Thursday, August 30, 2012


So, I was talking to Geo last night and I was stressing out about, like, a bazillion things and he wanted to help. He said "Hey, if it helps at all, I think I found the jacket I want the guys to wear for the wedding!" I felt a glimmer of hope, excited that maybe one decision would not have to involve me and 300 other people's opinions. He said "I'll send you a picture."

This is what he sent me.

Oh sweet baby Jane. What is that?! I gasped, "Ohmygod, Geo, that is horrible!" And he says "No, no! It's great! I mean, just the jacket, not the plaid pants." Yeah, because the plaid pants are what's ruining the look. I said "Geo, that's just, it makes my brain sweat. It's awful. I hate it." I think he was disappointed in my reaction. I think he saw this jacket and was like "YES. BUYING 7." But I mean, do people NOT get that white jackets basically come with a tray of appetizers to carry around a room?

Do I not understand men's fashion? Let me rephrase that: I do NOT understand men's fashion. I only know that men should always wear a tuxedo or slim black suit, because I know those things look great. But I will never understand suits and their useless buttons and fake pockets. I don't get giant, heavy shoes. And I simply do not understand how they put outfits together. What's with all the belts and ties and undershirts and how are you supposed to match one with the other? And what shoes are you supposed to wear with a blue suit?! BROWN? EW!

Geo actually has a lot of clothes I like. We usually have very similar tastes in attire (we both own red pants, mint green shorts and even a purple v-neck tee). And he is a huge fan of Jack Spade, the man version of Kate Spade. He always looks great. But when I see stuff like that caterer jacket that he wants to wear for our wedding, I feel like a dog watching TV: unable to fully understand the colors and things I'm seeing.

I always thought I understood the basics of style. I can mix patterns confidently, I stay far far away from jorts, and can totally judge a good outfit from a bad on Project Runway. But the fact that someone put black and white plaid skinny pants with a boxy, yet slim-cut white jacket with black lapels confuses me. The fact that other people actually DIG it freaks me out.

However, I DID just google "women's black and plaid pants" because I actually like the ones in the picture. For women.

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Dear Crabby

Listen, I don't know how you guys don't know this yet, but I know NOTHING about planning a wedding. I'm less than a year away from my own and all I can think about is whether I can train a flamingo to sing Nelly Furtado at the reception. Needless to say, I have no clue how to plan a wedding. Yet, I still have a bunch of Dear Crabby questions asking for wedding planning advice. Well, if you're okay with horrible answers, you've come to the right place! Let's see what happens, shall we?

Dear Crabby,
I was having a discussion with my mom tonight about my wedding plans and she insisted on having her own opinions and insights, with which I disagreed. I rarely fight with my mom, but for some reason, the emotions were running high and I left in a huff. What do I do about this whole situation?!
Mother vs. Daughter 

Hey there, MvD,
My advice is to apologize to your mom, appreciate her input and help, express your gratitude towards her and then understand that if you are lucky enough to have a supportive mom, it comes with an occasional opinion. The nerve! But even if you disagree, take a breath next time and try to be rational. You can't plan a wedding when everyone is unhappy, and you certainly don't want to plan a wedding without your mom if she's even remotely willing to help. Tell your mom you're sorry for fighting, remind her that you love her very much and respect her opinion, even if you disagree, and then ask her to forgive you for storming out. Unless you've really fouled things up, hopefully she will tear up the adoption papers and agree to start fresh. Then ask her if it's okay if you swing by tomorrow after work to pick up the Dunkin Donuts K-cups you left at her house. 

Dear Crabby,
I'm putting together my guest list for my upcoming nuptials and trying to figure out whether or not to invite kids. I mean, sure kids are cute, but do I really want to have them at my wedding?! I've read books about this, but all of the answers seem to be so politically correct. I need some real answers!
Muchas gracias!
Not Kidding 

Sup, Not Kidding!
Um, I don't know about the actual rules about this, but I personally am obsessed with my nieces and nephews. I love 'em to pieces even when they smear melted chocolate on my white shirt and tell me that I smell bad. I love them love them love them. I know that my wedding would never be complete unless I could see those rugrats running around and laughing. Even if they smear melted chocolate on my dress and tell me I smell bad on my wedding day, I don't care. I don't care if other people think they are rotten or bad dancers or whatever, I want those kids around because I love them more than bagels. BUT! I ONLY want those kids around. I usually have no tolerance for other people's children. They don't get me the way my own nieces and nephews get me. So, my advice to you is to only let the kids you know and love come to your wedding. But if you don't like kids, don't invite them. If parents put up a fuss, hire a babysitter and keep the kids away from you...and melted chocolate. 

Dear Crabby,
What do you think about writing your own vows? I know you like to think of yourself as a writer, so maybe you're all for it. But, I'm looking at it from a different perspective: I mean, if I'm being honest, traditional vows seem so cliche to me. Would you write your own? What do you think you'd write?
Take a Vow 

Uh...well, Take a Vow,
If I'M being honest, you sound like kind of a drag. First with the backhanded comment (I don't THINK of myself as a writer, I kind of AM a writer...otherwise, what exactly are you reading right now!?) and then the comment that traditional, time-honored vows are "cliche"? I mean, I guess if you think you can do better, by all means go ahead. To me, traditional vows address the most basic, yet difficult issues that a married couple deals with. I don't think I could ever write my own. I'd like to liven my vows up a bit, but in 50 years, I don't want to look back on my wedding and be all "Why did I promise to never speak negatively about Maroon 5 ever again?" If you have something more important to promise and address in front of all your loved ones, then by all means, write your own. I just feel like I'll be too nervous and emotional to do anything other than repeat after someone else. But, there is certainly something to be said about making vows specific and meaningful to you and your soon-to-be hubby. If that makes sense for you, go ahead and give it a shot!

Okay, that was fun. Now, back to my original thought: Where can I even GET a flamingo!? Send your comments or ideas to and include links to any pics you  may have of said flamingo.

Tuesday, August 28, 2012

Get it Together, Lady

Ohmygod, Pharon. STEP AWAY FROM THE CRAFTS. I have spent yet another night by myself, at home, making crafts. I am 12 cats away from being a full-blown nutjob. I need to get out more. Or at least SOME.

See, now that I live alone, I am left to my own devices. Tonight, I got way too excited to come home, eat a salad, watch Hunger Games and make some crafts. Which I did. Except instead of a salad, I ate a spoonful of peanut butter, and a bag of popcorn.

Why am I telling you all this totes embarrassing stuff, you ask? Because the other day, Madeline and I had a conversation about which one of us had it "together" more. I argued that she was not drinking wine out of coffee mugs anymore. And instead of playing with glitter and etching cream, she was going on runs like a mofo and making fancy dinners for her awesome boyfriend in their killer kitchen.

Madeline, it's like I don't even KNOW you anymore...

She came back at me with some garbage about me getting married and having a job that I totes love and this blog. But given the way I drank milk out of the milk jug while checking my email this morning, I do believe she still comes out ahead.

I think I am almost totally over this living alone thing. In all, I think I've been here by myself fewer than 3 weeks, so the next 8 months should be interesting. I was thinking that being on my own would force me to grow up a bit, accept some responsibility and maybe even make a well-balanced meal for myself while reading the newspaper. So far, not so good.

However, I haven't succumbed to any hoarding behavior yet. There is no weird doll collection to speak of yet, and as far as I know, the only voice in my head is my conscience telling me to take the garbage out and do the dishes once and for all. And I mean, crafting isn't TOTALLY weird, right? RIGHT?! So, I don't know. Maybe I'm more put-together than I thought. We'll see.

I know, I know. I'm rambling for absolutely no reason. Sorry. But that's what happens when you go a little crazy, I guess. And when you haven't done anything even remotely interesting all day. Seriously. I have GOT to get out more.

Monday, August 27, 2012


I am still in vacation withdrawal. I know, I know. No one feels bad for the girl coming off a week-long vacation to the beach. But I may get some of you with this.

When I got home on Saturday afternoon, I didn't go home. I got my car from my brother's house and I realized I didn't want to go home to an empty apartment with no food. I drove around for a bit before I decided that I needed a craft to get my mind off of the end of my vacation. I went to, let's see, two, three, eleven, TWELVE stores looking for supplies. Four hours later, I went home to get started.

I dropped my suitcase in the middle of the floor and unpacked my craft supplies. The project I was most excited about was etching glass. FUN, RIGHT?! So I got my glasses out, turned on an Extreme Couponing marathon and got to work.

Hold up. Apparently, the glass etching cream I got also goes by the name Agent Orange. According to the label, it's the most dangerous substance known to man. I was instructed by the bottle to wear goggles, long-sleeved shirts and latex gloves. I had zero of those supplies on hand.

The warning label on the glass etching bottle warned me that I could go BLIND if the cream got in my eye. BLIND! How can I do crafts if I'm BLIND?! WTF, glass etching cream?! It also warned that the cream would damage any fricking thing it came into contact with. It may as well have said, "This is acid, lady! ACID!"

I got nervous. I emailed my sister Padrin who made me this baller casserole dish for Christmas. On it, she etched "Pharon's Kickasserole". She knows me too well. So I figured she was a pro. I was all "Hey, sis. What's up with this glass etching stuff? Will I go blind?" And she was all "You're a spazz. Cover your workspace and use some common sense."

Maybe she DOESN'T know me that well.

So tonight, I started the highly toxic process of crafting. I put on 12 sweatshirts, my sunglasses and taped Ziploc baggies on my hands. I put the cream on the first glass and let it sit. As the deadly substance gradually ate away at the glass, I had a major panic attack.

How do I dispose of this?! If it's toxic enough to blind/maim/circumcise me, what will it do to my plumbing and trash can? 

See, when your glass is all eaten away into an adorable pattern, you're supposed to simply wash the cream down your drain, throw away the stencils and wash the glass. Easy peezy, right?! WRONG. If this stuff is going to do the kind of damage it promises on the warning label, how are you supposed to just spill it down your drain!? I held my breath,opened all the windows in the apartment, got my fire extinguisher ready and pre-dialed 911 before I turned on my kitchen faucet. Before sticking the glass under the stream of water, I put a Tupperware container over my mouth and nose, securing it with a cute new scarf I bought. I was ready.

NOTHING HAPPENED. The cream slipped down the drain harmlessly, my limbs were all in tact and there was no sign that the etching substance destroyed my sight or fertility. And my glass was downright etchin' adorable.

In closing, I would like to say that if you are GOING to put a warning label on a stupid crafting product, do not allow insanely fearful people to purchase that product without thorough training. Or hey! Maybe just write "Listen, don't get this in your body, but it's totally fine and can't even eat through Scotch tape." WHICH IT CAN'T. (Um, if you claim that your product can eat your soul from the inside out if you get it on your arm, but it can't penetrate through a sliver of transparent tape, you have over-warned your customers.)

But yeah. My glasses are crazy-cute. If not highly toxic.

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Sand We're Back!

I have literally NO IDEA where to start this blog. I've been gone for a week and it feels like I've been on another planet. What has even been HAPPENING around here? Anything I missed? Anything I should know? Ugh. I'm stalling.

Okay, yeah, so I've been out east all week. It started with my cousin Jackie's wedding in Boston. It was a huge deal and it was INCREDIBLY fun. Photo booths, candy bars, Mad Libs...there was so much to take in and enjoy. I made a comment to someone afterwards like "Wow, so yeah. My wedding is going to blow compared to this." No one disagreed.

For the week after the wedding, my family went to my grandma's beach house in Rhode Island. Luckily, there were about a billion family members available to keep my mind off the fact that I was there without Geo, which was the only part that sucked. At any given time, I was surrounded by at least 6 people who were willing to help me recreate my childhood memories of the beach.

For like 16 years, I spent at least a week every summer in Rhode Island, not wearing shoes, walking down the street into restaurants in just a bathing suit and wet hair, and playing in the sand. While the beach house itself has not changed since I was there as a kid, this summer proved to be a very different experience.

Instead of shoeless walks to the candy store, I sat on my aunt Sarah's boat (docked at the end of my grandma's dock for the week) and drank wine with ice in it. And while I made a couple decent sand castles and one (horrible) sand whale, I mostly laid on top of the sand, soaking up the sun. Talk of school was replaced by talk about my wedding. Instead of going on a shell hunt, I took a trip on Sarah's yacht to Newport in the hopes of seeing P. Diddy on his mega yacht. Making a trip to the state pier was neglected in favor of a tour of my cousin's vineyard.

So yeah. Some things DO change.

But just like the old times, I slept in sandy sheets, ate lobster, steamers and chowder, and just generally loved being with family. I already miss the familiar sounds of my grandma's wind chimes, the warm sand between my fingers and the basic detachment from regular life. I didn't watch TV or worry about alarm clocks or traffic. Instead, I reconnected with family and woke up every morning to the smell of Dunkin Donuts coffee and promises of beautiful beach weather.

But here's the thing. While I was there, I worried the whole time about what my blog would be about. My grandma and aunts read this (holla, Grandmaman and Sarah!) and were like "I can't wait to see what you write about!!"

So I put off posting while I was gone because I wanted to fully enjoy my trip instead of writing about it. And now, here I am, all backed up and stressed out and unable to put together a remotely entertaining post. But you know what?! TOUGH. My brain has been on vacay and I can only think of like five puns about sand and just, like, one or two descriptive words for the sensation of eating steamers and the uneasy feeling that happens after you drink too much on a BOAT. Four nights in a row.

Anyhoozle, long story short, I had a great vacation. I have a pretty decent tan and sand in places that were as yet unknown to me. But after a week of incredible food and minimal physical exertion and lazy naps in the sun, I am just a pile of crap. I'm almost scared to go to sleep because when I wake up, it's back to business. Something tells me it won't go well...

Sunday, August 19, 2012

Thursday, August 16, 2012

To Do


Yeah. I'm not ready for my vacation yet.

I have to clean, pack, lose 15 pounds, paint my nails, finish work, find some time to sleep, throw away the milk in my fridge, stop looking at wedding magazines, beat up the heavy-stepping neighbors upstairs, download books on my Kindle, download music on my iPhone, find a way to fit the Fall issue of InStyle into my bag, find/buy a printer to print my plane ticket, order a pizza, make a list of things to do, take a break to watch Shark Week...

I've got a lot to do. What do YOU have to do this weekend?

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Dear Crabby

OMG. I am SO far behind in my "getting my act together" that I haven't even figured out how to end this sentence. I still have 100 things to do before my trip and instead of doing any of them tonight, I FaceTime'd with Geo and gave him a tour of how messy my apartment is. He's all "Why don't you clean it?" And I'm all "I'm busy SHOWING YOU how messy it is. GUH!" Anyway, let's speed through some questions for Crabby, okay?

Dear Crabby,
I can't believe I'm saying this, but my baby daddy is a major douche. I'm a totally normal woman who has no desire to be on Maury, but I need some advice. My daughter's father is SUPER lame and swears around our kid all the time. He's late with his support payments, and he let her walk around the Burger King bathroom WITHOUT SHOES. Now she never wants to wear shoes because "daddy doesn't make her." What can I do?!  He is such a 'P' in my 'A'! 
-Crappy Father's Day!

Hey CFD,
That sounds suspiciously like a real life problem. My advice to you would be to seek some real advice. Or, if you're hoping for some very unhelpful, silly commentary on your situation, I guess I can muster up a few things. The guy sounds lame. And super gross. And sure, you're stuck with him for awhile. But your daughter is stuck with him for a lifetime. And she's supposed to look UP to the jackwad. I guess you should just get her into a therapist asap or make sure you give her a lot of love, affirmation and boundaries so she has some sense of decency. As some comedian said, your main job is keepin' her off the pole. Bazinga.

Dear Crabby,
Did you hear about Jennifer Aniston getting engaged?!
-Theroux-ly Excited!

Welcome to Old News Town, reader...
Yes, I read about that. I have the INTERNET and a healthy obsession with her, after all. And yeah, it's exciting. Mostly, I just hope it makes everyone shut up about scraggly-beard Brad and the soul-sucking vampire mother of his million spawn babies. Anyway, I like hearing that Aniston is happy. Her hair is so shiny  and her skin looks like a cloud got a body scrub by angels using sunshine and smiles. She rules. Hope she and I have the exact same wedding dress/body.

Dear Crabby,
I just moved and ordered some monstrous piece of furniture from IKEA. It's this huge entertainment center and it looked so cute in the catalog. But now that it's here, I have NO IDEA how to put it together. I don't know anyone who can help me. Do you think it would be weird of me to put a note in the lobby of my apt. asking for help???
Wanted: Stick Figure to Assemble Wood

Oh man, WSFTAW,
Assembling IKEA is like macaroni and cheese. You just take the noodles (wood parts) and put in milk (bolts) and butter (screws) and then put it all together with the cheese (the allen wrench). Voila! Listen, you don't need to advertise the fact that you can't read black and white drawings or use common sense and a single tool. Give it a shot. Have some faith that you can assemble the damn thing, because seriously? It's IKEA not NASA. You can do it. Now, if you can't LIFT it when you're done, THEN you can ask for some big, burly helpers to come by.

Okay, that does it! I buzzed through those pretty quickly so that I can have some time to get back to not getting stuff done. If I missed anything or if you think you can do better, slap your own gems of advice in the comments. Otherwise, email if you have a question for next week. If I haven't been eaten by a shark, I'll do my best to fix your life. Say word...

Tuesday, August 14, 2012

Sharks bite

Hey! I've got a GREAT idea! Let's watch Shark Week one week before I leave for the exotic beaches of Rhode Island!

Oh, wait. This is a TERRIBLE idea. Now, I realize that the shores of the tiny town of Jerusalem, RI aren't exactly considered to be the hunting grounds for sharks, but whatevs. The ocean is the ocean.

Anyway, yeah. I leave this weekend to enjoy some serious R&R in RI. My cousin, Jackie, is getting married in what is sure to be an epic event. My whole family is going to be there. In case you Squares forgot,  my mom is from Rhode Island, so we used to go there every summer. I haven't been there in YEARS so I'm pretty stoked.

In fact, the closest I've been to the quahog state lately is my devotion to Family Guy. Yup, I'm getting ready to do some clamming, eating crazy-fresh lobster, frequenting Dunkin Donuts, and generally eating my way through the town. One thing that I am not looking forward to is getting eaten by a shark.

I've never seen a shark. I've caught and cared for billions of hermit crabs. I've even sunk my hands into a bucket full of jellyfish on more than one occasion. Digging my feet into the sand to get quahogs and then eating them? DONE IT. But no. Not sharks. Never sharks.

As a kid, I remember thinking that the red tide (do non-ocean people know what that is?) that ruined our boogie-boarding plans was caused by the blood of shark victims. No one has yet to prove my theory wrong.

My point is that the ocean is a terrifying place, according to the Discovery Channel. It's full of breaching sharks and hungry beasts. And no matter how many times the scientists refer to them as "magnificent creatures", I will be on high alert during my wave riding and skim boarding adventures. That is, if I even decide to step a toe into the mysterious waters.

Let's just hope that my vacation doesn't turn into the next "inspirational story" or "horrifying cautionary tale" for next year's Shark Week.

Monday, August 13, 2012

When Working Out...Doesn't Work Out


Listen. I'm sorry. I just kind of hate people these days. Today's target? People who do EVERY ERRAND POSSIBLE in their workout gear. And, from what I can gather, no one actually MAKES it to the gym. Not one person, in the history of time, has ever run any errand of any kind in any country AFTER the gym. Nope.

Every person I've ever seen wearing workout clothes in public has not just BEEN to the gym. They just want everyone to think they've GONE to the gym. Or are on their way TO the gym. Spoiler Alert: they're not.

Listen. I've been known to put on a sports bra and tank to run to the grocery store just so I could buy ice cream. You know, because then people will be like "Hey, she's not that skinny and buying a thing of Ben & Jerry's. But it's cool, because she OBVIOUSLY just went to the gym. Good for her! She deserves it!"

There is a specific emotion I'm trying to manipulate out of people by wearing workout gear to a place. But I'm careful not to look GOOD on these errands. No. Then no one will BELIEVE that I've worked out, which, obvs, I haven't. But it's all in the illusion.

But other women are ruining it! Women all over the world are slipping into full makeup, clean hair casually tousled, jewelry and then WORKOUT PANTS. They are cheapening my own efforts! In fact, they are raising the expectations of women SHOULD look like at the gym to inaccurate levels. When people work out, they sweat. Their hair frizzes. Any remaining makeup they have on slips ever-so-offensively down their cheeks. THAT'S what a girl who has worked out looks like.

And yet, somehow I look like the boob (hehe, boob) running into the liquor store Target with my sweat still fresh  on the back of my shirt and my hair violently trying to escape from my head after an ACTUAL WORKOUT. Geez, sorry to offend your eyes, every person ever. 

You guys...please tell me I'm not alone. You know you've seen these people. Or, I don't know. Maybe it's because I spent a lot of time in Edina today. But every errand I ran was hindered by yoga-pant wearing women. My issue is not that they were running errands in their workout gear. My issue is that they were CLEARLY nowhere near the spin class they just told the clerk about at the post office.

Listen, I don't wear workout clothes and sports bras unless I've reluctantly committed to sweating in public. I don't need to show it off or prove to to anyone that I'm working out (unless I'm buying liquor/ice cream in which case it works as pseudo-justification, OR if I've been to kickboxing). Listen, if you MUST run errands in your fake workout gear, at least don't sit there sipping coffee and eating a scone beforehand. That's just offensive to the people who are chugging water and eating raw chicken (or whatever you eat for "protein") in preparation for a REAL workout.

So, listen. Enough with the yoga pants and full makeup in public. The gym is a stinky, smelly, moist place and you should prepare accordingly. Even if you're faking it.

Sunday, August 12, 2012


Yeah. That's about how I feel tonight.

Could I BE more melodramatic right now? Meh, maybe, but maybe not. I can no longer accurately gauge normal human responses as I have officially been alone in my apartment for 24 hours. Also? I've been watching a Hoarders marathon. I have officially lost touch with reality.

In case you couldn't tell, Geo went back to Alabummer to start his last year of grad school this weekend. We packed his car up in front of my building and I just stood there crying while he put his clothes in the backseat. People, I'm SURE, were like "Whoa. Crazy breakup out front!"

So, he left and I didn't want to come back up to my place right away, so I ran errands. That was not a good idea. I scared some children with my distraught-ness. I came home, dropped my purse in the middle of the floor and just sobbed. I was all "Waaaah! I'm so bummed! What is a girl to do?!"

I opened a beer, took off my pants and sat on the couch. You know, because I could. So there I was, pantsless, drinking a beer and bumming. HOT! I glanced around the room at all the non-boy stuff left when my eyes fell on my The Knot Book of Wedding Lists.

Oh, okay! Don't mind if I do!

I opened the book and then opened my computer. According to the list book, it's time to get my plan on so I thought that now is as good a time as any. I was like 3 minutes into tearfully searching through "centerpieces that aren't cheesy" when the physical heaving part of my crying was over. Ten minutes into my wedding dress searching, I had stopped crying altogether. A quick visit from Claire also helped a lot.

Then, I woke up this morning and was still pretty bummed. So, I did what any girl would do who hasn't showered in two days and still didn't have pants on. I went shopping. That helped. A little. But what REALLY helped was swinging by good ol' Barnes & Noble to pick up some new wedding magazines. while I'd rather just have Geo back here, I guess the wedding-planning distraction is good. Who needs therapy when you've got

Thursday, August 9, 2012

August 10

Okay, I know that I'm writing this on August 9th, but you all read these the next day. So, let's just say it's August 10, mmmkay?

Why is this important, you ask?

Because Aug 10 is Geo's last full day home. He goes back to Alabama on the 11th, or as I call it "the sweatpants season opener."

More importantly, though, Aug 10 marks the official One Year Countdown until our wedding. (Yes, we changed the date. Guess we were having some trouble committing. That's not bad, is it?) This time next year, I won't be crying because Geo is leaving, I'll be crying because I won't have eaten for like 2 months.

So yeah. I'm pretty bummed right now. But, like, also really interested in centerpieces and junk.

Anyway, I'm cutting this post short tonight so I can get back to staring creepily at Geo as he starts packing. I'll see you guys on the other side of this super craptastic weekend. Have a good one!

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Dear Crabby -- Gold Medal Edition!

Oh. HAI. What's up, dudes? Here we are...HUMP DAY. I just had a super fun happy hour with some old work pals and am feeling particularly happy now. We'll see how Crabby does with some of the newest questions from you all. (I'm sensing a theme in this week's questions, BTW.)

Dear Crabby,
Are you into the Olympics at all? If so, what's your favorite sport??
Just wondering,
U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!

Hey there, my fellow American,
Apparently I AM into the Olympics. I didn't know that until I rushed home tonight to see the end of the women's volleyball match. In terms of my favorite sport, that's tough. And, honestly, it depends on a number of factors. Women's gymnastics is the most terrifying sport ever. They can crack their skulls open flipping on those uneven bars. They can crack their coochies and ruin their chances at fertility on the balance beam. Also? Their bodies are not of this world. Then again, women's volleyball is amazing. If I could look like any type of Olympian in the world, it would be a women's volleyball player. They are tall and tan and they can jump. Then again, men's swimming is just...PRETTY. They make it look so easy. And also? Um, YUM, Ryan Lochte. YUM. Overall, I just am digging the Olympics.I like when America wins, but I also like hearing about athletes from other countries who are superhuman. Ugh...and I literally just now teared up at a VISA commercial congratulating Misty May-Trainor and Kerri Walsh on their third straight gold medal. Love it. 'MURIKKA!

Dear Crabby, 
If you could compete in any Olympic sport, what would it be? I'd probably choose rowing. 
Let me know!
Row Your Boat

Tough question, RYB,
Rowing seems cool, I guess, but I disagree. Rowers all seem so stuck up and they all think they invented Facebook. (Wait, that doesn't sound right.) I would say diving or track, because, I mean, I can can both run AND jump off a diving board, but all their faces look TRRRRRIBLE in slow motion, so definitely not those. Um, I would say I would want to compete in Men's Basketball. Because, seriously? A 5'2" white chick on a men's Olympic basketball team? AWESOME.

Dear Crabby,
OMG. I'm an emotional wreck lately! I've been stressed out at work and just overwhelmed lately. The other day I was watching some story thing about the Olympics online and I burst into tears at work. What's my problem? How can I stop freaking out and having these breakdowns?
First Place in Pity Parties

If I had a dollar for every emotional breakdown I've had because of some story told over triumphant music about an Olympic athlete, I'd have a billion dollars. The fact that you cried at these stories - which are CRAFTED to make you cry/love your country - doesn't mean you're freaking out. It means that you are not a robot. I mean, if you're also sobbing when the printer jams at work, you may very well have problems. But crying at the Olympics does not a breakdown make. If that were true, I would need to speak with a psychiatrist immediately about the 6 "breakdowns" I've had in the past hour. And I KNOW I'm sane. The voices in my head tell me so.

So I ended tonight's post on a cheap joke, what of it? I'm pretty sure I would get a gold medal in advice-giving anyways. If you think you can do better and knock me down to silver, give it a shot in the comments. For anyone else who has (non-Olympic related) questions, go ahead and shoot an email to and I'll go ahead and knock it out of the park.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

My Boyfriend Does NOT Do My Makeup Tag

So, as you all know, I have a girl crush on Jenna Marbles. She is the YouTube girl who is everything in videos that I aim to be on blogs. Anyway, this week, she hopped on the My Boyfriend Does My Makeup Tag phenomenon.  I laughed for probably an hour at work, wondering what I would look like if Geo did my makeup. I thought "Chances are, it'll look better than what I do."

Friends, we'll never know.

I sent Geo a text this afternoon saying I needed his help with a blog. He said, "Uh oh." I was all "No, no! It's totally cool! I just need you to do my makeup, that's all!"

I was all pumped all day. I was thinking "Oh man, this will launch my blog out of the confines of Blogger and into the world of YouTube and then on to Internet stardom!" So, yeah. My expectations were realistic from the beginning.

When I finally got home, I buttered him up with groceries and some wine. I put on my fanciest giant t-shirt and reminded him, "Hey! Aren't you SO excited to do my makeup tonight? Won't it be HILARIOUS?!"

Stick a pin in my balloon, because I was utterly deflated when he said "I don't want to do it. I just don't think it will be that funny."

Ouch, bro.

I tried reminding him of my OTHER posts that he thought weren't going to be "that funny" and most of them were hits. I tried telling him about all the crap I had gone through for the past 2 years over the course of his "Challenges" for HIS online baby - his podcast (which I'm not even going to mention or link to because he won't help me).

Note: Here are just SOME of his challenges that directly affected me. He couldn't text (when he lived in Alabama, and that was our primary means of daily interaction). He couldn't eat anything except what a caveman could eat - there goes dinner together! He couldn't watch TV - uh, okay, then what ELSE are we supposed to do after work!? He couldn't swear. Well, that didn't affect me much. I just swore twice as much for him. Anyway, you get the idea.

I even tried guilting him into doing it. "Geo, this is the ONLY time I'll be able to do this. You know, 'cause you're leaving in 4 days, and after that it'll be too late. Unless I can get another boyfriend while you're gone."

Still, he refused.

So, I'm just going to give you an imagined version of what would have happened.

Most other videos have girls with giant collections of makeup, which is why it's funny to watch a guy try to pick his way through the mountains of primer and foundation and tinted concealers. MY video would start with a slow pan over the 4 or 5 products I have. Then Geo would pick up the right product, because there are only FIVE to choose from, and put it on my face. As well as, if not better than,  I could do.

Then he'd put some powder on haphazardly with whatever brush he could find, because that's how I put it on MYSELF, and it would look fine.

We'd go to the eyes and that's where things could go hilariously. I can't even put that junk on. So, whatever he'd do would be bad, but no worse than what I can do. The mascara is what I'm best at, so he'd fail miserably at that part.

Then he'd swoop on some blush/eyeshadow onto my cheeks (again, I use whatever's closest to me) and I'd be done. I'd look EXACTLY THE SAME.

Trust me. It would have been hilarious.

Monday, August 6, 2012

Going Postal

Zerb. The School Blues are kicking in bad, you guys. Geo goes back to school this weekend, so we are in "last chance to" mode. You know..."Last night to head downtown this summer." Or "Well, this is the last chance to have din din with your dad." So we did just that tonight. We went and had a fantastic dinner, just Geo, his dad and me.

While it was super fun and I ate the crap out of some nomnom enchiladas, I couldn't get the thought out of my head that in 5 days, I'll need to go back to filling in Geo about my day over the phone. It sucks, you guys. It really just sucks.

So yeah. That's where my head has been today. But, I took a break from wallowing to visit the worst place ever. Well, technically I had to go to the post office.

I mail exactly one check a month for rent. A hundred years ago, I bought some stamps and just realized tonight that I was fresh out. To be honest, I had forgotten that stamps/mail even still existed. I knew I could buy stamps out of the ATM, but I felt like I would have some questions about the alien process for a human, so I put on my bravest face and headed out in search of the elusive "Post Office."

For a place I never really knew existed, the Post Office is a BUSY PLACE. I was third in line, and by the time it was my turn, there were 7 people behind me. Did they all need stamps too? Why else would you go to a Post Office?

Turns out, you only go to the Post Office if you have World's Most Complicated Process to complete. Or, at least that's what the two people in front of me had to do. I had parked in a 15-minute only spot, and I was very nervous around minute 11 when the first person in line started asking about priority mail options. The tension was palpable.

I realized, as I waited for the second person to buy 150 gabillion stamps and mail 625 odd-shaped envelopes, that I had no idea WHAT stamps I needed. I didn't know how much they cost, or how many I needed to buy. Did they come in fridge packs? Cases? Boxes? I don't know. I only buy things in liquor-store quantities. And staring at the options for stamps, I knew I DIDN'T want stupid cartoon character stamps. And I didn't want the "Love" ones because, you know, I definitely DON'T love mailing my rent check, and I don't want them to get the wrong idea about our relationship. 

When it was my turn, I scooted ahead to the surly old man behind the counter. I timidly said "Hi. Um, I need some stamps. The ones that don't have amounts on them...the ones that are always the same price." He tilted his face down to glare at me over his tiny Santa-like glasses and asked "Uh, the Forever stamps?" I said "Yeah. But I don't want the Love ones." He stifled his laughter, assumed I was a woman scorned, and slid a packet of stamps towards me. "Here are the ones we have. Go ahead and pick one."

THE PRESSURE! There were still 7 people behind me, angrily tapping their feet. I panicked and flipped through the book at lightning speed. I decided to color comment my decision process. 

Well, I'm not athletic and haven't really been that into the Olympics, so I don't want those. Definitely no cartoon characters. Nah, don't want baseball. Girl Scouts? Is that what that one is? No, I was never a Girl Scout. I don't know. I mean, I guess we'll just have to go with cherry blossoms, even though I'm not really a "flower" kind of girl.

A hundred minutes later, after explaining my decision, Santa sighed and said "Got it. Thanks for the analysis." He said "How many?" And I said "Um, whatever." He sighed again, and the 7 people behind me audibly sighed as well. He asked "Do you want a book, a sheet or a coil?" I said I didn't know. I only need one a month. He slid a sheet of 20 across the counter, silently cursed me, and then I paid.

When I walked out to my car, more than 10 minutes past my 15-minute limit, one of the guys at the end of the line SNEERED AT ME. As in: He squinted, scrunched up his nose, and showed me his teeth. RUDE. 

So, between the sheer volume of decisions I'm supposed to make quickly and the rude clientele, I've decided that I'm definitely not going to the Post Office again. Well, at least for 20 months.

Sunday, August 5, 2012

Bad Decisions

This weekend was chock-full of bad decisions. Not the fun kinds, though. Lame. I had been looking to this weekend for a long time. On Saturday night, by BFF Madeline was swinging through town for one night and one night only. She lives in Chicago and if I'm lucky, I get to see her for one night every year.

I talked a big game TO EVERYONE all week. "Oh, I can TRY and meet up with you, but Madeline will be here and we'll be in the middle of a legendary night, so we'll. see." I told people "Don't even TRY to call me on Sunday morning because I will either be too hungover or I might not have gone to bed yet." Needless to say, I had amazingly high hopes.

So when Saturday got here, I woke up at 7 a.m. because I was so excited to sleep in. I believe I was seriously OVEREXCITED about the whole thing. I think my body knew what I was about to do to it that night and started plotting its protestation early.

Bad Decision #1. I accidentally fell asleep while I was waiting for Madeline. Now, I've said before and I'll say it again. I am a BAD NAPPER.  I woke up about 20 minutes later in a cold, sweaty panic. But Madeline was just about to arrive so I splashed some water in my and buzzed her up.

We decided to go enjoy the lovely weather with some pre-dinner cocktails outside on a patio.

Bad Decision #2. Too many microbrews in the hot, hot sun. But the conversation and fresh air were so refreshing that it was one of the best times of my whole summer.

Bad Decision #3. On our way home, we decided to get some deep dish pizza. I haven't had pizza to myself in a long time and I MAY have overindulged on the tomato pie. But we ate the pizza and started to get ready to GO OUT. I felt this weird, dull ache in the back of my eyeballs. I shrugged off the pain and insisted that all I needed was a low-cut shirt, high heels, some cocktails and a loud bar.

The first CORRECT THING I did all night was to tell Madeline that we were going to try and take the bus downtown. As in: Public Transportation. I haven't taken the bus from my new place yet, but it seemed too cheap and too convenient NOT to give a shot. Madeline was NOT psyched. We waited at the bus stop, where I also met a guy who lives in my building, and had an awesome time overall. Snaps, Pharon. Snaps to you.

At the first bar, Madeline was getting a titch annoyed with my complaints about my intensifying headache. She went to the bar, and came back with two white pills. Which brings us to  Bad Decision  #4. I briefly questioned the legitimacy of the pills, and even snapped a picture of them, before swallowing the mystery pills. I spent the next half hour wondering if I was hallucinating or not.

Bad Decision #5 I couldn't stand my headache any longer. It had moved into my fingertips. I suggested we get the h out of the bar. And go to a different, louder one.

Bad Decision #6. Hey, Madeline, let's do some shots.

Bad Decision #7. Headache seems to be worsening. Better order a light beer.

Mercifully, that was my last bad decision of the night. I told Madeline I couldn't stand it anymore and had to get out of there. She couldn't have been nicer about how horrible and lame I was. That only made me feel worse for being such a buzzkill.

But, I'm nearly fully recovered. I promised Madeline I would make it up to her by visiting her in Chicago very soon. She agreed to that part, but declined my request to take Chicago public transportation everywhere. Whatevs. I'll take hanging out with Madeline over the bus any day.

Thursday, August 2, 2012

Canterbury UPS

This is what happened tonight.

Yup. Twas another night at Canterbury Downs with my family. (Remember the OTHER time that The Farkle Family Went To The Races?) And that up there is photographic evidence that we ate, had some beer/pop and lost handily all night. UNTIL.


After a full night of simply thinking that having fun was its own reward for hanging out with Geo, my dad, sisters, one of my brothers and a few of their rugrats, I actually won.

That's right. The girl who NEVER wins WON BIG. A $2 exacta box bet on horses 4 and 6 netted me a cool $40. FORTY BUCKS! And that was after Geo won $20 and I won a modest $8 on previous races. But the last race was run for me. I saw the passion in the horses legs. I made eyes at the jockeys and flashed a little not-very-recently-shaved leg at the judges. In the end, they pulled through for me and I won some cold, hard cash.

Prinna managed to snag this picture of me, taking my money and running.

Yes. I had a fantastic night. Here's hoping you guys get lucky this weekend, too.

Wednesday, August 1, 2012

Dear Crabby Out Of Office

Hey bros. Turns out my Internet has been hijacked by SOMEone who needs to download "new/old Halo maps." So, I got no wifi juice with which to power my computer.

Being the slacker she is, Crabby took the opportunity to leave the office early to go have a crabby tea party in the park or something.

So, thanks for your messages. But she is currently out of the office. If you need to speak with someone immediately, please dial '0' to speak with the operator, or email Otherwise, Crabby will respond to your message when she returns.