Thursday, November 29, 2012

Acting the Part

So, I was just laying on the floor in the middle of my apartment thinking about some really important stuff. Initially, I was all "OMG, I have GOT to sweep these hardwood floors" but then I was all "Poor Lindsay Lohan."

Homegirl got in another accident last night. There's nothing I like about Miss Lohan except her memorable turn as a normal person in Mean Girls. Great actress? No. Certifiably insane? Likely.

But I feel bad for her, you guys! She's the ideal butt of every joke ever. She's crazy, she has a crazy family and she continues to do crazy things seemingly on purpose, and I think that everyone has just decided that she's going to be crazy forever. So, I'm pretty sure that people automatically think she's a straight-up dummy.

So what, she apparently got in another accident the other night at 4 a.m.? BIG DEAL.

Here's my argument in favor of La Lohan: She is a very target-able person and people all over everywhere are set to take advantage. I mean, come on. The girl put her 100% into a critically panned movie about Elizabeth Taylor and then when it fails, we are supposed to be SURPRISED that she wants to blow off some steam and hang out until 4 a.m.? Tell me what YOU did the last time you found out that everything you worked for was hot garbage.

What would YOU guys do if you had just learned that not only did you fail at your job, but every person on the planet would learn about your poor performance? You would NOT be cool about it. Oh, OH! AND she just found out she has a half-sister. Gee, THAT'S normal news we all get and have to deal with every day...#not.

I'm not saying LiLo is sane...or sober...but I am saying that every person ever has automatically decided that this chick is a total mess and she's always drunk driving into herds of cats or kids or whatever. It's just not fair for the horrible little actress. She's gone to jail and rehab...what else do we want her to do? Everyone needs to calm down and stop deciding that these head-case nutjobs who we have granted instant fame need to "behave themselves."

Rude. If I were famous tomorrow, I'd do unconscionable things. I'd skip out on tabs, buy cars and leave them wherever they are when they run out of gas, find rich friends, buy rich friends, park wherever I darn well pleased, buy monkeys for pets and let them throw their poop everywhere...things like that.

My point is that crazy starlettes in Hollywood are both annoying and fragile. I mean yes, they are likely insane and desperate for attention, but that doesn't mean we need to add insult to injury by acting all innocent and surprised when our insatiable need for a juicy story causes them to have a nervous breakdown or crash into a person on the street as they are fleeing from paparazzi. Let's just all relax and stop being as terrible to them as they are in their latest "acting" role. Okay? Okay.

The Waiting Game

What time is it? Where am I? What's going on? You guys, I'm a little out of sorts tonight. I only now just remembered that I hadn't posted a blog today. It's been a whirlwind evening. All day, there's been some alarm going off somewhere in my building and it's been making me act all wonky after listening to "BRRP! BRRP! BRRP!" for like 10 hours (and counting). After work, I took a nap then made a terribly unhealthy dinner, but it wasn't until about 3 hours ago that I made the biggest mistake of all.

I downloaded a game on my iPhone. A WAITRESSING GAME. There is something so incredibly addicting about this genre of video games for me. It started harmlessly, with an innocent purchase of a game called Diner Dash many years ago. It was the actual CD of the game that I put in my computer. That's how long ago it was.

All these "Dash" games consist of is WAITRESSING. The player is Flo and she serves people food, sometimes drinks, then clears their dishes and takes their money. The customers provide various levels of difficulty and timing, but it's essentially the exact same every freakin' level. I have lost SEVERAL hours to the Dash games.

The reason this is doubly weird is that I was once a waitress in real life during college. And I was REALLY BAD AT IT. Seriously. I couldn't get the timing down, I didn't have patience for indecisive customers, I forgot people's salsa roughly 90% of the time and on an average night, I'd pull in less than 10% in tips. Plus, I'm probably the clumsiest person I know. I just did not have the skill set necessary to be any good at it. I was so bad that my really good friend at the time, who was the manager at the restaurant where I worked, had to be like "Listen, you should maybe quit. Or I would have to fire you." Ouch.

So I don't know why I'm so obsessed with playing a video game version of the one job I was incredibly bad at. I thought I had kicked the Dash habit years ago. I had played the game for way too long and I eventually threw away the CD. A couple years later, I downloaded it again and got hooked again. I managed to give it up again and thought I was done with it for good.

Then today, when I was playing Words With Friends (a much more intelligent time-waster), a banner ad came up for WEDDING DASH. OMG. A Dash game that's WEDDING themed!? What are you doing to me, gaming gods?! Before I could repeat the 10 steps of addiction in my head, I found myself punching in my iTunes password and yelling at my phone for not downloading the game fast enough.

That was almost 3 hours ago. My phone battery died at one point and I sat against the wall charging my phone and playing simultaneously. The only reason I managed to pry myself away from the game - which, I should add, is EXACTLY the same as the other Dash games, but Flo serves wedding guests instead of customers - was because I wanted to talk to Geo before bed. I told him I had gotten hooked on another Dash game and he was like "OMG, you are a loser." And I was like "I know, I know. But listen, I've got tables waiting so I gotta run."

Tuesday, November 27, 2012

Missed The Target

There are a few times in a gal's life when it's okay to just kind of hang out and wait. Service at the bar? Waiting list for a hair appointment? All totally normal times to try and be patient. But pharmacies are not bars or hair salons, people.

Listen, I know I'm impatient. Geo tells me that every single time we are driving or in line for coffee. This girl hates herself a wait time. But I nearly lost my mind today when I woke up a sick, hot mess and needed some pharmaceutical assistance. I did the decent thing and woke up at dawn and WAITED for my doctor's office to open to call in a prescription. Then I WAITED for the stupes pharmacy to call me with the wonderful news that feeling better was one script and a short drive away.

The call never came.

I kept working, kept feeling crappy, kept waiting for the pharmacy to call and be all "You're all set, lady!" And I ate breakfast and then I ate lunch and then I kept waiting for the call. Eventually, around 1:30 p.m. I decided I couldn't take it anymore.

See, when a person makes it her business to fill a prescription 1 hour before a pharmacy even OPENS, I feel like it should be taken seriously. It's not a refill on eyelash growth hormones or something. No. I feel crappy and would like to feel better. Stat. (That's a medical term.) (Also, I realize I sound like I'm talking about crack or something, but I'm not. Just good ol' fashioned scientific advancements.)

So when it rolls around to like 5 hours post-refill request, I get worried. I ended up deciding to just get proactive. I called the pharmacy to be all "Here's my D.O.B., where's my Rx?!" Instead, I was met with "The pharmacy is closed for lunch. Please try later."

Um. Squeeze me? You're a business catering to sick people and you la-di-da off for 1/2 hour because you only hire one pharmacist at a time at a global corporation? Something is rotten in the state of Denmark. Why?! WHY are there no backups for lunch? When I worked at Gap Kids, everyone's lunch was scheduled in order to keep the store running for the full day. There was never a crudely written "Be back in 30 minutes" sign hanging on the door. Nope. We managed to stay open the entire time we were OPEN. And our customers just wanted a good deal on a tshirt of moderate quality, not healing medications.

I broke into a cold sweat when I heard the "be back later" message. Was it because I was sick, or mad? Who's to say...? The point is, I was angry at the ridiculous waiting time. Eventually, when I got through to a human, I was all, "Hey, you got a 'script for me?" And they were all "Totes," and I was all ", WHEN were you going to call me?" And they were all "Uh...whoops. Did we say we were going to do that?"! And I was all "YES. I'VE BEEN WAITING A BILLION MINUTES FOR YOUR CALL," and they were all "Well, it's ready now. We cool?"

No, we are decidely NOT COOL. I'm waiting for pharmaceuticals, not a table a TGIFridays. I was promised phone call updates when I agreed to have Target as my drug dealer in favor of Walgreens. Who, I might add, does not close over lunch AND is open 24 hours. Ugh, but they just don't have the bedding and wide variety of boot socks that I need so badly when I'm shopping for drugs and toothpaste. Decisions, decisions...

Anyway, I finally got some justice when the super nice lady at the pharmacy told me to have a nice day, and all I said was "Hrmpf." BAZINGA. At least now I'm on the mend and Target will probably never recover from this crazy-fierce tongue lashing I've dished out on this blog for ones and tens of people to see.

Monday, November 26, 2012


Hey everyone! Look who's back! Did you all have a great Thanksgiving weekend? The 10 extra pounds on my thighs will attest to the fact that I definitely had a delicious holiday. Geo just left tonight, so I decided to skip last night's blog because he was not thrilled when I tried to talk him into helping me think of what celebrities had what food for Thanksgiving on his last night back. Instead, we played Settlers with some friends and stayed up late battling barbarian hoards. COOL.

Which brings us to today. Back on track. Back to the ol' schedule. Back to non-gravy-covered food.

Lately I've been making a lot of hard-boiled eggs. (Talk about your all-time best transitions...) Anyway, I love them and they have protein and they are easy to make. Well, NOW they are easy to make. I definitely had to make them like 20 times with my "How to Boil Water" cookbook open before I had any confidence in boiling water and eggs all by myself.

Here's the problemo with hard-boiled eggs. Um, they smell like farts. Bad farts. And they make your whole apartment and refrigerator smell like bad farts. Pretty soon you're not sure if you've unknowingly transported to a sulfur mine or if your eggs are ready. Yum!

And yet, I still love 'em. Is it because they are so versatile and filling? Maybe. Is it because they are the only things I can "cook" now without a cookbook handy? Probably. In any case, hard-boiled eggs are some seriously delicious, ridiculously bad-smelling foods. Which is SO counter intuitive!

Think about it: You never are like, "Wow, whatever you're cooking smells ridiculously bad. Can't wait to dig in!" No, it's more like, "That dinner you're cooking up smells like bagels or bacon. YUM!"

Eggs. Gross.

I'd really to know who the first person was to hard boil an egg. Every other kind of egg is equally delicious but has, essentially, no scent. Scrambled? Sunny-side-up? Even soft-boiled? All great, all scentless. But then someone somewhere was like "Let's dump these eggs in water, boil 'em up and wait until they smell a cow's butt then chow down. Who wants to be the first to try one?!" Then there were probably two camps of people: The ones who ate them with mayo and bread, and the ones who decided to start throwing rotten eggs at people's houses who were mean and wore WAY too much makeup for a 10th grader and who, despite repeated polite requests, still TOTALLY took John to the hayride even though she definitely knew I you liked him.

I digress.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Smelly eggs. (Wow, really? That's where we are tonight? Okay, whatever you say, subconscious rambling.) Anyways, luckily I have unpacked my box of Christmas decorations already, and there were like 100 Christmas Tree scented candles inside. So, instead of sulfurous air pollution, my whole apartment smells like holly and Santa. And I got to add some much-needed protein to an otherwise uneventful spinach salad. Yeah. Pretty amazing day indeed.

Sunday, November 25, 2012

Not Quite

I'm not quite ready to come back after the super awesome Thanksgiving weekend yet. We'll return to our regularly scheduled hilarity tomorrow. Love you guys!

Wednesday, November 21, 2012

You're Welcome

Gobble gobble, nerds! It's just about Turkey Day! I'm boycotting Dear Crabby today because I really think it's important to address one very important issue.

I'm pretty sure I don't love Thanksgiving food.

How un-American is that?! I don't know what is wrong with me. I feel like the components are all there. Starches? CHECK. Butter-slathered vegetables? CHECK. Gravy covered EVERYTHING? I mean, it all should really be considered CHECK.

And yet? And YET. I find myself continually shoving food in my mouth that I wouldn't typically choose over, say, bagels. I feel bad for the pilgrims and native Americans who simply didn't have access to a Bruegger's at that first dinner.

But I love eating with my family. I love passing various foods and suffering various levels of burns from touching certain dishes with my bare hands. I love chatting with cousins and aunts and uncles about what I should be doing about my the current problem in my life. It's probably not fun for them, but it's very helpful. And for that form of free therapy, I am thankful.

Thanksgiving for me is about overindulging on appetizers and coloring the "Oh, You Turkey" page in the newspaper. But then comes 120 plates of various dishes and I get overwhelmed. Instead of loading up on turkey, cranberry, stuffing, green beans and whatnot, I just panic and load up on anything made with potatoes.

Because yes. Everything potato-based is delicious, and as my mom says "Potatoes are the perfect food."

I feel like maybe I just can't handle Thanksgiving. I've never been known for my ability to pace myself when it comes to food, so I'm sure I front-load on apps and bread. I'm the cheapest date ever.

But I'm thankful for this holiday. Not only is it a four-day weekend, but it is a carb-approved holiday, which is just great. I'm also super thankful for my family, my parents, my siblings, my fiance who traipsed into town for 4 hours before leaving me again, and I'm thankful for YOU guys. Anyhoozle, I hope you take a tiny minute to be thankful for for stuff like family and friends and bagels. I know I will!

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

A Truly Bad Start to every morning

I'd like to write this post to complain to the "fine" people at TBS. Now that I'm Amish and only have like 5 TV channels (one of which is Fox News, so, I basically have 4 channels) I rely heavily on the programming choices made at TBS, ABC Family and TLC. And let me tell you, people, I'm not liking what I'm seeing.

I don't know what happened when TBS decided to change their morning lineup, but I think there was a fire sale on terrible shows and TBS pounced. There used to be Saved by the Bell reruns every morning, which made getting ready for work downright amazing. Zack Attack? Yes please! But now? Allow me list the shows that command the "prime time" spots.

My Name is Earl. Home Improvement. According to Jim. Every single show ever produced by Tyler Perry.  

What!? What ARE these shows? They're the WORST SHOWS EVER. They're one episode of Two and a Half Men away from ruining TV forever in a single morning. But what am I supposed to do, watch the NEWS in the morning? Turn off the TV? NO THANKS. So, I end up watching these atrocious excuses for entertainment and there's simply nothing I can do about it.

Is there any person on the planet who truly enjoys these shows? I mean, I KIND OF understand Home Improvement. (Who didn't have a crush on that middle kid when they were a preteen?) But the rest of them are simply tragic. I've pooped funnier plot lines than even the best episodes of these shows.

You'd think that a network with enough sense to get Conan and keep showing Friends and Family Guy would understand that not one show on their morning schedule elicits even one tiny chuckle from anyone who is not the boringest person ever. TBS: Very funny? I think not. Maybe the joke's on me.

Also, TBS? I GET IT. COUGAR TOWN IS COMING TO TBS IN 2 FREAKING MONTHS. I swear, if they don't stop playing the promos for Cougar Town, I'm going to buy an actual cougar to eat my TV and my eyeballs.

For all it's redeeming qualities, TBS has seriously missed the mark on entertaining me in the mornings. It's like they don't even CARE about cheering me up when I inevitably wake up cranky every morning and only want to add fuel to the fire. I don't even mind that they repeat movies mercilessly until I can memorize every line in Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle. But filling morning time slots with the worst shows on TV is almost enough to completely cancel out the 2 hours they dedicate to Friends in the afternoons.

Oh, also? I've watched the Tyler Perry shows. Spoiler alert: THEY ARE ALL EXACTLY THE SAME SHOW. EXACTLY. THE. SAME. 

Here's a helpful hint for the suits at TBS: Instead of vomiting all over my mornings, maybe consider going back to the days when you'd play Dawson's Creek or Saved by the Bell reruns. I'd even settle for a 2-hour block of pilot episodes from failed TV series.

In closing, I'd like to formally request that TBS changes its programming schedule in my area sooner than later. If I see one more scene where Tim Allen mixes up the lesson he supposedly learned from Wilson, I'm going to punch myself in the face and then punch my TV. Get it together, TBS.

Monday, November 19, 2012

Traitor Joe's

There are many things I simply do NOT understand about the human race. People who eat French fries with forks. Bicyclists. Eating eggs with ketchup. Slow walkers in the mall. People who wear those Bluetooth headpieces. People who compost. But far and away, the thing that probably confounds me most is people who can grocery shop during the day.

I work from home three days a week. But I still typically do all my food shopping when I'm starving on a Saturday morning in my sweatpants and mascara smeared down my cheeks. Stores are ALWAYS busy then, but I GET THAT. But today, I got a serious hankering for some homemade chicken salad and needed a couple supplies. I decided "Oh, I'll just breeze in and out of the store because it's a work day and people work." I decided to go to Trader Joe's because I also really wanted to be one of those people who buy brown eggs. Which I also don't understand. But, it's trendy so I thought I'd give it a shot.

Really?! I had to circle the lot TWICE to find a parking spot. I was shocked. I finally found a spot and went inside. I do NOT understand these people. It was like 2 p.m. and the place was PACKED. Not even for Thanksgiving stuff, either. There were people bustling around the cheese aisle, the cereal area and the dietary supplement section. Fewer than like 5 people had kids with them (which likely makes them stay-at-home parents and thus, understandable) and everyone was all dressed like normal people.

I, not anticipating a crowd, only managed to match my sweatpants to my socks tucked into slippers that only SORT OF pass as shoes.

But all these people were relatively young, put together and seemingly in no hurry to pack their chick peas or organic whey macaroni and tofu cheese or whatever into their carts. They were just THERE. I looked around as I scurried to find some celery and brown eggs and saw only people who seemed to have nowhere to go but were dressed as if they were headed to a very grown-up activity. And yet they still had enough money and cooking skills to knowingly put shallots and organic diamond bean curd in their baskets.

Who ARE these people?! No kids? No place to go? Casually reading the ingredients in some sort of carbonated carrot/beet juice on a Monday afternoon? What is going on?

Grocery shopping during the day is a serious LUXURY. It's like going to a doctor's appointment between the hours of 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. It's just not something most people can do. And yet, there is an entire population of people mulling around the most indulgent place in the universe without any sort of sense of time or day.

Anyway, what started as a crazy excursion into Brown Egg land turned very quickly into a complete spiral down the rabbit hole. All these people have somehow found a loophole in the regular work schedule and didn't have the decency to share their magic grocery-shopping-schedule formula with anyone else. Traitors.

The moral of this story is that I don't get people who aren't stressed out or crazy-busy during traditional work days and I now think they are witches. Also, I ended up getting white eggs because I decided brown eggs looked like they came out of a chicken's butt.

Sunday, November 18, 2012

(Don't) Say my Name

I was sitting in a charming little neighborhood dive bar with my friends Claire and Kelsey on Friday night. We had each ordered a beer and were having a good time. Approx 5 minutes later, a dude approached our table. "Hey," he opened. "Hey," we replied. (Most interesting opener ever.) He asked for our names, and Claire responded "I'm Claire, that's Kelsey, and that's Pharon." He goes "Wait, WHAT'S your name?" And I said, very clearly, "SARAH. I'm Sarah."

Claire gave me a weird look and Kelsey laughed out loud. I HATE explaining my name, how it's spelled and where it came from to some random shmuck who can't even think up a creative opening line. So this guy got suspicious at my friends' reactions, I could tell. He looked at me while Claire and Kelsey said, over and over, "Yeah, that's SARAH. Right, SARAH!? Want some nachos, SARAH!?" I hadn't said it to try and deceive the guy, I said it because Pharon is interesting and likes to talk about her name and her super awesome life. "Sarah" does not. Sometimes I really like Sarah.

My friend Kim used to resort to the same thing. When she'd say my name, inevitably someone would say "WHAT is that girl's name?!" Yelling my name, spelling it and where it came from over the boom of bar music was just heinous tedium so she too changed my name. To Barb. No one asks questions about Barb. Everyone knows how to spell Barb. Sometimes when she's mad at me, she still calls me Barb.

See, this is different than just lying about your name to be mean. But we would totally do that, too. In college, Kim and I would ALSO alternate telling people one of our names was Allyson, who was our very real friend in Minnesota. Then "Allyson" would give someone our REAL friend Allyson's phone number. We knew it had been a fun night when we'd get a call from Allyson the next day being like "You guys! STOP IT! Also, call someone named Shane back."

But the worst part about any name lie, whether for ease or deceit, is keeping others in the loop and being cool about it. About 30 times throughout our drink this weekend, one of the girls would call me Pharon and then overcompensate by repeating "Sarah" over and over and over. And loudly. SO not smooth. It's also why I can't give a fake name at Caribou. The people taking my credit card always say "Wait, what's the name on this card then?!" UGH! What's with the third degree!? Can't you people just ACCEPT a fake name when it's given to you!?

It's not that I don't love my name. I do. I just have places to be, people, and don't have time to explain my name and my siblings' names to every person on the planet. I also don't have time to hear about that one time you met a guy named "Farlen," which is just sooooooo close to Pharon, right?! No, it's not. I don't tell every Nick I meet about the times I met a Rick or Victoria.

Anyway, as we were leaving the bar on Friday night, the jig was definitely UP. "Sarah" was left behind because "Pharon" was the buzzkill making us all leave because she was driving, and the protests from Claire and Kelsey were VOCAL. If anyone around us had grown fond of Sarah, they may have been confused to learn she was just a front. Poor Sarah fans. I hope they were okay.

Besides the name confusion, this weekend was great fun. I spent Saturday dress shopping with my mom and today cleaning my nasty apartment and buying child-sized moccasins at Target. Sooooo totally Pharon.

Thursday, November 15, 2012

Vom Boards

Allow me to change your life in amazing ways tonight. I have this bad habit of waking up in the middle of the night and just worrying about things I have to do. It's like brain vomit. There's nothing I can do about any of it at 3 a.m. so it's just a mean little thing I put myself through for no reason. Every once in awhile, I'll write down the reasons for my anxiety so I can deal with it in the morning, but after like 45 minutes, I'm tired, worked up and have nothing to show for it.

So last night was one such night. I fell asleep watching Green Street Hooligans (yum) and woke up in a sweaty panic about planning a honeymoon. SO. USELESS. Then today during work, I kept thinking of things I needed to take care of in terms of the wedding and jotting down my thoughts on random scraps of paper. I looked at this giant pile of paper with half-asleep, half-coherent mind vomit on them and thought "This is ridiculous."

I needed one big ol' space to put my reasons for freaking out when I couldn't deal with them right away. You know, a place to store my brain vom so I wouldn't forget it and can remember to deal with it later, without the billions of pieces of scrap paper. So I made this:

I put a giant piece of paper on the wall, got my markers out and just doodled all my reasons for spazzing all over it. It's all in one place, it's colorful and it's totally removable. Now when I find myself stewing about something I can't do anything about yet, I can be all, "Oh crap, what am I going to do about [insert current reason for spazzing out]? I'll just slap in on the Vom Board and deal with it later." The Vom Board is just a place to keep all the uncontrollable things that keep you up at night or distract you from work.

Now, I've seen vision boards and bulletin boards and chalkboards and notepads and planners and all that, but I've never seen a Vom Board. For one thing, it's very cathartic to write on the wall (or at least a big piece of paper taped to it). It feels empowering, like "This is so annoying and important I have to aggressively record it right on the wall." (Flashback to the cave on Lost, anyone?) For another thing, I was just laying on the couch and staring at the vom board and was like "Okay, it's all on there now and I can handle anything that fits on one piece of paper covered in doodles." Finally? If I get up in the middle of the night again, I can just walk over to the wall and jot down my concerns and then deal with them in the morning. No crappy scrap paper, no boring black pen, and it's just all there in one place. Oh, and when I'm done with everything, I can just fold it up and throw it away. No muss, no fuss.

I initially wanted to get a roll of adhesive whiteboard paper, but I didn't want to ERASE stuff. I want to cross stuff out. Violently. And I don't want to worry about rubbing up against it and accidentally removing 10 very important thoughts regarding candles.

Side Note: So, while I was looking at these adhesive whiteboards online, I was reading the reviews because many of them don't actually STICK to the wall. But then I saw a review by this guy who wrote, "I love this product! I stuck it in my shower because I always have the BEST ideas in the shower, amiright?!" I thought to myself "Who puts a WHITEBOARD in the SHOWER. One errant stream of water and the whole thing is gone!" Oh, and also, the only thing I think about in the shower is "OMG, I'm so late. There is simply no time to shave." Probably the worst place on the planet to put a piece of adhesive whiteboard is the freakin' shower. Idiot.

So I opted for the plain ol' paper and magic markers. I'm worried that I look like a serial killer, though. A wall covered in nonsense and doodles that I add to in the middle of the night? NORMAL.

Yeah. So, it's all under control now. I highly suggest using the Vom Board method for things like Christmas shopping or job hunting or deciding what to wear to the next holiday party and other important things like that. It's great. If you decide to start your own, go ahead and send a pic of it to me! In a couple weeks, I'm going to take another pic of my Wedding Vom Board and I bet it looks amazeballs AND crazeballs by then! Who knows? I may have just finished planning the whole wedding by then!

Wednesday, November 14, 2012

Dear Crabby

What a nice break in the tear-inducing, knuckle-wringing, math-paralyzing week! It's time for Dear Crabby! PHEW!

Dear Crabby,
Um, I'm a GUY. As in: A MAN. But I decided to get some boudoir pictures taken for my fiance as proof of what I looked like when she agreed to marry me. They were supposed to be tasteful. But the shoot went horribly awkward before I could even explain why I wouldn't shave my chest. And let's just say there was at least one military cap placed atop my head. It turned out really terribly if I need to say that. I'm worried that the super amazingly bad pics will show up somewhere. I don't know the photographer well, and I don't know what to do now. How can I make sure they don't show up on some tumblr account or something?! 
Yours truly,

Well, Embarrassed,
There's really only one thing you can do. Why don't you go ahead and email me the pics and I'll do some laughing hysterically super-awesome highly technological watermarking to keep your allegedly "tasteful" pics safe. If I accidentally send them to everyone I know, I apologize in advance. But, seriously, you should know that there is no such thing as "tasteful male boudoir pictures." Really? What possessed you to do that? More importantly, what possessed your fiance to MARRY to you!? You sound different and weird and vain. Good luck, bro. Move to Europe and consider a career in weird, hairy adult films.

Dear Crabby,
How long is "too long" to breastfeed? Do people really get that upset by it?
Bottles don't Only Offer Booze

If you're old enough to ASK about breastfeeding and access a computer and type that question after learning to read and write, you need to step away from the teet. Also: Somewhere in my logic is an argument about strip clubs and seeing breasts in public, but I can't quite figure out the joke yet. I don't know. Ugh.

Dear Crabby,
OMG. I GOT A HICKEY. A HICKEY! WHAT DO I DO!? HOW DO I GET RID OF IT?!?!!? MY DAD IS GOING TO KILL ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

Um, okay...Job 1 NSSH?! STOP YELLING AT ME.
Now, getting rid of a hickey is very simple. All you need to do is go back in time to elementary school when you learned to give yourself a hickey on your arm and ABSORB THE LESSON. Then bop ahead to middle school and teach the guy sucking on skin to stop doing that because he's an idiot. Then quick hop back to the 1980s and say "What up!" to me and my bowl cut before eventually traveling back to the beginning of whatever terrible date you were on tonight and call in sick. Easy peezy.

Wow. SO MUCH GOOD ADVICE TONIGHT. Did I miss the mark on these? Did I miss your question? Go ahead and shoot me an angry or super-complimentary email at and I'll decide whether or not I want to waste my genius on you.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Budgets and Math and Numbers...OH MY!

So...budgets are The. Worst. I remember my dad telling me that I needed to "stick to a budget" when I opened my first checking and savings account. I remember thinking "But this 'money' is just numbers! Those can be flubbed, right!?" They couldn't. I bounced my first check when I was about 17 years old and wrote a check for gas. I was like "Well, I didn't write down every cent I've spent this month, but I'm SURE there's enough in the good ol' budget."

There wasn't.

I didn't understand that money is a very real thing. Once it's spent, it's gone. It doesn't just magically reappear because you add wrong or forget about that pair of jeans you just HAD to have. Money is so RUDE.

When I wanted more than 250 minutes a month on my very first cell phone, despite having zero other friends with cell phones, my parents were all "Hey, if you want more, you gotta buy them." Um...extra minutes back then were EXPENSIVE. I was bouncing my next check to AT&T before the first month was done. I learned the value of a dollar. And that dollar didn't get me that many minutes, back then.

I discussed a wedding budget with my parents tonight. It SUCKED. All of a sudden, I had to attach a monetary value to certain things that I had previously been like "There is no dollar amount that can be placed on confetti guns." Because there is a monetary value for EVERYTHING. And it's HARD to figure it all out. And I am NOT GOOD at math.

Who knew that there was so much math involved in planning a wedding? Okay, fine...clearly, EVERYONE knew that except me.

I had a nervous breakdown tonight after the discussion with my parents. There was math and Excel equations and brain was rough. I was having flashbacks to the time when I accidentally enrolled in Logic and Reasoning in college because I was promised there were no numbers involved. Turns out, there were no numbers because they were instead represented by SYMBOLS. I had to know numbers well enough to TRANSLATE them into other things and I still can't believe I (barely) passed that class. Thank God for grading on a curve...

But, thanks to Geo and my parents, I eventually calmed down. Also, I'm more than a little concerned that once the math and calculators and percentages and figures were out of my immediate sight, I decided to completely disregard them again to relax again. I guess it's a vicious cycle.

Oh well, I guess will go ahead and agree with Geo that "It will all work out," which is something I almost never believe will happen, at least not without careful and constant meddling. He's just way better at math than I am.

Monday, November 12, 2012

Three's Company

What a boring Monday. I mean, it snowed a little and I was pretty stoked to finish work and get to dinner with my mom, my sister Prinna and Claire, but other than that...I mean, boring. Sooo boring.


Wanna see a picture?

You didn't REALLY think I'd splash a pic of me in a dress all over the interwebs, did you!? No, see, that up there is a perfect score from the critics. Remember last time I went shopping? My sister Padrin, who couldn't be here tonight, made us these awesome scoring chalkboards and we all rated each dress on a score from 1 to 3, where 1 was "Bad", 2 was "Meh" and 3 was "LOVE IT". Tonight was the first time I got threes from all of them and actually gave myself a strong 4.

We kicked the night off with an awesome dinner (at which I ate less than half of a half salad). It was me, my mom, Prinna and Claire and we all headed over to the shop. I was not super stoked because the place was PACKED with other blushing/shoving brides. It was rough and crazy-busy. But I got in my fitting room and put on the robe. The curtain this time was MUCH more substantial than the last time. In the comfort in my own room, I squeezed slipped into dress after dress while the girl helping me tried to figure out why I liked THIS lace but not THAT lace. Why THOSE beads were okay, but not THESE beads.

Then I put on one that had everything I wanted, and I loved it. It's a smoosh out of the agreed-upon price range, so it's not the done deal I would have liked it to have been. I'm kind of hoping to find it on a 50% off rack sometime soon, though I'm not holding my breath.

But, I had a MUCH better time shopping this round and tried on dresses that actually fit, which is just tops. I guess this means I'm THISMUCH closer to knocking off another To Do on the annoyingly aggressive bridal checklist I get from every week. Hooray! I'll give THAT a definite 3.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Missed Call

What an awesome weekend! My sister Prinna performed on Saturday night in front of 1,000+ people at a show called The Moth. She stood alone on a stage for 15 minutes and just told one of the most moving and emotional stories ever. The audience was captivated. Those who weren't holding their breaths were sniffling and wiping away tears. It was amazing. She was definitely a showstopper.

I planned to come home and call Geo to tell him all about it, but instead I texted him. "Hey, you still up?" A few minutes later he responded, "Kind of. Already was sleeping though." And instead of ringing him up to run through the fabulous night, I wrote back, "Okay, wanna talk tomorrow?" And he's all "Yup."

Quite frankly, I was relieved. I was exhausted and had already been texting him all night about the show, so there was not a load more to say. Plus, I was about 10 seconds away from drooling on my pillow and snoring (#sohot) and I hate talking on the phone when I'm tired. In fact, I just am not a fan of phone calls to begin with.

Yes. I'm in a long-distance relationship and I am the worst phone-call talker ever. I get distracted, bored, tired, or confused when I can't see the other person's reactions. Most of my conversations with Geo consist of me stressing about wedding stuff and him reliving some awesome thing in Halo or something. After about 5 minutes we are both markedly checked out of the conversation. Ugh, phone calls are so HARD!

I was talking about this with some friends tonight and we said "Ugh, remember when were we teenagers and we'd sit on the phone for HOURS talking to people we had spent all day with!? What in God's name did we talk about?!" Back then, I could talk for 2 hours about what so-and-so wore and now I can barely make it through a 15-minute conversation with the man I'm going to marry who lives in Alabama about travel plans for holidays or what the groomsmen should wear at the wedding.

I also hate companies who force me to call them. No online appointment page or email address? I will not be visiting your salon/restaurant. I also don't have email contact information for my onsite property manager or the church for our wedding. No, instead I have to CALL them up, talk to a live person, and I can't go back and erase any poorly-executed jokes. There are also people who take forever to form an actual thought, and I would much rather wait 20 minutes to get a clearly-worded email than spend 5 minutes trying to figure out what a person is trying to say. Plus, there is no documentation from a phone call. With an email, the time or date or whatever is right there in black and white. Rely on my memory or crappy notes for that kind of information? BAD IDEA.

As a point of reference, I will tell you that my phone plan gives me 450 minutes of anytime minutes every month, and rolls over any minutes I don't use in a month. I've banked like 1,574,900 minutes. My last phone bill claims I made it through the month with using 102 minutes.

I don't know when I started hating talking on the phone, but it happened. If a phone call is going to last longer than 5 minutes, I just put it off. Sadly, I've lost touch with a lot of friends because I've procrastinated The Phone Call. Then it just gets longer and longer and I know that there will be MORE to catch up and the vicious cycle continues.

This is not to say I don't appreciate phone calls. Often and under the right circumstances, a phone call is important, funny and more convenient. We just need to teach everyone in the world which information would be better communicated through email/text and which info needs to shared by phone. What do you think, should we start a phone tree or just send out a mass text?

Thursday, November 8, 2012


In the ongoing saga that is My Our Wedding, I have been confronted with issue after issue on a near-daily basis. And we're still 275 days away from the big day (according to the very annoying countdown clock I have somehow subscribed to). If it's not a "real" issue, it's a manufactured problem that has seeped into my subconscious that I end up dreaming about at night and freaking out about the next day.

I don't KNOW if the water on site is purified or contains spiders. I feel like that detail wasn't in my info packet. Better send an email requesting clarification STAT.

Anyways, we all know that I'm about as photogenic as Gary Busey. I've been stressed about the whole "photographic evidence" part of the event so I had been putting off the search for the poor soul tasked with attempting to find my good side on the big day.

So I was not exactly stoked when my mom and I made an appointment with a photographer earlier this week. I didn't know what to expect, and I was worried that it would be one of a billion meetings where I'd have to explain "Someone needs to be in charge of telling me to stop sticking my tongue out."

My mom and I met at the studio and officially started the process. I was sweating before we even got inside. We walked into the studio and it was great. Relaxing atmosphere, beautiful pics on the walls, and the friendliest guy on the planet headed towards us with a smile and a hug. The photographer.

We sat down and chatted about this 'n that and then got down to the deets of the wedding. (Although, it only took about 5 minutes for my mom to say "Yes, I have four other kids. They're all married. Except Pharon." Ouch.) Anyhooz, about 10 minutes into the appointment, I realized how much I missed Geo when the photographer was like "Tell me about Geo" and I blathered on for way too long about his likes, dislikes, eating habits and shoe size. The photog was all "Um, okay. Thanks for that...very...elaborate description." Anyway the appointment went on until I felt downright weird without Geo there.

The photog was like "Tell me when you knew he was the one." I shifted uncomfortably next to my mom and was like, "I dunno. I hated him first. And then I didn't hate him." How very articulate, Pharon. Remind me to sew that into a pillow some day. Maybe include that in our vows?

Okay, so the appointment continued and then he did the coolest thing. He laid out all these other wedding pics in front of me and had me choose the ones I liked...the ones I was drawn to. Then based on my choices, he told me my style. Even though I started the appointment with "I loooove architecture and landscape and lush green and nothing too cheesy," I was informed that I, in fact, am NOT drawn to those images. Instead, I am equal parts Classic, Romantic and Details. And even though were iffy. Turns out, I was overwhelmingly drawn to Playful. Great. I guess I want my wedding to look like the afterparty of Prom. Classy!

Anyways, it was AWESOME. I actually had FUN talking about photos and must-have shots and location. It was pretty great. I was really nervous talking to a pseudo-stranger about my "vision" for the wedding, but it turns out that's WHY some people are amazing wedding photographers and WHY I need to hire one. I don't know squat about photos, and this guy did. He was inspiring and reassuring and confident and everything I can't seem to be in this arena. It was great.

It would just be straight-up tops if picking a photographer was as easy as meeting one and loving him instantly. If that's how wedding planning goes, I don't know what everyone's complaining about...

Dear Crabby

Hooray! We've made it through hump day and we are thisclose to the weekend, so that's just tops. Let's get to some quick queries for Crabby so we can get even closer to Friiiiiiday, cool?

Dear Crabby,
I'm fairly certain my wife is trying to slowly poison my food. That, or she's just the worst cook ever. Her food makes me sick almost every night and it just always tastes like...I don't know. Poisoned paste. On the one hand, I don't want her to feel bad if she's just a terrible cook. On the other hand? IT COULD BE POISON. Ideas?
Send Help, 
Scared Husband 

Dear Scared Husband,
Either way, it sounds like you're in quite a pickle. If she's a bad cook, you certainly can't TELL her that. If you do, she might actually try to poison you because you're a heartless jackwad. If she actually IS poisoning you, that's probably kind of a big deal. Maybe you should just become a vegan gluten-free person allergic to veggies and sugar. Then you'll just not be able to eat anything ever. Problem solved!

Dear Crabby,
Last week, my boss told me that he is cheating on his wife. It kind of just slipped out while we were going over some expense reports and he was getting mad at me for a random hotel expense. He then told me that no matter how many times he and "Lisa" (not his wife) stay at hotels, apple bacon pancakes have never cost more than $8.50. Now, I  don't know his wife (Anne) at all, but I HATE my boss and kind of want to ruin his life by tracking her down and telling her about his infidelity. Should I rat him out or keep my mouth shut?
Side Job 

Sup Side Job,
Well, it sounds like you've already made up your mind to tell the wifey. You just want someone to confirm that it's okay to do it because it's also a majorly jerkface thing to do and extremely none of your business. So, whatever...sure! Go for it! Sounds like a great, well-thought-out plan! There's no way this could go any way by your way. He's got it coming. You'd be stupid NOT to tell her! Does that make you feel better about what you're going to do? If not, it's probably because it's a terrible idea in the first place, that's all. Best of luck to you, lady.

Dear Crabby,
Don't you ever get sick of dealing with the weird questions you get in Dear Crabby? 
Just Curious,
Quick Qrabby Question 

Funny you should mention that! I AM sick of dealing with the weirdos and spazzes that write me, begging for me to fix their lives. I am seriously NOT good at advice because I hate listening and think problems that have nothing to do with me are boring. But, I am also aware that my role as Crabby is, like, vital and life-affirming for the majority of people in the world. So, my hands are kinda tied here. Why, are you sick of reading the weird questions/awesomely awesome answers?

Hooray! It's now officially Thursday! I knew a quick Crabby post would get me closer to the weekend. If you have a question for the always-amazing advice guru, go ahead and send it to I'll screen 'em and pass 'em along to Her Highness for her perusal. You're welcome.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012


Well, we've got a President. So, you know, that's good. Did I vote for him? Was I happy or disappointed? I think those questions are irrelevant. All I will tell you is this: I can wear my super trendy "Obama for your mama" Urban Outfitters t-shirt for four more years. Except it doesn't fit anymore, which is, like, RUDE. When will we get a President who truly understands the plight of the moderately overweight woman?!

No one cares what I say here tonight. People are either angry or happy and no blogger on the planet will be able to match the horror/happiness that people are feeling tonight. 

But, like, I totally feel like I know how Mitt Romney must be feeling. In high school, despite my prestigious and hugely important win for Most Flirtatious in my entire senior class, I never wanted anything more than to be voted onto a Homecoming court or Sweetheart (the Valentine's Day dance) court. There wasn't a formal campaign in place. You just voted for the most popular people, basically. Then, in the middle of the night, the lucky court members would be awoken from their popular slumber and would then be inducted into the elite group and spend the the next week being better than everyone else.

I was BUILT for this role. 

I slept in my most adorable pajamas for, like, WEEKS leading up to Homecoming or Sweetheart on the off-chance that the school voted early, and I consciously willed myself to not drool in my sleep. 

Spoiler: I didn't ever get voted onto a court. (And I totally still drooled everywhere.) Sure I cheered for my friends - and boyfriend! - when I heard they had been called up to the big leagues. But secretly, I was like "There must be some mistake. ALL my friends made it onto court, and yet, I'm just like hanging out, eating cereal with my parents wearing my best pajamas."

Losing blows. I get it. 

But if I've learned anything from losing the chance to represent my high school in absolutely no real way whatsoever, I learned that winning is overrated. I mean, come on. It's not like losing will haunt you for decades or anything.


Well, I don't know what else to tell you guys. I'm stoked for Obama supporters. I am. And  just hope they all have super adorable pajamas on. 

Monday, November 5, 2012

My name is Pharon Square, and I approve this rant.

Sweet baby Jane. I am SO SICK of politics. The only thing more annoying than political ads ruining all my TV is people talking about how annoying they are. Never one to want to miss out on a trend, however, I suppose it's about time I momentarily join the party. The political party! Yessssss.

I'm not going to tell you who to vote for. I won't even tell you who NOT to vote for. I will tell you, however, to just VOTE. (But not for the wrong guy, 'cause you know...he sucks and will ruin everyone's life.) The only other time that adults get stickers anymore is when you get an apple and accidentally get the stupid sticker stuck to your long sweater and you don't even realize it until someone says "You have a sticker on your ass," and then you can't get it off without tugging on the wool and leaving a big ol' fuzzy strand of wool dangling off your butt.

Anyways, the best part about voting is that it puts an end to the election. I couldn't be more bored or disillusioned by all the absolutely absurd commercials and political pundits and talking points and arbitrary numbers. Did you guys know that 100 percent of political statistics are, ultimately, useless and downright wrong? 'Cause they are.

Also? I'm sick of learning that some of my friends on Facebook are idiots. If you're going to put it out there that you are, for example, a total knob, you should be ready to face some disagreement. Too many people are all "If you don't like my views, don't read my statuses!" And then when they DO get defriended because all they do is post fake statistics and baseless accusations, they get all "I hate when people can't handle a difference of opinion and are so close-minded that they defriend people with different political views."

No, dummy. You aren't getting defriended because because of your views, you are getting defriended because you are rude and obnoxious and well, probably wrong.

Anyway, Facebook is ruined during election time, and so is TV and every billboard I can see out my own window. It's like the Kardashians are in charge of the publicity schedule for the candidates. I can't wait for the first "tape" to come out! The only part of my life that hasn't been demolished with "I'm such-and-such and I approve this absolute bull$hit seeping out of my mouth hole," is the wedding section of Explore on Pinterest. Thank God I'm actually getting married.

So yeah. I'm just really stupid-annoyed by politics and useless rhetoric. It's at the point where I've almost lost sight of what these people stand for and just want to vote for the least obnoxious person. I'd almost vote for Angelina Jolie at this point. (Although I'm pretty sure only human beings can run for public office, not bloodless skeleton souls draped in Gucci...'cause I mean come on, what do THEY know about health care!?)

Okay, that's my two cents. Get out there, cast your vote and then get ready for the inevitable whining of the losing party. My only word of advice, especially to Minnesotans: Don't be jackwads, okay? Okay.

Sunday, November 4, 2012

Power Hour

We've got an extra hour in the day, folks. What SHALL we do with it?! I started downloading a movie on my Apple TV 4 days ago, and because of my terrible Internet connection, I just finished downloading it and started watching it tonight. So, in the interest of time and Bachelorette, I'm going to resort to List kind of post tonight. Here are the awesome things people should have done with their extra hour of time last night:

* Write poetry
* Eat extra bacon
* Sleep longer
* Think about investing in real estate
* Find out real estate is incredibly boring and lose interest immediately
* Get a massage
* Watch 2 amazeballs eps of Friends
* Learn a magic trick
* Develop 4 easy steps!
* Vote
* Dye your hair and regret it 5 minutes later
* Cook something? Or 2 somethings? I don't know how long it takes to cook stuff.
* Seriously...SLEEP LONGER
* Make spreadsheets
* Learn a cheer
* Learn how to do the elusive "smoky eye"
* Stalk your exes on Facebook
* Memorize the words to "Ditty"
* Pancakes!
* Honestly...why aren't you sleeping longer?!?

Nowhere on this list was to read a dumb blog, so I don't know why you are doing that now. Instead? Take a nap and cook a meal or something. Whatever. BE AWESOME today. I, on the other hand, still have an hour left in my movie. Good thing I waited to watch this until after Daylight Savings...

Thursday, November 1, 2012

Knit Wit

This afternoon I decided to get a new hobby. Why did I decide that, you ask? Well, see, Claire and I were going to do a craft today. She was all "Let's knit mittens," and I was like "Dude, I definitely don't know how to knit." But, like, ALL things I like on Pinterest that I want to do require KNITTING. Pinterest is so PUSHY.

Finally, I was like "Okay, let's knit. Will you teach me?" And Claire was like, "Now I'm not in the mood. Sorry." So you know what I did? I decided to teach MYSELF how to knit. How hard could it be?

I went to the store, found some yarn and didn't know what to do next. I texted my friend Liz who had learned to knit last year. I asked her what I needed to buy. She called and was like "Okay, get yarn, but not like super frilly or glittery yarn because that can get confusing. Just get some basic yarn to practice with." I put back the frilly, glittery yarn in my hand and said "Well, DUH!" Then she told me which stick-dealies to buy and I was on my way.

At home, I googled "How to knit" and 634,234,294,209,209 billion instruction sites. I clicked on the wikihow site, which as far as I'm concerned is the truest site on the Internet. The first row is lemon-squeezy. I got it done in 8 seconds and was like "Wow, knitting is very simple." I was busy deciding between an elaborate sweater and a variety of yarn bomb projects when I realized I didn't know what to do at the end of the first row.

Sixty-five websites, 4 videos and one thrown shoe later, here's what I had:

Hmm. The sweater would have to wait. Frustrated, I cut the chunk of "knitting" off and tossed it across the room, towards the bathroom where should have been flushed down the toilet. THAT'S how bad it was. And it took FOREVER! I decided to not get discouraged. I would keep trying. I would try and try and try until I succeeded! I read more websites, consulted more wikihow pages, watched some of the absolute DULLEST YouTube videos over and over and over. Trying and trying and trying. 

After a good 45 minutes, I thought I had the hang of it. My fingers were aching and I finally realized why arthritis commercials show people happily knitting away as proof that a product works. I examined my handiwork.

Um. Still...not...quite...right.My main problem was the fact that the yarn I got is actually two pieces of yarn twisted together. Blasted! I'd start with 10 stitches and by the time I got them all to the other stick thingie, there would be 16 loops. WHAT?! Curse you, historic pastime!

I didn't know what to do. Nothing I was doing was turning out right. I gave myself one last chance. I wouldn't just snip it off after the first three failed lines. I would not let the yarn get the best of me! This would not be my white whale (or whatever)! As God is my witness, I will LEARN TO KNIT!

With a renewed dedication and my nose to grindstone, I started all over. I tried and I tried again. I pursued in the face of defeat. An hour later, I had this:

What? Did you think I'd FAIL!? Did you think I'd spend hours teaching myself to do something only to give up? Silly rabbit. That up there is probably the easiest stitch thing you can do, but I don't care. It totally counts as knitting. I even got the point where I absent-mindedly did a few rows while chatting with Geo on the phone. Sadly, though, I realized that no matter how long I work on whatever this particular item is, it will never be anything. Too skinny for a scarf, too fat for super sweet shoelaces. So I need to start over with a PLAN. 

Whatever. I'm super proud of myself. And I'm sure all my friends and family are looking forward to receiving poorly-shaped hats and matching potholders for Christmas! Hooray!