, but didn't want to waste what little water I had left in my body. 

When I got to the 5th floor, my pants were noticeably looser. I had the start of a tiny beard growing and I had befriended a volleyball I found and named Wilson. 

At the 6th floor, I was ready to collapse. It was the year 2015 already and I had missed the birth of my first child and our first Martian president. But, I made it. I made it into my apartment and even managed to get the now-expired milk and eggs into the refrigerator. I threw my gloves across the room and took a much-needed swig of lukewarm white wine. I started peeling off clothes out of fear of reabsorbing a second round of sweat and took a shower immediately.

Refreshed and finally after catching my breath, I sat down to set my phone timer for my dinner. I finally allowed myself to shed a tear when I realized I had left my phone in my car. 

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Happy Pappy's Day!

It's Sunday night, so that means I'm knackered. But, it's also Father's Day! Happy Dad's Day to all the men out there who have kids they may or may not love. (Seriously, some kids are just the worst...) I spent the whole day with my mom and my nieces and nephew. From the 8 or so hours I spent with them, I have decided that dads and moms are either heroes or insane. Probably a healthy combination of the two.

Anyway, so I didn't see my dad until he came home with my brothers and Geo from a long day of golf. We had some dinner and opened presents. I HATE shopping for Father's Day gifts. According to all the gift shops and card companies on the planet, all dads like to do is drink beer, golf, be disappointing in the kitchen, fish and finish home repair projects unsatisfactorily. My dad only does two of those things: fish and golf. But he's not, like, a jerk about it. 

So I looked for some fishing or golfing stuff. I found a cute golf-accessories set...inside a flask. I found some fishing-themed beer glasses. A book about how lazy dads just lay around and embarrass their children. There was a grilling apron that said "I grill because I can't cook...I'm a dad." Or something similar to that. It blew. Oh, and what's up with the Gift Of Choice for the day being a SHAVING kit? WTF? How many dads do you guys know who have the time to sit in front of a mirror warming up shaving cream and groom themselves with a straight-edge razor? I don't know about you, but I know zero.

My mom has been saying for a long time that Mother's Day is all flowers and appreciation and things that smell good. Father's Day is all about making fun of dads and their substandard ways of parenting. She couldn't have been more right. If you're a dad who doesn't enjoy the great outdoors or drinking or lazying around on a golf course, you may as well get ready to receive a billion ties or paperweights for Father's Day.

Is it really too much to ask for to have some stores stock Ron Paul slippers? I know my dad would have liked those. Or one of those Keep Calm and Carry On signs that says something more like Calm down and Put Some Ice On It for the doctor dads who are sick of tending to their daughter's every medical question. Ooh! Or there could be some way of listing out - proudly - the not-so-obvious ways in which you're used your college education so he knows his money didn't go completely to waste. THOSE are the kind of gifts I'd like to give.

But no, I got my dad a grill spatula that said, cleverly, "DAD" on it. With a bottle opener on the end of it. And a fish-shaped beer koozie. He opened it and was like "Aw! Nice!" And I, feigning hope, said "You know, for the cabin? And all that beer you don't drink? I think you can also use it for pop!" I guess you can't win 'em all. I also forgot a gift bag so I had to put them all in a very girly Valentine's Day-themed gift bag. Man, I really could have used that list of ways I've used a college education...

Thursday, June 14, 2012

Saaaay Cheesy!!

Oh. My. Gah. I forgot ALLLLLL about the fact that everyone and their mother takes engagement photos these days. I am ill-equipped. Is there a contest for the MOST un-photogenic person ever? Did I win??

Geo's brother is getting married this year. I saw his engagement photos tonight, and I was...well, it was a reality check. His bride is all pretty and sparkly and the sun dances off her hair. I texted Geo immediately to tell him no to expect too much.

Me: Listen, I'm not whimsical and the sun will never dance off my hair like a beautiful Instagram filter. Don't expect that stuff, okay?
Geo: I don't expect that. I love you just the way you are.

Well, as reassuring as that should have been, I sunk into the kind of pity party that Bridget Jones could only dream of. I explained to Claire, who I was with at the time, that I felt bad for Geo. I am NOT a cool chick to take pictures with. I flick the camera off. Or I wink too aggressively. More often than not, I look like a jerkface photo bomber.

So then I saw these super cute, airy pictures of Geo's broseph and his fiance. They were all sunshine and dancing rays. I started sweating almost immediately. There's a picture where they are laughing and it's just very adorable.

I panicked and texted Geo again.

Me: When I laugh, it's not all charming and photogenic. It's crazy and maniacal.
Geo: Dude, engagement photos are ridiculous! No one really even looks like that! FYI: I will be showing massive amounts of chest hair in every one of our pics.
Me: Yeah. Got it.

I mean...I guess that's reassuring. When I'm ugly-facing my way through everything, Geo's violent chest hair will inevitably take over. So, you know, that's cool.

Anyway, do you guys have good pics? Send 'em my way so I learn a thing or two about how to take a proper photo...otherwise, have a picture-perfect weekend everyone!

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Dear Crabby

Hello to all my favorite problem children! Let's getcha fixed up, okay?

Dear Crabby,
I'm thinking of trying to learn a new language. I'm not sure which one to choose, though! Which language do you think I should take up?
Muchas gracias and bon apetit,
Speaking the Same Language?

Hola, STSL!
That's a tough choice! Luckily, you came to the right place (I guess?). But, it depends on what you want. If you want a useful language that's facil to learn, Spanish it up! If you want a pretty language, obvs choose Italiano. Don't do French cause it sounds spitty and gaggy. For a hipster-type language, learn Swedish or Norwegian. But if you're ambitious and want to get the most bang for your buck, I would think you should go with Mandarin Chinese. Isn't that the most widely-spoken language? Yeah...but apparently it's freakin' difficult so you better be prepared! Or, if you're a redneck, just stick to speakin' Amurrrican.

Dear Crabby,
Is it really that bad for a guest to wear white to a wedding? I've had this super cute dress for months that I really want to show off. But it's a REALLY pale yellow that most people think is white. It's really adorable and I love it!! Can I wear it to a wedding this weekend?
Thank you!
Is it alwhite?

Hey there alwhite,
No you CANNOT wear a basically-white dress to a WEDDING. Are you insane? I don't care if the dress "REALLY pale yellow," either. If it looks white, you can't wear it. Don't you have any other place you can wear the dress? Would you really want to be referred to as "that insane chick who wore white to a wedding"? No. No, no, no. No white. I feel like this SHOULD go without saying, but just in case I would also avoid: Veils, a bouquet of flowers, tiaras of any kind, and any dress with a long train. Got it??

Dear Crabby,
Would you rather eat your own hair after a haircut or lick the bottom of your shoes every day?
Good luck,
Would You Rather?

Talk about a brain buster! Okay, my theory is that I'd rather eat my own hair UNLESS I can buy new shoes every day. On the other hand, I'd rather lick a shoe if the hair I eat accumulates in my stomach and I'd have to continuously hack up hair balls like a cat. Then again, how many calories does hair have? Probably less than dog poop, dirt and whatever else is breeding on the undersides of my shoes. Okay, I'll go with the hair. Good question.

Okaaaaaay, that about wraps it up! Random group of questions this week! Way to keep me on my toes! Keep the questions comin' for next week! Email your questions to and I'll solve any ol' problem you have. Unless it involves math.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Sofa King Amazing Find

Where do I begin? Well, I knew this morning that I would be potentially moving a couch today. So I put on nice red pants, a white shirt and super high wedges in preparation. Liz agreed to meet me after work in the hopes of finding the perfect, cheap couch. She's an interior designer so I trust her implicitly. She even agreed to leave work an hour early so we could make the medieval-times hours of a furniture store that I was sure would be the hottest spot.

We get to the store. We do not find the couch. Luckily, we were driving around in Liz's red convertible Volkswagen beetle so the trip to the second...and third store was quite pleasant in the beautiful weather.

We found nothing. As a last result, we hit up IKEA. I have been there a bajillion times lately and never found a couch I liked that was in my super-low price range. But, we figured, two heads are better than one. And Liz's head is 10 times better than mine, so we couldn't lose.

Blah blah blah...lots of cool products at IKEA. We made it through the showroom and the bottom level of decor with nothing. Finally, we check out the As Is section. It's all the broken, incomplete or dirty products. Sounds a lot like me!

Well GUESS WHAT. We end up finding a couch! For LESS THAN what I almost bought a used couch full of cat hair for. It was 45 percent off and I didn't even stop to figure out what made this gem such a steal. I just decided I needed it. Now. We learn that the As Is section is very demanding. Sure, we could buy it. But we had to move it out that day...they wouldn't hold it for us.

Did I mention we had arrived at IKEA in a convertible Volkswagen beetle? 'Cause we did. (Um, in hindsight, it would have been impossible to pick up a couch ANYwhere with a two-door car.)

Could we drive real slow and balance the couch on the back? No. Could we disassemble it? Shockingly, no. We had to call for reinforcements. We called my mom, my sister, a couple of my friends who have cars larger than a beetle. No one could help. No one, that is, except Kim.

Kim's boyfriend has a pickup truck. He works at night though, so access to his truck was questionable. But we had nothing to lose. I called Kim.

"Hey Kim, I love you and you are beautiful. What are you doing tonight?"
"Hey Pharon. You're weird. I'm at Home Depot."
"Really? Where?"

IKEA is in Bloomington.

"Really, Kim??? Any chance you have access to Brandon's truck?"
"Yeah, I'm using his truck tonight to move some tiles for my mom."

Freak. Out.

Long story short, Kim arrived at IKEA like a knight in shining Michael Kors. The three of us girls hauled the couch into the bed of the truck, made minimal efforts to secure the couch which was too long and sagged off the end of the open tailgate just a bit, and we were off. Liz crammed all the cushions in her tiny car and we met back at my place.

Cut to my apartment. There are approximately 100 corners I never realized existed in my building until I in my wedges and Kim in her white pants tried to maneuver a COUCH into an ELEVATOR. More than once, Liz helpfully called out "PIVOT! PIV--AHHHT!" Like they do on Friends. Me doubled-over laughing was not helping.

We FINALLY get the couch - which somehow now weighed approximately 563 gajillion pounds - into my apartment. All of a sudden it looked ENORMOUS. Liz was all "Pharon, you can't put a couch in the middle of a room full of boxes and expect it to look right. You have to move stuff."

Fine. I'll move stuff. Tomorrow. Before Kim and Liz could escape, I ripped open the slipcover. (I had to run all the way back through the IKEA showroom to get the slipcover. I ruined Liz's vision by explaining I would not pay more for a slipcover than I did for the couch, so we agreed on the cheapest one a different color before running BACK down to monitor our purchased sofa.) I wanted to slip that baby on posthaste.

It was like pulling my brother's toddler-sized Hot Wheels shirt over my post-college body. I gave up. I felt bad making Liz and Kim hang around while I sweated and panted my way through an event that was sure to be unpleasant, so I called it a night. Kim left to curse my name while Liz and I unwinded with a glass of wine at Claire's.

The point is: I GOT A COUCH. My apartment is (nearly) complete! And it looks GREAT!

Yaaaaaaaaaaaay! Tomorrow, I'll put the cover on, I swear. And I'll move all the stuff around it to make the place a little less, um, horrifying. Looks good, doesn't it?!

Monday, June 11, 2012

And the gloves come off...

Yay! Internet! Full-sized keyboard! Looooooove it! Yeah, I got my key to the information superhighway today, so I've been speeding my way through craigslist and IKEA like nobody's business. I wish I had super clever things to talk about now that I don't have to fix all the crappy autocorrect on my phone every 2 seconds. I have nothing.

I worked, went to the gym and generally went about my day like it was the same as every other. Well, without a couch. But hopefully I can remedy that soon. Anyhoozle, I'm settling in to the new place. I have already left my pants, sweatshirt and keys in the middle of the floor, so I'm feeling more at home.

Oh! Wait! One thing DID happen that was Caaaarazy Interesting. So, I do this thing after kickboxing that makes me feel super cool. I have a gym bag, but I CARRY my boxing gloves so that everyone around me is super intrigued by the super cool chick with the boxing gloves. Is she scary? Is she strong? Could I take her in a fight? Is she as cool as she looks?

Okay, so I just like to show everyone that I'm a force to be reckoned with. I figured I should DEFINITELY display my aggressive fitness in my new place, being that I'm here alone. "Dude, did you guys see the new girl on Six? SHE BOXES. WE SHOULD GET TO KNOW HER AND INVITE HER TO DO FUN THINGS WITH US."

So, I'm on the elevator, flaunting my gloves to no one, when a dude and his girlfriend get on. Uh, SUPER interesting side note? He is also the same guy Geo and I saw carrying a Settlers of Catan game one night. Needless to say, I want to be invited to HIS parties most of all. Anyway, they get on, and he says...

"Wow, you box? I gotta ask...where is there a studio around here?" 

Ah ha, young grasshopper. Yes, I - the n00b - will tell YOU - the veteran resident - where in this neighborhood you can box. "Oh, I go to the Southdale Y. But I used to train at Wolf Studios in Eden Prairie."

The funny thing here is that my "training" consisted of 10 classes I got from a Groupon. He doesn't need to know that, though. Rookies don't OWN their own gloves, after all. Well, I mean, THIS rookie does. Whatever.

He was all "The Y? Really? Are they any good there?" I almost said, "How should I know? I've only been to like 6 classes, and I've missed the last 2 weeks." Instead, I said "Yeah, the Monday night class is awesome, but the instructor is moving to Florida and the new chick isn't nearly as good." This is ALL information I gathered from my class tonight.

Okay, so I set myself up as a pro. Mistake. Because then he was like "Is it co-ed?" I was like "Yeah! There were like 5 guys there tonight." He was all "Nice, I should check it out!"

If that ever happens, and he DOES go to the class, he will learn several things.

1) I may not be there
2) If I AM there, I'll be sweating and panting by the time I'm done stretching
3) I am not a real boxer
4) No one in the entire CLASS is a "real" boxer

He will find out I'm a glove-carrying fraud. I just hope he still invites me over sometime for Settlers...I DEFINITELY know what I'm doing there.

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Home (not so) Sweet Home

So I'm sitting here alone in the new pad. No Internet yet, so get over the inevitable typos because I have to use my phone.

Okay so I'm drinking milk from my Kate Spade wine glasses, enjoying my view. It's lovely except I'm sitting in an uncomfortable computer chair because I haven't found a stupid couch yet.

Geo and I went to check out a sofa we found on Craigslist. It was the exact one I want from IKEA so I was ready to fork over some cash. We get to this sketchy house and meet a surprisingly normal chick and her baby. Then we see the couch.

Looked like the same one! Cute, white and wait...IS it white?? It was covered in cat hair and dirt on the tops of the cushions. Ew. She helpfully suggested that I could buy a new slipcover but that would cost another $100 and I may as well just buy a new couch at that point. So, we didn't get it. Thus, the computer chair.

Oh, and you know how I mentioned that I was sitting in this computer chair in my apartment ALONE? Yeah, that's because Geo left tonight for his two-week internship at Mayo. Even though he claims he told me dozens of times, I was very caught off guard when as soon as he finished UNpacking, he started RE-packing.

So, so far it's been a little rough in the new pad. After Geo left, I actually just went over to Claire's and hung out all night. She thought she was rid of me...sucker.

Great. Now it's starting to storm. Good thing I have a spectacular view of the freaky lightning!! Well, hopefully I'll be writing from my own computer tomorrow night! If I'm sitting on a couch while writing too, that'd just be TOPS. Wish me luck!

P.S. Super. Now I can't watch TV because the storm is jacking up the satellite. Beautiful.

Thursday, June 7, 2012


I can't find my computer. I can't find a change of clothes. I CAN find my toothbrush, but let's not kid ourselves. I'd rather have my computer. Anyway, my plan was to spend tonight in my new pad, but I couldn't quite get my act together in time.

So, as I've moved 98 percent of my stuff, I'm working with the barest of essentials.

Instead of spending time blogging tonight, though, I'm going to soak up the DirecTV and ample access to puppies. I've spent the past week working all day then coming home to pack, lift, then unpack stuff all night. I'd like to take a freakin' break, forcryinoutloud!

Okay, so yeah. I'll be back on Sunday night. I won't have Internet until Monday, so results may vary.

Oh, hey, and if your have any furniture/toasters/coffee tables/small, thin TVs/storage blocks that you don't want, give them to me!!! I'll write a glowing response to you in my blog! Hooray! FAME! (Ugh. I'm pathetic. Or thrifty?? Let's go with thrifty.)

Wow, I need to sleep. Have a great weekend and give me all your stuff.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Dear Sleepy, I mean Crabby

Okay, moving is very tiring. And Perek and Geo did most of the heavy lifting, so my only excuse is that I did A LOT of moving very light boxes. Regardless...I'm tired. But, the questions to Dear Crabby don't stop for moving. So, I've chosen some at random and will be very succinct in my helpful advice.

Dear Crabby,
Do you think the recent increase in human-flesh-eating events is a sign of the Zombie Apocalypse? 

Hey Brains,

Dear Crabby, 
What would you do if your friend's ex asked you out on a date? My best friend went out with a guy for like a few weeks, but they didn't click. Last week, he texted me to see if I wanted to grab a drink. I really like him and we have a lot in common, but it's still kind of weird. Do you think I should just go for it?
Muchas gracias,
To Date or Not To Date


Dear Crabby,
Is there a right or wrong way of tricking your guy into getting you knocked up? My husband refuses to admit that we are ready for kids and I really want to start our family! I have known other women who have tried some methods to get pregnant without their guy being aware - you know, like not taking their Pill, compromising the quality of prophylactics, etc - and now they are super happy! Do you have any ideas for how I can proceed? What do you think he'll say if I DO get pregnant? 
Any help you can give would be great! :)
Hot Mama

Dear Hot Mama,

Well, there we go. I'm pretty sure I've been more helpful than usual. Maybe less is more when it comes to helpful hints for my lovely readers. If you, for some STRANGE reason, think I could have possibly left something out this week, jot your thought (rhyme!) in the comments. Otherwise, as always, send your questions to and I'll do my best to help you out of whatever mess you've managed to get yourself into. Good luck out there... 

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Moving Day 1: Smashing Success (Or Not)

Night one of moving? Dunzo. Geo and I made impressive time taking two carloads of my crap, er, I mean, priceless possessions, into my new place. I unpacked and put away two things: a case of beer for Geo and Perek because they will be moving a bunch of my big stuff tomorrow, and my Kate Spade glasses. Wine glasses! Coffee mugs! How I've missed my dear, dear friends! So yay. The moving has begun. Was it pretty? So

It started with me sweating and red-faced at my desk at work. Geo texts and is all "Hey, mind if I play golf until 4:30 or so?"


In real life I wrote, "That's fine."

Typical chick...passive aggressive, but accommodating. Anyway, I wiped the sweat from my brow and figured "Play your golf today, little man, but after that? YOU'RE MINE." Then he came back at me with "Tomorrow, your brother and I are going to move all the big stuff so you can organize your clothes and shoes or whatever. And I'm bringing your bathroom stuff so you can get that set up. I know you love that kind of stuff."

Eeeee! I do!!!!!! If I weren't already planning to marry this guy, I'd start right now.

So yeah, he's awesome. But first we had to get through Night One of moving. I came home from signing my lease, changed into moving clothes and got to work complaining about how heavy everything is and how nothing will fit because I forgot how small the apartment is. He sighed - you see, he had already carried all the stuff I packed down from my upstairs room and up from the basement. With no complaints.

Okay, so we move box after box into my tiny car. He opened my trunk to discover I haven't exactly emptied that out since my LAST move. He's all "Well, we can't really use this." I could taste his disappointment.

On the two car trips to the new pad, Geo had 400 heart attacks. My driving skills deteriorate significantly when I can't see out of any of my windows, apparently. Finally - and safely! - we get to the apartment and start hauling stuff up. He was pleasantly surprised with my place, considering how much I'd been talking about how small it is.

So he did all the heavy lifting while I complained about how I didn't know whether to put wine glasses or food in my cupboards. Then I complained about how sweaty he was and he decided to break up with me go get dinner.

Was tonight a success?  Sure. If "success" means getting all my non-essentials to an apartment while Geo toes the line with cardiac failure.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Let's go back...waaaaaaay back

Hey snerds! What. Is. Up. I have two quick shout outs I need to give. I got some calls in to the hotline during the Top 40 hour, apparently. Anyhoozle, HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELINE! It was her bday this weekend and I was SUPPOSED to go celebrate with her in Illinois, but I guess I'm just too busy not being fun. But she is the bestest and I hope she has a lovely year!

Secondly, if you guys have been paying any attention at all to the comments on this blog, you've no doubt made a Grandmaman sighting. She's my grandma and she rules. Hard. She has been following my blogging hijinx since day one, and NOW? Now she's on Facebook, dudes! Yay! Welcome to hours and hours of wasted time.

Speaking of radio shows (I was, I swear...check the first paragraph about the shout outs) I have come to a horrible, terrifying realization. If you live in the Twin Cities, you have probably flipped to a station that used to be hardcore hip-hop. Then, one day, it was suddenly all Gin Blossoms and Sublime. I was like 10 minutes into my ride home from work when I decided it was the greatest station ever. Hits from the 90s? Yes please!

Then it hit me. It's an oldies station.

Sure they TRY and cover it up by calling them "retro hits" and "all-time favorites" but I know what they mean. They mean "These songs are for people who are too old to have an MP3 jack in their car and don't know how to use an iPod." I don't have an MP3 jack. And usually my rides home consist of listening to financial planning seminars on CDs.

For shame, Pharon...FOR SHAME.

On the night that Geo came home, we went bowling and I belted out the words to approx 13 songs in a row - many by Her Majesty Alanis Morissette - before realizing they were playing Hits from Forever Ago. Geo was helpfully all "Wow, you sure know all the words to these songs I've never heard of." And I was all "Don't have a cow, man."

Part of me is devastated. Like, really really devastated. But the other part of me is like "UM, SCUSE!? Who DOESN'T love Offspring and No Doubt?! Just because they are old doesn't mean they suck. GUH!"

Ohmygod. Is THAT what "an oldie but a goodie" means!?

I used to have a roommate who was much younger than me. She started out pretty cool but then she turned into a mayjah beyotch. She started asking me if I had grey hair and then claimed she didn't know what My Little Pony was. Hey, lady? EVERYONE knows what My Little Pony is. Anyway, she was just rude in the way that she wanted me to KNOW that she's too young to rent a car. So, yeah, she kind of sucked. But I remember distinctly the first day when I was all "Ugh, that chick has no manners. KIDS TODAY." Then I cranked up some Barenaked Ladies and put on some white eye liner.

Well, that's it. I better quit this blog and start handwriting letters to various political pundits to express my dissatisfaction with the Pony Express.

Sunday, June 3, 2012

Bag Lady

I have a problem. Despite HOURS of packing and cleaning this weekend, I seemed to have missed the point. I took a break from throwing away loads of stuff while packing to go out to the mall to Buy More Things. Stupid stuff, too. (I'm not a millionaire, so my shopping sprees are limited to the Dollar Tree and whatever kiosk strikes my fancy in the mall.)

A periodic shopping spree of makeup and accessories and shoes wouldn't be so bad if I hadn't just spent literally HOURS throwing away ridiculous amounts of makeup, accessories and shoes I have accumulated through the years.

See, while Geo hung out watching TV, he listened as I grunted and sighed in my closet going through a bunch of boxes I had forgotten about. I was unpacking boxes from last year and would then just throw all that crap away. Suddenly, I burst out laughing and carried a box into my room. Geo's all "What's so funny?" And I'm all "I should be embarrassed to show you this, but whatever."

I opened the box and found...bags. A whole box of bags. Sure, there were also a few hair ties, a couple, eh hem feminine products, and a thing of vitamins that expired in 2010. But mostly, it was a substantially large moving box full of tote and shoulder bags.

Geo called me a  hoarder. Rude.

I then opened one of the bags inside the box and found like 50 travel-sized shampoos, conditioners, lotions and bars of soap. They were from Puerto Vallarta, which I haven't been to in like 3 years.

Ohmygod, I AM a hoarder.

So, to deal with the anxiety of learning of my hoarding, I went shopping. What can I say? The urge to buy shoes and a giant gold costume watch beat out the embarrassment of my box of bags of toiletries.

Oh sweet gravy, and then I just found this.

THAT, my friends, is a BAG OF BAGS. Not even like cloth totes or backpacks. Nope. Just one shopping bag full of other shopping bags. It's hard to show how impressive - or, well, I guess it's UNimpressive - the stack of bags actually is. But trust that there are plenty of mementos from my mall escapades. And hey! Three of those bags are new additions from this weekend...Ugh. You're right. You're all right. I'll throw them away with everything else. 

It's not like I can't just start a new stack this weekend...I have to do plenty of shopping for the new pad! IKEA, The Container Store, Home Depot? Yay! Not to mention the inevitable DSW bag I'll have because I needed to get some cute new Moving Day shoes. You can't hoard in any ol' shoes.