Stand Up

In continuing the Week of Only Comics, Geo and I went out with some awesome pals to see some stand up. Yup. More comedy. It's no laughing matter, people. I fully intend to continue to bask in the glory of other people's hysterical poignancy until it becomes so ingrained that Lorne Michaels calls me to run the latest sketch by me.

But hey, here's a fun fact: Probably the hardest thing a person could ever do is stand on a stage and tell jokes. Jokes that have, for all intents and purposes, gotten the "go-ahead" from friends and family. Then you stand up on a stage in front of a room of strangers and tell those jokes. And because your non-funny or a$$hole friends suck, you fail miserably.

If you're a truly funny person, you recover semi-successfully. If you're a bad comedian, you take it out on your audience. It's just SOOOOOOOOOOOO much like life, right?!

Whatever.  


Here's the thing: watching people bomb on stage tonight took me on my own painful journey back to fifth grade. I sat next to my friend Sara (that's right, no H) and failed miserably at reciting a poem about cicadas. It's my own fault, really. I was so sure I'd dominate that public access cable performance, because I had TOTALLY nailed my "Straight Up" by Paula Abdul routine at the talent show earlier that month. I couldn't lose.

Ugh. But I LOST. Like, blank-stare, red-faced LOST. Instead of taking the cues from my parents and teachers behind the Channel 185939 camera, I just froze. Staring into the deep lens of failure.

So when the comedians bombed on stage tonight, I didn't just NOT want to respond. I wanted to foster their bravery and courage. I laughed 50 times as hard for the bad jokes as I did for the truly hysterical bits.

Am I robbing these kids of honest feedback? Probably. However, much like my parents during my Cicada Serenade, I couldn't just sit idly by and watch someone fail miserably at life.

After fighting through a few painful and depressing comics, though, I was paid off in spades. The show we went to featured Josh Sneed, who was seriously one of the best acts I've seen lately. It was surprising and fun and not at all the "deer-in-headlights" routine I'm most familiar with on a personal level. I laughed, I thought, and then I bought a T shirt and CD after the show. He was good people, you guys.

Anyway, I'm tired and not feel at ALL funny after the show tonight. The point is: Go see some stand-up. You could be pleasantly surprised, and then horribly disappointed in your own sense of humor. But mostly, you'll laugh and have a good time and forget that you are a no-name blogger...or whatever. :)

Most Random Post of All Time

So, I was sitting here quietly thinking of what to write tonight when Geo handed me a hairbrush he found in the couch cushions. He handed it to me with a look of disgust on his face, like I'm some kind of insane pack rat. I took it from him and sneered in his general direction. Lots of people brush their hair on the couch and then tuck the brush in between the cushions. GUH! Then I tried to brush his chest hair, because it's thicker than the hair on my head. He got mad and swatted the brush out of my hand.

Yeah. So that was fun.

My point is that very few exciting things happened today. I worked, watched the Olympics, went shopping with my mom and Prinna, bought some kid's sized Tom's shoes (saved 50% boyeeeeee!) and just had a very great day. Then I came home and tried to brush Geo's chest hair. Normal.

Geo just asked me what I was writing about, and I said "I'm writing about brushing your chest hair." He said "Why? That's really weird. Maybe don't write about that." And I pressed, "Well, is it WEIRD or do you not want me to write about it?" He's all "I mean, it's just really weird."

Too late. I already wrote it. And I just did not have the energy to make a full post about how much it rules that I can wear kids' shoes. I mean, seriously. It's the only children's clothing item that is appropriate for adults to wear. Pants? Shirts? Dresses? No, grown ups can't - or SHOULDN'T, rather - wear any of those items. Too much glitter and floral details. So yeah. In yo face, everyone who doesn't have toddler-sized feet. 

But really the big event was getting on Geo's nerves. I thought it was hilarious. We only have a couple more weeks of this important one-on-one time together before he moves back to Alabummer. And I'm sure at some point, he will look back over this night and be like "What a hilarious and fun-loving girl I've got." That, or he'll be like "It's so awesome that Pharon can wear kids shoes. We'll save so much money on shoes and we can spend MORE on chest hair brushes."

Unfunny Business

I guess it all started with an N'Sync concert. I was in high school, and I had nothing but earnest pseudo-confidence. I went with two girl friends and we spent 5 1/2 weeks getting ready. On the big night, we were on our way to the concert at Target Center. I was in a very carefully chosen outfit of leopard-print pants and a black tube top. I was SURE that I would meet the band and they would ask me to go on tour with them as their personal form of comic-relief.

Shocker! It didn't happen. My friends Tara and Julie and I ended up back at my parents house, no more famous or connected than we were 5 1/2 weeks ago. It was a disappointment, to say the least.

I have always had this firm belief that all I needed was a CHANCE and I would befriend my celebrity heroes. One concert. One meeting. One SOMETHING and I would be able to touch the sun. In the form of celebrities.

Now, sdkjfiwoeit years later, I found myself in the exact same position for disappointment. I bought tickets to see Comedy Bang Bang weeks ago. It's my favorite podcast of all time and now they were doing a live show in MY CITY. I have become this weird groupie of comics, the likes of which have never been seen before. Remember the post when I actually TALKED about being obsessed with comedians? Yeah. So when I heard they were doing a live show in Minneapolis, I changed my pants 5 times before I calmed down. And Tonight. Was. The. Night.

I spent all day thinking about the show. I woke up early, laughing. I spent my afternoon watching stand-up comics and old TV shows that featured CBB favorites. I was READY. I was all "I'm pretty sure there is no way that I won't meet these guys. They are IN MY CITY. I will be in the SAME ROOM as the people I just totally pee my pants over." I picked the most obnoxiously bright shirt I have - florescent yellow, FYI - so I was sure to snatch the attention of my idols.

Geo and I met up with Perek and his wife and our friend Mitch and his fiance Valerie. We were ALL psyched. We watched the 2 hour show, doubling over with laughter. I was careful not to heckle or be obnoxious. I wanted to meet these guys and not have them be afraid of/annoyed by me. So I played it cool.

Too cool.

After the 2 hour show, EVERY SINGLE PERSON I WAS WITH left immediately. We had all had too much beer and not enough bathroom breaks. (The theme of this post is, apparently, peeing.) I, like a grown up, went and stood in line for the bathroom after the show. I heard the comics say "We'll be over to the side to say hello to everyone after the show."

Natch, I cut my allotted pee-time short. I locked it up halfway through just so I could get back out and meet these guys. As soon as I got out of the bathroom, though, all my so-called friends HAD LEFT. These supposed "fans" of the podcast couldn't wait 20 minutes to meet the people who make us all laugh hysterically for 90 minutes every week. I found Geo, who HAD to wait for me. I said "What happened? Where is everyone?" He was all "They had to pee so they left." I looked, confused, at the public bathrooms at our disposal and then looked, longingly, at the line of people waiting to meet MY as-yet-unknown-to-them best friends. I could tell immediately by his body language that I would not be able to talk Geo into waiting in line to talk to them. And I really did need a stupid ride home.

So, we left. And like the N'Sync concert, I returned home deflated. No different than before I put on my metaphorical leopard-print pants or florescent yellow shirt.

Sure, I had laughed. And I laughed HARD. But I just felt so incomplete when we left. I was thisclose to having a conversation with people I really want to bribe into being my friends. I had even brought cash and pictures of my prettiest friends. But, here I am. Sitting with Geo. Watching the news, which is NOT about me becoming a local hero for being friends with some of the most talented comics. Ugh. So not funny.

The Future (and Demise) of a Marriage

Here is the conversation that is happening right now. Geo and I are discussing the amount of times he'll be able to come home after he goes back to school. Everything was going well until this.

Me: Oooh, good. You'll be back for a month in December! You know what that means?!

Geo: INDOOR GOLF

Me: No. Wedding planning.

Geo: Listen, I've got to get a lot of training in if I'm going to get on the Senior PGA Tour.

Me: ..............

Geo: Yeah.

Me: [To the non-existent audience to my right] Are you guys HEARING this right now?

Geo: What? 

Me:  I mean, this isn't a REAL thing, is it? If it were real, I'd, like, support you. Emotionally. But this better not be a real thing. How old do you have to be to even GET on the Senior tour?

Geo: Oh, it's real. You have to be 50 to get on the tour. So, I've got 20+ years to become a professional...well, to practice. Then retire. 

Me: Retire from what?

Geo: My job.

Me: Oh, so you'll have another job. That's good. Um. Okay...let me write this down.

Geo: Then I'll just qualify for the Senior PGA Tour. 

Me: Right. Sounds easy enough. Then what?

Geo: Well, then I'm just going to ball out. And then I'll make, um, well, generally I'll just make more than I've ever made in my whole life. 

Me: Uh huh...

Geo: Yeah, I'll travel the world golfing, make a lot of money. Of course, I'll be paying for my kids' college [ed. note: Yeah, OF COURSE], and then I'll just be living it up...Tiger Woods style.

Me: [stifled laughter] OMG, hold on...slow down. I can't type this fast.

Geo: No, don't put that in there. Not THAT kind of Tiger Woods style. You know what I mean.

Me: Anything else you want to share with me [and my audience]?

Geo: No. Are we clear?

Me: Yeah. Cool. 

Geo: I told you...all I do is hit home runs.

Um. Yeah. So....what just happened? 

Dear Crabby

Hey guys. Let's just get down to bidness tonight, shall we? I'm sleepy and I got a harsh reality check that Geo is only here for three more weekends, so I'm exhausted AND super bummed. Yeah. So, let's just get on with bigger problems.

Dear Crabby,
I recently left my husband of over 6 years. We have a daughter together, and she's awesome and I have full custody. My career has kind of re-surged since I left him, because he's kind of known as a nutjob. Should I feel bad that I have enjoyed nothing but success since filing for divorce? He's older and I don't know how he'll recover.
Thanks, Miss Crabby,
J. Potter

OH. MAH. GAH.
Joey Potter, is that you?! You're not fooling anyone, Katie Holmes! I say you should NOT feel bad. Have fun being back in the warm embrace of sanity, Catholicism and New York. Mr. Cruise will bounce back...he always does. I say move on and maybe shack up with James Van Der Beek or Joshua Jackson or something. Either way, welcome back to the real world!!!

Dear Crabby,
So, ugh. I'm, like, in REAL big trouble here. It's just that....guhhhhhhhh...I just, like, totally made a mistake and, like, CHEATED on my charming, British boyfriend. We've been in some projects together, you know? And everyone, like, totally always thought, like, we were...you know...like a THING. But I'm just, like SO against the Hollywood scene that I, ughhh, didn't want to, you know, like, fall victim to that. I'm just a regular, whiney, expressionless chick, right? But, egghghhgh...I just like totally made a mistake and shacked up with the, you know, the director of my latest project. It's like, you know, SO CLICHE. But on top of the SHAME over being, like, so totally predictable, I just TOOOOTALLY hurt the only person who could ever, like, stand my scrunchie face and horrible habit of like, just squeezing my head. What, like can I DO to get this guy to, you know, like NOT leave me alone in the abyss that is fame? 
Thank you - or whatever,
I Have No Emotion/Heart 


Ugh. Gee, IHNE/H,
You sound like a treat. Just kidding, you sound like a major beyotch. I know what you did, K-Stew, and now you are just another Hollywood chick who complains all the time about not being taken seriously and then bangs the director - WHO IS MARRIED, BTW! I mean, I knew you couldn't act, but I didn't realize you were so UNCREATIVE! I hope Robert Pattinson leaves you - then again, British men have had their own share of embarrassing sexual encounters, so who knows? The only worse than your nasty behavior is the fact that you have acted in real life the way to "act" in movies - poorly and with zip charisma and charm. Good luck, lady. You'll, like, totally need it.

Dear Crabby,
Any advice for other newly-engaged women? I just got engaged after having, like, a billion children with my boyfriend. I'd like to really get into wedding shape a.s.a.p. because we are looking at having our wedding during the next full moon on Mars. Besides only drinking blood and filling up on my own ego, is there any other advice you'd give? Oh, and I'm also looking for a good dress style that suits my body and lifestyle. I'm a vampire who steals babies and tattoos my body with proof of all the souls I've stolen. Thoughts?
Mchisy Gorwsin (Or "Thank you" in my native Martian language)
Princess Skeletor

Dear Princess Skeletor,
You creep me out. My suggestion is to let Brad Pitt out of your evil web of mind-control and move to Moldova or some other place that may or may not be a real place. As long as I don't have to see you, I don't care what you do. Just leave Mr. Pitt behind...he used to be pretty hot, if I'm remembering him correctly from his pre-molester-facial hair phase.

Aaaaaaaand cut! Exit stage left, blah blah blah. I think we've really helped some people here today, you guys. If you "regular people" have any "regular problems," go ahead and send your questions to pharonsquare@gmail.com. Fin.

Unsolicited Advice

To all of my loved ones who are thinking of getting married at any point in your lives:

ELOPE.


That is all. You're welcome.

It’s a date!

Mark your calendars to crash the wedding of the century, dear Squares! I, I mean WE, have finally set a date to eat red velvet cake! By that, I of course mean that Geo and I have set a date for the wedding! This time next year, I will be stress eating and screaming at all my loved ones to stop ruining My Day. Which won’t be for another 5 days. Do the math, geniuses. The Date of The Century is July 27, 2013!

Here’s how it all shook out. I had been in tears numerous times trying to figure out a venue. People are all “Pick a date! Pick a date!” And I’m all “Shut the yap! Shut the yap!” See, people don’t just PICK A DATE and then la la la everything works out. No. You have to find a PLACE that can hold the right amount of people with the right food and the right site and the right ambiance with the right amount of parking and hotel accommodations and will not bankrupt you so hard that your unborn kids‘ credit scores are affected…and then you have to HOPE that they have a weekend available.

Then, if you’re getting married in a church (which I totally am because Jesus is my Homeboy…ha!) you have to HOPE…no, now you have to PRAY…that the church is available on the same date that the perfect venue is available.

When and if these stars align, that is your date. That date, whatever it is, is your date. You might not have chosen it, but it’s yours forever.

Okay, so I’ve been in this little battle with everyone around me. I have elaborate spreadsheets with 30 rows of the venues I’ve toured/contacted/emailed as well as 11 columns dedicated to various pros and cons. I was generating all this information in the hopes of finding the perfect site. Meanwhile, everyone in my family and Geo had already kind of picked a spot. I only figured it out myself this weekend.


I was all “Hey! What about Hazeltine? That would be amaze balls!” And Geo was all “Yeah, that’s been my favorite all along. It’s the best, and the most logical place.” And I was all “Exsqueeze me? Why didn’t you tell ME that?” And he said:

“Pharon, you don’t do well with other people’s logical suggestions. We have to wait for you to get there yourself.”

Oh ma gah…rude. And so so so so so true.

Okay, so then I spent a good 45 minutes drawing up a pretty elaborate PowerPoint presentation (complete with color bursts, logo placement, voice balloons and bullets - OMG, how uptight am I!?) explaining my decision so that I could present it to my parents. They have the final say, after all and I really wanted to sell it. Geo and I went to my parents’ house tonight and presented the big plan. The venue: On hold. The church: On hold. The fire-juggling mimes: On hold. My parents: ALL IN.

They loved the plan, I loved the plan, Geo loved the plan. It was finally time for me to pat myself on the back and archive the spreadsheet and PowerPoint. I called my sister Padrin, who is my Maid of Honor, to tell her the great news.

I was all “Padrin! FINALLY! Picked a spot and a date!” She said “AWESOME! When is it?” And I said “July 27.” And she said “OMG, Pharon! No! We have that festival! It’s the last weekend of every July and Rachel [my niece] isn‘t allowed to miss it!”

I love my sister and my niece too much to have this kind of fun without them. So I was crushed. I realized too late that this is the kind of information I should have ASKED about before booking an entire wedding myself, willy nilly-style. I guess I had assumed everyone was just going to block of June-December of next year until I picked my day.

Great. Not only am I uptight and refuse to accept other people’s logic, but now I’m already a Bridezilla. Superb. 

Could it (Fris)beeeee any hotter?!

Question: Do ANY of my friends read my blog?
Follow up question: If you do, have you COMPLETELY missed the blogs about me being in a lifelong fight with heat?! I mean seriously. There's this one, this one, this one, this one, this one and just so many others. the point is, I have made it perfectly clear to everyone that this lady doesn't do hot.

So you can imagine my surprise when Geo asked me to go to an ultimate Frisbee game today. A bunch of his old teammates were in a huge match against college all-stars, and for once, he really wanted me to tag-along.

There were several things working against me from the very beginning on this adventure. Yes, I knew it was hot outside. I thought I could get through it with a dark blue sundress and little else. I was all "I got this..." The halter strings on the neck are just an eeeensy bit too short, so my neck is constantly flexed. I had forgotten alllll about that until I was in the car and like "Ugh, my neck hurts." Strike one.

We get to the fields and get out of the car. PUNCH! The very angry heat hit me in the face like a brick through a window. I was like "I can do this. I can do this. I just need a slight breeze to blow through at a constant speed and I'll be just fine." At that very second, the wind not only STOPPED, it somehow started sucking back up the air that I was trying to grasp into my lungs. It was a vacuum. A DYSON vacuum.

I told Geo I was too hot to sit still for the 45 minutes before the match even started. I took his car and drove to the gas station for water. Lots of water. And a popsicle. I parked back at the fields and just sat in the car. I had 4 vents of high-blast a.c. directly at my face. I was numbing my lips with the popsicle, with the cold water bottle resting on my legs. I thought, "Enjoy this moment, Pharon, because it will be your last enjoyable minute of the afternoon."

I was not wrong. See, the ultimate Frisbee community is a tight-knit group of people. Mentally, emotionally, but mostly physically. I sat in the stands with a couple hundred people who had no problem sitting close enough to each other to lick off their b.o. So, not only was I aggressively sweating, but I was tasting the sweat of everyone around me.

Also, I was definitely the ONLY NON-FRISBEE PLAYING PERSON IN THE CROWD. The guys were all inside-joke cheering, and the girls all sat in their Frisbee team outfits, glistening, not dripping, with perspiration. Oh, did I mention that they are all like 25? I suddenly felt very aware of my non-neon colored sunglasses and my general distaste for composting and ironic jean shorts. 

Around the hour mark of wiping off my sweaty forehead with the back of my sweaty hand, I started rethinking my priorities in life. What kind of man would bring me to the gates of hell and then insist on touching my sweaty back and ask repeatedly if I'm enjoying myself?! When Geo saw this wasn't helping, he tried another tactic. He'd say "We are three minutes away from the sun going down and being in the shade. Two minutes. Omg, we are halfway in the shade. WE ARE IN THE SHADE." That helped a lot because it gave me something to look forward to, other than meeting the devil.

The game ended, I had lost 45 pounds and all of it was pooled in the fabric of my uncomfortable dress, and I had nearly broken up with Geo 10 times out heat rage. But we made it back home, and spent the night inside, watching movies. And luckily, since the heat fried the part of my brain that keeps short-term memory, I was able to look back and decide that it wasn't so bad...although, something tells me Geo won't be inviting me to many more Frisbee matches...at least until September.

All I do is hit home runs

Geo has this saying. Every time he solves a problem, fixes something or something just works out in his favor, he always says, "Pharon. You know why this worked out? Because all I do is hit home runs." Things don't just fall into place for people the way they fall into place for Geo. Therefore, he has an inflated sense of his own capabilities. Tonight, though, I finally felt his same (false) sense of achievement.

I made it through a tough day today. I got some stressful emails and spent some time generally putting out fires. But AFTER work is when my batting average went up significantly.

I have been tearing my hair out trying to figure out a wedding venue. Geo and I went to a place tonight that I kind of had to fight for. Turns out? The place ROCKS. I even said "It's almost too good to be true." And Geo said "Sounds like someone hit a home run." I'm pretty sure he secretly thought it was his doing, but I know it was ALL me. 

Afterwards, I wanted something to do. Geo was going to some lame Investment Club meeting, so the world was my oyster. I texted Claire to ask her a quick un-fun related question. She responded that she was out of town, but was coming back tonight. She was all "Heeeey...is there ANY chance you would consider picking me up at the airport? I'd suuuupes appreciate it! I'll buy you a bottle of wine!" 

Now, it is important to note here that I was DESPERATE for something to do. 

So I was all "Ha! No need to buy a bottle of wine...how about a, uh, drink at Cafe Maude? I GUESS I would make that trade." I picked her up at the airport, had wonderful girl talk, sipped some wine at Maude and just generally enjoyed the cheering crowd of my latest home run.

The only thing that put my home run derby in jeopardy was the giant table of hipsters next to us at the restaurant. I was at the plate, ready to knock one out of the park and have a perfect night, when a kid with an ironic mullet ruined everything. His mom ate her steak "very well done" and was systematically distracted and had those giant holes in her earlobes that gross every other person in the world out - because HONESTLY! How long are your ears going to sag?! GNARLY. 

We sat there, trying to ignore the mullet kid and his evil parents, when Claire said "OMG, mullet kid has a glitter-pink hair tie in his mullet. His life is ruined." We toasted each other over hating hipsters when Claire nearly spit wine through her nose. "OMG, the mullet kid is NOT the same kid as the glitter hair tie kid!" I looked to the left and saw that there were two kids, with identical mullets, sitting next to each other. Then Claire stole my thunder and hit the final home run of the night.

Stewing over the most unfortunate Bobbsey twins ever, I made some amazing jokes, gave Claire a link to an amazing website (Look at this f*#&ing hipster) and was generally pleased with myself. Then Claire got quiet for a second. She looked at the hair tie kid and said "Oh. My. God. Mullet #2 is a GIRL." Then the girl turned and looked RIGHT AT CLAIRE. Instead of getting quiet and feeling bad, Claire looked right at the kid and said to me "Yeah, I'm like pretty sure that kid with a mullet is a girl."

You know why that's a home run? Because she reality-checked a PRETEEN. Claire and I decided that those kids had no chance of living normal lives if they were surrounded by hipsters. Yes, it was harsh. But you know what? Someone needs to intervene. There were fake glasses, ironic suspenders and nonsensical neck tattoos all around this young, impressionable girl. It was probably time she realized that not EVERYONE force-mullets people for the sake of being a spectacle. In fact, some people just like cool things and enjoy not looking like idiots in public.

It's not as bad as it sounds. I realize, now that I'm writing it down, it doesn't make us look too good. But rest assured, we may have saved a life today. It's like Katie Holmes divorcing Tom Cruise, which was a definite WIN against Scientology. We may have freed a young girl from the confines of a ridiculous cult hell-bent on being idiots for the sake of being idiots. Home runs all around!

So, let's all get out there and hit home runs this weekend, alright?! Get 'em, team!

Dear Crabby - They're Baaaaack!

Eeee! I'm so excited! I've finally accumulated a few follow-ups from AWESOME previous Dear Crabby questions! I'll try to find the original posts to link to, but honestly? Tonight's Netflix is all about Louis C.K., so we'll see what happens. But I'm so excited to see how my brillz advice has affected people!

Dear Crabby,
So, awhile back I emailed you asking for some advice. I was told by a psychic that my heart was closed off and I was asking you what you thought about it all. Honestly, I didn't think your advice was helpful at all. But then a few months later, a friend of mine said something to me along the lines of "Why are you so worried about what other people think? Just breathe and go with your heart!" And I remember that you told me nearly the same thing. Except not as nice. I started making some conscious changes and gradually, things started looking up. I went back and read your response and it made me a little bummed that I didn't listen to you sooner. So, despite your efforts to downplay your smarts, I wanted to say thanks. I may not have FOLLOWED your advice, but I know now that it was right on.
Your New and Faithful Devotee,
Ouija Help Me Out Here?!
(Original question found here)

Well, well, well, OHMOH...
I really wanna rub this in yo' face, but I found myself genuinely pleased that your life is better because of me. Even though it wasn't DIRECTLY because of me. I was right. You were wrong. And that makes me happy. Fur reals, tho...I'm glad that your friend was able to knock some sense into you. Whoever he/she is sounds awesome and you should keep him/her around. And have him/her call me so he/she can start answering Dear Crabby's for me!

Dear Crabby,
Yeah, THANKS FOR NOTHING. Listen, I wasn't exactly expecting psychological expertise when I asked you a simple effing question. All I knew was that you seemed like a normal chick who had a bunch of roommates. When I ASKED you how to confront my smelly [expletive deleted] roommate, you gave me the most PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE [expletive deleted] answer ever. Really? Is that how you deal with problems? I've got some advice for YOU, honey. Grow a pair and stop giving other people advice.
Get Over Yourself,
Patchouli Problem
(Original question found here)


HEY THERE, PP,
DULY NOTED. Sheesh, you sound like a treat. I can't imagine why my advice to try and politely handle a touchy situation failed for you. Because, I mean, you sound AWESOME. And by "awesome" I mean "like the devil." You are  insane and rude and usually I dig those traits in people, but not when they are used AGAINST me. Calm the eff down, lady. You asked an anonymous blogger about how to deal with a hippie roommate. What did you want me to say? Set her patchouli stash on fire? Report her to the police? Dude, get a grip. My NON-PROFESSIONAL guess is that your smelly roommate ultimately moved out of living with YOU because you are a horrible person. Best of luck to you, you wretched, wretched person.

Dear Crabby,
So, I know sometimes you are looking for people to write back and let you know if your advice helped. And I don't know if you care or not, but I don't really think you gave me much of an answer when I initially wrote in last month. My boyfriend had broken up with me and I was really struggling with trying to get over it. On the one hand, I liked how you agreed with me that it was a hard thing to handle. And I even liked how you acknowledged that a break up can, simply, hurt a person's feelings. But then you just kind of left me hanging. You made a joke about living with cats forever and a pat on my head. Is that really considered "advice"? 
Thank you, Crabby, and I promise to still read! :)
Adele's Got Nothin' On Me
(Original question found here)


My dear reader,
I really do feel bad that I couldn't give you more of an answer. The truth is, though, NO ONE knows what to do after a breakup because they suck and they are hard. People gain 100 pounds, lose 100 pounds, have a bunch of one-night stands or never date again. There's no one answer. There's no one solution. So no, I guess nothing I said was technically "advice." I've been there before, lady, and I know that nothing anyone says TRULY helps the broken-hearted. Except John Mayer and Adele. Could you imagine these two collaborating on an album?! They could call "Let's all just slit our wrists now and be okay with it." So yeah, I dunno, AGNOM. It's hard now. But I promise it will get easier. Just hang in there, kitty! Keep me posted...for realsies!!

Um, so...what is that - a 33 percent success rate? I mean, that is GOOD, right? UGH, MATH! Granted, these are the only three who have written a follow-up, so it's hard to know how many lives I've changed and/or improved. I would LOOOOOVE it if more people wrote in and filled us all in how AMAZING I am. And if you're like good ol' Patchouli Julie up there (Question #2), at LEAST try and make your response a little more thoughtful, mmmkay? I give my answers at least 2 minutes of thought, so I'd really expect the same from a criticism. As a reminder, email all your thoughts, questions and critiques to me at pharonsquare@gmail.com. Good? Great? WONDERFUL!

Instant Queues and Switcheroos

Uh oh. Netflix is a part of my life now. I never had it before, but now that I have BASIC cable, I need my Futurama fix. Since Geo has a Netflix account, and what's his is mine basically, I'm stealing his. Cut to: Six episodes of The League later, and I'm a happy, happy girl. This is basically all to explain my short post tonight.

So I'm still adjusting to this whole "engagement" thing. I mean, sure, I super-adapted to the Netflix sharing, but mostly, I'm still figuring it all out. I DID have my first irrational spazz out today, which was...fun.

Remember the ring size debacle of 2012? Well, I got my ring back before my Girls at the Cabin weekend. I was scared that it was TOO small, though, and was freaking out that I'd lose my finger so I kept it off all weekend. After realizing I was being a titch insane, I got over myself and put it back on. And then? AND THEN.

I glanced down at my ring and saw it. EVIDENCE OF A SCAM. There was a small black smear on my otherwise perfectly sparkly Heart of the Ocean. I immediately starting sweating and swearing inside my head. (Sweating in real life, swearing was inside my head.)

Remember that Dateline special a billion years ago? (Don't worry if you don't...you can probably find it on Netflix because Netflix has EVERYTHING.) It was this undercover operation that went into jewelry stores and followed the not-so-shiny behavior that happened behind closed doors. There were people who took one ring from an unsuspecting lady to get sized, and then went in the back room, performed the ol' switcheroo and gave that same unsuspecting lady a totes different stone in her resized ring.

Listen, I have GAZED into my ring for days at a time. Never ONCE was there a black spot on it. I went insane in my head. I quick googled "HOW TO GET PROOF THAT SOME JERKWAD JEWELERS SWITCHED MY RING?" Yes, I googled it in all caps. I was hastily typing an angry letter to the corporate office before my rational brain caught up with my impulsive brain.

I checked out the smudge again. I looked up close, and far away. I closed one eye and then the other. Then I found a pipe cleaner that I inexplicably had at my work desk. I threaded the pipe cleaner onto the smudge. At first nothing happened and I briefly went back to spambombing the jewelry store customer service email.

But then the smudge came off. It was mascara. That's what I get for putting makeup on. And now, back to Netflix. Sorry.

Be a Good Sport

Ever since I was a kid, I loved some good ol' fashioned competition. Being one of five kids just makes you that way. My sisters and brothers and I were always competing. For food, to get out of chores, everything. Also, from a young age, I had no qualms about making an a$$ out of myself in public. One year, we went to Disney World. Enter: The Perfect Storm.

I must have been about 7 years old at the time. We were going into one of those places where you do karaoke in front of a green screen. The future is NOW! None of us were really into the whole idea, so my parents said "Whoever does the best, most animated job can sit in the front seat on the way back to the hotel." So, the five of us kids put on tacky Hawaiian shirts and took our place in front of the screen, each elbowing the other out of the way.

The song "Kokomo" came on. We all started swaying back and forth, bobbing to the music, scream-singing to show how animated we were. Peter mimed the lyrics, Padrin and Prinna did moves like the "Plug your nose and pretend you're going under water." But Perek? He was only about 4 at the time and couldn't read the words on the scrolling screen. So, he just kind of stood there, trying.


I, on the other hand, theatrically threw my arms out at the camera, begging for love and attention and shotgun. I urrrrged the music on, desperately pleading with that person filming us to fall in love with my charisma. I was, in a word, unbeatable.


Except, apparently, I WAS beatable. By the "I can't read but I'm cute and I tried hard" kid on my left. I. Was. Crushed. 

Now that we are adults, you would think that we have grown out of that competitive spirit. Not so, folks, not so. Earlier this year, some of the people in my family decided to try and shed some weight. Instead of encouraging each other, we decided to compete. For money. Lots of money.

Because nothing says "FAMILY" like cold hard cash.

Anyway, the competition started in like February. I was off to a quick start and was all "Yay! I'm healthy and eating right and getting out to the gym!" And then Geo moved back for the summer. HE was all "Yay! Let's only eat macaroni and pizza and go to movies instead of the gym!" In a word, the jerk sabotaged me.

I got an email from my sister today reminding everyone that there was only a month left. ONE MONTH to try and make my body forget the cushy love I've given it this summer, and instead try to make it crave water and gum and the gym, or whatever those nutball skinny people like.

I won't win. I really don't think it's possible. Part of me is like "Whatevs." And the other part of my is that 7-year-old, bowl-cut-having girl, reaching out and pleading to win. I guess I kind of owe it to her to at least TRY and get back on track.

Although, if Perek wins, I'm going to seriously freak the eff out.

Cabin Fever or Heat Stroke?

I'm the tiredest person in the world right now. I had an AWESOME weekend, though. I went to my parents cabin with a bunch of ladies and it was so insanely fun. Here's how the weekend started.

Yum. Okay, so yeah. We hung out, drank some wine cocktails, played games, drove around on the boat and laid out. It was everything a cabin weekend should be. And because there were no boys there, it was very relaxing. Then, on the way back into town, my sister-in-law Leah suggested that a few of us stop for pizza.

Leah and Kim and I, who all drove together, thought "Okay, fine. Let's quick stop for pizza." Leah had read about a place that was like 20 miles off the beaten path. On a farm. I was skeptical, as usual, because I don't like new things . Especially when it involves a farm.

But the sign looked nice enough.

Cute. I love a good ol' pink sign, and I was really excited to sit near a pond, eating some 'za and enjoying the day with friends. What we found was this.

Oh. So, it's like a FARM farm. Okay. Let's find this restaurant.

Oh. Okay. So, there's the "restaurant". Cozy...? I was swatting at a billion flies while we decided what to order. There were only about three options, but it was tough to decide, what with all the weird ingredients. Wood nettles? Watercress? WTF? I wanted a cheese pizza. With no manure or flies on it. Well, we order a pizza and the woman says "Okay, it'll be about an hour. Go walk around the farm or set up your blankets and chairs on the hill next to that pile of old tires."

One, we didn't bring the picnic supplies the website suggested, because we were all "Let's get it to go because we are so tired we really want to get home." Two, Kim and I had flip flops on and I didn't want to go strolling around the tall grass near the swamp, full of manure. I DO have standards, y'all. We didn't want to get rabies, so we stayed close.

Um, also...AN HOUR?! ONE FULL HOUR!? I texted Geo and said "We'll be home at never o'clock."

Now, I personally do NOT enjoy seeing where my food comes from. I don't want to see a cow standing in his own feces, covered in flies and then be all "Yum, can't wait to drink that milk!" Yuck. But Leah and Kim insisted that we walk to see the sheep we had passed on our way to the oven. Between the smell, the sights and the sounds of them feeding, I nearly hurled.

I got grossed out, so we went back to little pizza shanty and just sweat. Yeah, did I mention it was a gamillion degrees? You guys? It was the hottest I've ever been. My history of hating heat is well documented here and here. But it was SO hot out and there was no wind, no hint of relief in sight. It was MISERABLE. I was cranky, hungover, tired, and the flies were thicker than Jennifer Lopez's hair. At one point, I felt sweat drip all the way down from my neck, down my back, all the way down to my ankle and it sizzled as it slid onto the gravel ground. 


I'm sure Leah and Kim did NOT appreciate my constant whining. But I was so dehydrated, hot and sticky that the only thing that made me feel any better was to just talk about how dehydrated, hot and sticky I was. I asked Kim to spit on me for relief. She declined. Everyone else seemed to be enjoying the wind-free hell weather, and that was only making me angrier. 


One and a half hours later, I couldn't handle it. My shirt was soaking wet. My throat was so dry I was afraid that my vocal cords were going to spark like a match and start a fire inside my body. I didn't have the energy to complain any longer, so Leah and Kim told me to go sit in the car and turn on the air conditioning. They'd wait for the pizza. In peace and quiet. 


Well, almost an hour and 45 minutes after we ordered, we all get back in the car with out steaming hot pizza and were off. 


So, was it worth it, you ask? Was the pizza good enough to warrant going through Hades to get it?

I guess so!

Lost Cause Post

Hey, nerds. I got exactly zero things accomplished tonight. I was SUPPOSED to make a bunch of food and do a bunch of planning for my Super Fun Girlie Cabin Weekend (more on that later) but instead, I drank wine with Liz and did nothing of import.

You guys? I had a LIST. An entire LIST of things I need to buy and prepare. I even made a mental map of how I was going to most efficiently get through the grocery store, so that I still had time to finish the rest of my chores But I looked long and hard at that list before I was like "Ugh. This looks like work. What can I do instead of this?"

Enter: Liz.

SOMEhow, I got distracted by fun wine times with Liz. We had to chat about boys and clothes and stuff. I was trying my hardest to be like "Liz, I am very responsible and serious and not easily distracted. I have to get down to business." Then Liz was all "I"m coming over!" With Geo gone, it was an estrogen free-for-all in this place. And how is a girl supposed to say no to that?! She cannot.

So, here I am. The teeniest bit tipsy with no fancy foods to show for it. To all the ladies depending on me for sustenance this weekend, I'll just go ahead and apologize right now.

I feel, though, that I should give you guys some sort of super inspirational thing to get you through the weekend until I can discuss the Super Fun Girlie Cabin Weekend. Something, like, IMPORTANT.

Here it is: Rosebud.

Dear Crabby

Hey Squares. We need to go ahead with another "Yes or No" version of Crabby this week. I babysat until late tonight (am I 16 years old?) and am supes drained after entertaining a 6, 3 and 1 year old. My "lets give Pharon a massage and brush her hair while she half-a$$es her way through a shadow puppet show" isn't cuttin' it anymore. So, let's see what easy questions we've got in the mail bag this week...

Dear Crabby,
Do you think marijuana should be legalized? 
Thanks bro,
People Over Think How Evil All Drugs (Are)


Dearest POTHEAD (A),
Sure.
P.S. SO close with the clever name...SO close.

Dear Crabby,
Help! What's the best way to get red wine out of a dress?? FAST! I wanna wear it to a wedding this weekend, but forgot that I had "too much fun" at a wedding a few weeks ago and spilled all over myself! What should I do?
Hurry hurry hurry,
Out Damn Spot!


Hi, ODS!
Try this. You're welcome.


Dear Crabby,
Which do you think is scarier: a shark that can set fires and is an arsonist or a man on bath salts eating faces who also makes the world's best red velvet cakes?
On the edge of my seat,
Scaaaaary!


Wassup, Scaaaaary?!
The bath salts man. Definitely.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand that's a wrap. Good show, everyone. See you at the wrap party!! For those of you who still have questions that only I, a genius advice-giver, can answer, shoot an email through cyberspace to arrive in my the email inbox of one pharonsquare@gmail.com. Say word...

Old Home

Me: I miss living with Claire
Geo: She's a good friend.
Me: No, I REALLY miss living with Claire
Geo:...[plays on iPhone]

You guys? I miss living with Claire! For the first time since I moved away, I went back to Claire's house tonight while Geo golfed. I walked back into her house and smelled all the familiar smells and knew right where to find the paper towels. It felt more like home than where I live now. Is that bad?

We chatted about nothing. Seriously. We talked for like an hour about how nothing has changed. But, as the night went on, I realized how truly homesick I was. I wandered through my old room. Tracing my fingers across banisters and counters. Staring into familiar mirrors and reflexively ducking my head around the sloped ceilings.

About an hour in to my visit, we starting cooking with fire. We got into some deep conversations about our hopes and dreams for our relationships and life and weekends. It was the most refreshing conversation I've had lately. Not only did she NOT make fun of me for my irrational fear of not having enough appetizers for the upcoming cabin weekend, but she actually offered several solutions. YAY GIRL FRIENDS!

Anyway, I made a list of reasons why I miss living at Claire's house. Here we go:

 * Not one, but TWO bathrooms, guaranteeing privacy. As it is now, Geo hears every eyebrow-pluck. Every everything. I hate bathrooms.
* Claire HAS CABLE. I forced her to watch Comedy Central and FX because I don't have the luxury of hilarity.
* Not only could we scroll through a GUIDE telling us what was ON TV, but we never saw one commercial. NOT ONE. God bless DirecTV.
* When I made a casual comment about communism, Claire calmly and clearly explained to me what communism actually IS. She never once exclaimed "HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT COMMUNISM IS?!" She knew I knew, but wanted to enlighten me on how to best use it as an insult.
* We sat outside while she grilled dinner. There are two awesome things here. One? We SAT OUTSIDE. Birds chirped. Squirrels played in the trees. And the smoky scent of BBQ intoxicated everyone in a 50 yard radius.
* When I complained about what kickboxing was doing to my legs (making them stronger - and BIGGER) she gave me the kind of affirmation I had craved. She noticed my haircut. She asked me if I had lost weight. It was all the girlie affirmation I needed to come home and NOT eat cupcakes for dinner.
* Claire still listens to music from the 1940s. On records. I used to make fun of her, but then I texted Geo about a song he played me. I was all "RUDE! It's not on iTunes! How do I get it?!" And he was all "Ugh, it's a very complicated online download digital process."
* Not once was I judged when I wanted to watch terrible - and HILARIOUS - shows on Comedy Central. Read: Futurama
* At the end of the night, Claire offered me eyeshadows, lipshades and a turkey corndog for the road

So, I'm pretty sure I need to move back in with Claire.

Size Matters

Okay, so last summer, my brother Perek lost his wedding ring in the lake at my parents cabin and still hasn't found it. He even brought his scuba equipment out to find it, with no luck. So when we were there this past weekend, I kept having these visions of my engagement ring drifting down into the murky depths and I just took it off for the whole weekend. I decided it was time to finally get my ring sized so it doesn't slip off my finger and into Finding Nemo's mouth. 

Wait, SIZED or RESIZED? 

Turns out, that was one of the most confusing questions in all of jewelry-dom. I thought I would take about 15 minutes to run to the store, have 'em size me and call me tomorrow when it was ready to be picked up. Spoiler alert: I was wrong in every way.

Okay, so I did my best to look and smell as broke as I am so that the vultures at the store would leave me alone, but that only sort of worked. I walked in, and said "Hi. I need my ring sized." 

The dude said "Sized or REsized?" 

I said "There's a difference?"

He laughed condescendingly before ushering me over to the bridal jewelry section. He said "Oooh, I can tell you've had this ring for some time. Have you considered a new band?"

I said "Um. I got it in March. From here. If it's already as worn as you think it is, I should maybe consider asking for a refund."

We shared a very polite and awkward laugh before he led me far, far away from the bridal jewelry.

So, he slips some other rings on and says "Well, whaddya think?" I was all "Um, I don't know, what size am I?" He laughs again (did I miss a joke?) and says "Oh, well, YOU need to tell ME that!" I said "Um, okay, well, the 5 feels a little tight and the 4 1/2 feels a little tighter. Which do I choose?" And he said "Well, do you want a little tight or a little tighter?"

I nearly turned and walked of the store just then. Instead, I said "Well, I guess the 5. You don't have anything in between?" He said "No," (which was a LIE!) "I'm sure you're a 5. Probably. You can bring it back in if it's still too big." I said "I'd really like to avoid that."

More uncomfortable laughing.

Okay, we decide on the 5 and he's asking me all my information. When I spell my name - P.H.A.R.O.N for anyone new around here - a woman sidles up to him and nods, knowingly.

Woman: Travis, are you thinking what I'm thinking?

Travis (apparently): Totally!

Me: ... [I say nothing because I couldn't care less about what these two are thinking.]

Woman and Travis, simultaneously: THE INITIAL PENDANT!

What they said next is very, VERY real. 

Woman: Listen, I couldn't help but overhearing your wonderful name!

Me: Thanks. I love it!

Woman: So, I shouldn't tell you this, but we have this A-MAY-ZING white gold pendant with an initial on it that was $160 but is marked down to $20!!!!

Travis: Oh, Suzy is right! It's a crazy-good deal. You can't pass this up. 

Suzy (apparently): One small thing, though. The initial is an F. But you could totally pass for an F!

I'll let that sink in.

I politely decline while banging my head against the counter. I say "I'm in more of a gold phase right now, but thanks. Also, people are already confused enough about my name, so I shouldn't make it worse." Then Suzy says "Well, you could TELL people it's an F, like as a joke!" and Travis helpfully adds, "Oooh! Or a nickname!"

Ugh. WHAT?! 

I say no, and try to get things moving by not-so-subtly picking my nose. That seems to do the trick and they tell me my ring will be ready in a short THREE WEEKS. Because I seriously believed they would replace my diamond with a letter F in that time, I tell them that's too long and go to a different location, with much MUCH saner workers who assured me the sizing (I am a 4 3/4, like I suspected) would be done this week, sans initials of any kind.

The moral of the story is that Travis and Suzy are the worst things about everything.

Thick Skin

Here's all you need to know about this weekend.

Me: Man, I wish my head and arms were on the other way...like backwards, you know?
Geo: ....
Me: You know, 'cause my back is peeling pretty badly and I can't really see or reach it, but if my head and arms were on the other way, I could pick it all off.
Geo: ...

Wait, that doesn't make sense to you either? FINE. I'm the freak, I guess...

I went to my parents' cabin this weekend with Geo, my parents, my brothers and their wives. As usual, it was a great time. Lots of good food, family, fun, alcohol before noon...it was a super perfect way to spend a crazy-hot, sunny weekend. So, I was determined to get some color. I chilled on the boat, I floated around on a raft, I did anything I could to be in the sun. Every time I'd come in from the sun, I said the same thing.

"Ugh. My skin hurts. I have GOT to stay out of the sun."

And then I'd go back out, burning myself over and over. Thus, the peeling.

So, I've been periodically, uh, TENDING to my shedding skin. It's like when you used to smear Elmer's glue on your palm, let it dry and then peel it off. SO SATISFYING. Anyhoozle, Geo has been playing Xbox in the other room and I've been in my room, watching an unhealthy amount of Law and Order: SVU. He walked in to see what I had been up to and said "What? Why do you look guilty?" 

I shrugged my half-peeled shoulders and said "I have no idea what you're talking about." He saw my increasingly pinked skin, shook his head, walked away and said "Ugh. You have a serious problem. Stop peeling!"

I canNOT be the only one who peels my peeling skin. If I AM then you guys have no idea what you're missing. Is it gross? Probably. But whatever! What am I supposed to do? Slough it off like a snake? Like in one big piece? No, duh. I'm not a snake. I'm a human. A human who wishes her torso was on backwards so she could simply just peel skin. Is that so crazy?

You're TWO much!!!!!

Oh. Mah. Gah! You guys! I COMPLETELY neglected to notice that on June 20th, my blog officially turned TWO YEARS OLD! On that day, I was tending to Dear Crabby and totes forgot to celebrate!  So, I held a fun and surprising Birthday Party for my blog! It was sooooooo cute, you guys! The blog was such a good sport about me sort of forgetting the big T.W.O. and we had a crazy fun party together! Here's some pics!

Here's me and the blog blowing out the candles...

Then we sat and reminisced about our favorite blogs over the past year. Like the one about my engagement? Awww...and remember the one about me trying to learn about money? Hysterical!

Then I gave my blog an adorable, awesome gift (that you TOO can purchase here)!!

After the cake and presents, my blog wanted to unwind with a grown-up beverage.

Then things got pretty rocky, you guys. My blog started Facebook-stalking her ex. Ugh.

My blog was crying and blabbering on about her ex's new skank of a girlfriend and how her ex TOTALLY had work done. Then. This.

After that little setback, my blog got really really motivated and ambitious. Reflecting on the last year, we saw some serious dud posts, and my drunk blog wanted to make sure that never happened again.

We decided it was maybe time to hit the hay. My blog was starting to wax nostalgic about old versions of Blogger and how much has changed in the past year, and I was sick of listening to my blog cry about "All the good times and posts that probably changed lives." So, we called it a night.

Triple Show Cow

So, I took two showers today. Why is that important, you ask? It's not. Um, is ANYTHING I put on here important? Moving on... 


Listen, I took two showers today because it is hotter than Hades here. Despite the fact that I have it FREEEEEE central air (OMG, I mean, I THINK it's free...suddenly that doesn't sound right. Whatevs), I got overheated just looking outside. I wanted to walk to the coffee shop this morning, and as I looked out onto the street, it already had those wavy heat lines goin' on. At 8 a.m. It was going to be a scorcher. Plus, my skin is still on fire from the sunburn.

So I thought it was a good idea to take an ice cold triple show cow. (That's what Kim and I call "showers" when we REALLY need one...it rhymes with "triple salchow" which is like the most awesome women's ice skating move ever and makes everyone all impressed). Despite perfectly executing my show cow, I stepped outside and I caught on fire.

Turns out, Dunn Bros Internet hates me and wouldn't let me on. So, I had to go BACK outside and walk the traumatic 3/4 of a block back to my house. The sole of my flip flops had melted onto the pavement and it was all I could do to make it back to my house without my laptop exploding in the desert heat. About 8 hours later, I wrapped up a successful day of work, forgetting all about the hell outside.

My short memory is the only reason I made it to kickboxing tonight. I walked outside, stopped breathing for a few minutes, and made it to my car. Which was roughly the same temperature as Satan's mouth. I nearly went back to my apartment, convinced that the amount I had already sweated was the same as working out for 70 minutes. But, I couldn't get out of my car because my hands had already melted onto the steering wheel.

See, now here's what TRULY makes me an idiot. After I worked out, I went grocery shopping before coming back home. While strolling through the grocery store, I decided that I would make a very healthy dinner. It never occurred to me that to make it, I would have to crank my stove up to 450 degrees and cook it for like a billion minutes. In fact, I didn't realize what I had done until Geo called out from the other room "Is it just me, or is, like, SUPER hot in here?" I was about to say it was just him and call him a wuss or something, until I realized I was still sweating from kickboxing..because I hadn't executed my second triple show cow yet.Gross.

Thus, the second shower. However, I'm still ON FIRE because my skin burns hurt from all the showering, and I can't stop watching Girls on my computer, so it too is a billion degrees. Everything about everything is hot right now. I'm sleeping in the shower tonight.

Girls

Listen,  I only have a few minutes tonight. I started watching the HBO series show called Girls and I'm afraid that if I don't watch every awesome episode back to back, I will lose my momentum. So, yeah. I gotta get back to that posthaste.

But I had a pretty girly weekend as well, so I figured "Hey, what an appropriate time to blog about it."

Poor Geo. He doesn't come out looking too manly in some of this, but rest assured that he only partook in these activities for my sake. So yeah. Friday night, we stayed in to watch TV. What did we WATCH on TV, you ask? Women's gymnastics, of course.

After that carrrazy night, Geo and I walked around my new 'hood, which consists of loads of antiques shops. And one store that is huge and only sells lamps. Spoiler alert! The lamp store was the boringest place on the planet. But the antique stores were AWESOME. I saw 100 things I wanted to buy. And all of them were weird old things that smelled bad, but I had convinced myself that I was a female American Picker. Geo lasted about 15 minutes in the antiques store before I found him waiting at the door, deciding how to break up with me.

Apparently, he didn't want to stick around to watch my paint my finger nails, RUDE, so Geo ran for the hills as soon as we got home. For some reason, I then decided to do something I haven't done in like a bajillion years. I. Went. On. A. Run. Say whaaaaaaat?! I know, you guys! I KNOW! I am not one of those "I'm going for a run" girls. It's boring. And difficult! So, I NEVER just "go for a run." Ugh, but whatever. I decided that that's what other girls do, and I am a girl so that's what I did. For about 8 minutes. Then I came home and took a nap.

Luckily for Geo, and VERY unluckily for my skin, today I spent the day at Kim's house swimming in her pool. No boys, no sunscreen. The problem is that all the girls I was "swimming" with are like approx 82 pounds soaking wet. So, I spent more time than usual just STANDING in the pool instead of boppin' around outside of the pool. This is important to note because now I look hysterical. I am only sunburned on my face, ears, neck, shoulders, chest, arms and 1/3 of my back. Beneath that? The skin is all still that lovely pale, non-painful white because it was nicely hidden in the water.

But, all in all, it was a great weekend. Painful, but great. How was YOUR weekend?