Sunday, September 30, 2012

Dress Up

Yes. I have officially done the whole "dress shopping" thing, you guys. I did it and I'm still standing, so that's just bombtastic. Let's start from the beginning.

I spent the night before the Shopping Day freaking out. I was compiling spreadsheets and adding to my wedding binder, poring through bridal magazines and reading up on what to expect from my first time shopping for wedding dresses. I was sooooooo ready to be a total freak about everything.

When I got to my parents house on Saturday morning, my mom, my sisters and my niece were waiting. WITH MIMOSAS. Maybe this won't be so bad. We slugged back the breakfast of champions and then Padrin, my maid of honor, announced that she had little treat bags for us. Inside, there was a water bottle with a custom label that said "WILL SHE YES TO A DRESS?!" and a Snickers and all types of goodies. I also got a tiara. And then there were also little chalkboards. We were all, "What's with the chalkboards?" And Padrin was all "We're going to use them to rate the dresses!" You guys? I didn't like this idea...I LOVED IT.

So, off we went. The first stop was a bridal boutique in downtown Minneapolis. I got the full treatment there. We shopped through dresses, plucking out all kinds of fits and styles and price ranges. One major issue affected the experience. The little curtains that are supposed to block off the dressing rooms were like 2 inches too narrow, so I kept seeing people stroll by outside while I was prancing around doing little "I'm trying on wedding dresses!" dances. After I noticed the gaps in the curtains, I wanted to be like "SPEND $5 ON ONE MORE YARD OF FABRIC, STUPID BOUTIQUE!"

But whatever, I got in the first dress and it wasn't nearly as scary as I thought. In fact, it was FUN. I'd parade in dress after dress in front of my captive audience, welcoming the 1s, 2s and 3s on their chalkboards.

Now, I'm not a sample size. Which sucks, because it seriously affected the selection of dresses I could try on. I'd squeeze into some and get jumper-cable-clipped into others. Then I slipped into one that FIT. It was pretty and blingy and tulle-y and great. AND IT FIT. I finally stood in a dress, in the mirror and felt like a bride. A PRETTY ONE. I felt one tear slip down my cheek and by the time I went out to show the judges, I  was full on crying. I couldn't stop myself. Then everyone else cried and they put a veil on me and it felt like I might have found The One. But when I got back into the dressing room, I was all "It can't be this easy. I have spreadsheets and pictures and folders and a onesheet."

I couldn't seal the deal. I wanted to try on more dresses. I wanted more lace, more praise, more attention. I was having so much fun with my mom and my sisters and my niece that I just couldn't let it end after one store. So we decided to keep hunting. Instead of heading to another boutique with expensive dresses that wouldn't fit me, we decided to cancel that appointment and head to The Gap of wedding shops.

Before we went to David's Bridal, we thought it would be good to load up on lunch. I scarfed down a giant taco salad. It was NOT a good idea. Full of carbs and guacamole, I tried slipping into a bunch more dresses. Oddly enough, it was more difficult than before lunch.

But I tried on a bunch of different dresses and found one that I loved. It was a little snug (stupid guac!) so the lady handed me these like RUBBER SPANX. I wanted to come out of the dressing room in just the rubber pants and the corset bra, exclaiming "I'M SAYING 'YES' TO THIS DRESS!" But I didn't want people to return all their tacos and rice all over the place.

Anyway, the dress looked amazeballs and it was just like the ones I had been pinning and tagging and ripping out of magazines. I loved it. But again, I was like "It's too soon." Plus, everyone was worried that there were no tears this time around.

So, I didn't get a dress. YET. I know what I want now and, more importantly, I know what I DON'T want now. And what I DON'T want is to wear rubber pants ever again.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

The Dress Mess

I'm putting this post up because some day, hopefully I will look back and think "You're more insane than usual, Pharon. But it's cool."

I'm shopping for my wedding dress this weekend. 

MY WEDDING DRESS, you guys. Don't worry, I've been panicking enough for all of us. I had my first dress nightmare last night, and it involved a LOT of sequins. Since then, I've been seriously freaking out and crying and then freaking out again. 

Here's why I'm freaking out. Out of all the dresses in all the magazines and websites that I've ever seen, I'm supposed to just PICK ONE and decide it's the most important dress I'll ever own. But even THAT'S not the hardest part. I have to find something that fits, that flatters my color, that shows off my assets, that is in my budget, that fits the tone of my wedding, AND that I like. So much pressure on one giant dress.

I attempted to tone down the craziness by making a spreadsheet of all my wants/desires/realities/body hang ups. Then I cross-referenced those with the magazine pics I've haphazardly ripped out of magazines and came up with like 2 dresses. TWO DRESSES. That's it. That's all I have to choose from, apparently. I thought organizing my thoughts would help. It didn't. 

Now, like a baby learning to swim, I'm being launched into the deep end of the pool this weekend. (OMG, I'm pretty sure that's not how you're supposed to teach a baby to swim. Keep me away from babies and pools.) But I'm going this weekend to some shmancy dress boutiques with my mom, my sisters and my niece and I'm going to be prancing around in lace and tulle, acting like I know what I'm doing. 

Nothing will fit. Nothing will look good. EVERYTHING will look good. I will never stop crying. I will never get "the feeling." Everything is too expensive. I'll like it now and hate it in 10 months. These, people, are my obsessive, crazy-intense fears of shopping for a wedding dress. I'm pretty sure I can't do this.

So far, I have yet to get "excited" about this process. To me, it's the most personal part of the whole wedding process. My dress is the one thing that will not affect any other person at the wedding. It's mine. It's totally mine. And I'm either going to go bat$hit crazy and get something with bald eagle feathers and blood diamonds, or I'm going to panic too hard and end up walking down the aisle in my giant jeans and a wolf sweatshirt. 

I don't know what I want. What if I put on a giant white cupcake dress and love it? I HATE giant white cupcake dresses! Also, there's a BILLION weeks between now and my wedding. What if I choose something too trendy and it's OUT OF STYLE or, worse, CLICHE by next August?

Yeah. I don't want to do this. I'm scared and self-conscious and freaking the eff out. I can't just pick out a dress and be super psyched about it for the rest of my life. I once chose a high school dance dress that was enormous and gold and I thought it was amazing, but now I'm all "Ugh. Poser. Who did you think you were, Cinderella? IDIOT."

It's going to be a sleepless couple of nights, you guys. Come Saturday night, I will either have found my wedding dress or will be so angry that I DIDN'T find a dress and I will be curled up on the couch, sipping on some whiskey (serious events call for serious booze) either super relaxed or crazy-stressed. I'll let you know how it goes. Meanwhile, if you guys have any tips for me, slap 'em in the comments and I'll check them out between heaving sobs. :)

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Dear Crabby

Alright, kiddies. Gather 'round Dear Aunt Crabby for some lovely bedtime tales of advice and neurosis. We'll hear about Prince Charming, cautionary tales of selfish little girls and, of course, the Big Bad Boss. Snuggle in, munchkins and let's get started!

Dear Crabby,
Against my better judgment, I agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. I set expectations low, scheduled an "emergency call" from my other friend in case the date was going poorly, and spent a total of 8 minutes getting ready. Turns out, when he showed up, he was GORGEOUS. He was charming and funny and great. But I looked like crap and was ill-prepared! I haven't head from him after our date over a week again, but I want another chance! What can I do to re-make a first impression?
Thanks,
Cinderugly

Dear Cinderugly,
I have two thoughts. One: Maybe he's not calling because you just didn't yank his proverbial crank. Simple as that. Two: Maybe you just looked terrible and he was like "Blech. It looks like she took less than 10 minutes to get ready." There's nothing you can do if he's not calling because of reason 1. If it's reason 2, there's only one way to find out. Schedule a time to "accidentally" run into him when you're looking bangin'. Get your friend to help set it up and try to not be such a loser. Hopefully he'll give you another shot and you guys will ride off in a pumpkin full of mice or whatever.

Dear Crabby,
I am SOOOOO mad! My bff just got engaged, and I'm like totally happy for her, but she's NO FUN anymore. Even worse? Her #*%&@*! wedding is ON MY BIRTHDAY. She never even asked if I minded or offered to change it so that we wouldn't have to share the date. Can I say something to her? What can I do so that she doesn't ruin my day?
Gratefully yours,
Bday Blues

Dear Bday Blues,
Holy bonkers. You are RUUUUUDE. Listen, I am ALL ABOUT forcing others to celebrate my birthday with me. But as I've mentioned before, picking a wedding date is freakin' HARD. And sometimes you just have to take what you can get. So my first piece of advice is to GET OVER YOURSELF. I know, it sucks that your friend has stolen away your day and has made it her new anniversary day. But for that one day, her wedding day, your birthday will blow. After that, no one cares about other people's anniversaries because they are too hard to remember. Plus, they could totally get divorced. But your birthday will always be your birthday. So suck it up for one year then throw epic parties every year afterwards and bask in the fact that you'll be stealing HER thunder every year. But don't be a baby this year. She may not realize what she has done, so sure you can say something, but be ready for her to not care because setting a date is hard, and she probably was so relieved to figure that out that she didn't care that it fell on someone else's birthday. And hey, if you're still feeling low during the wedding and crave some bday love, just go ahead and steal a wedding present to bring home.

Dear Crabby,
OMG. I hate my boss. Even though I'm not his assistant, he makes me fax stuff for him and print out screenshots of all these webpages he likes. I ended up working late last week because he wasted half my morning complaining to me about politics and I had to finish a project. When I was done working, I was scrolling through Facebook on my phone and he walked by me (I didn't even know he was still in the office) and told me that I should "fool around online" on my own time. I was so irate and frustrated that I just teared up and left the office. I want to quit, but I love every other part of my job. What do I do?
PLLLLEASE HELP!
Work Jerk

Oh Work Jerk,
I've been there. I say: If your boss isn't going anywhere anytime soon, get outta there. If you don't, that place will eat your soul. If you can't find another job, just start farting around him every time he asks you to do something or complains about politics. That could also work.

The moral of the story, kids, is that people have problems. And I can SOLVE those problems with manipulation, extravagant parties and farting. Have a problem that can be fixed with those genius solutions? Send 'em my way at pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll figure out a way to solve them.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

EPIC

WELL. I officially feel bad for everyone who has ever uttered the phrase, "Oh, I don't own a TV." I just witnessed an epic, EPIC, television episode that made me love TV harder than ever before. Thanks, Sons of Anarchy!

Listen, I respect people who don't own TVs. I just don't understand them. TV is wonderful. I think that TV is often given a bad name because the Kardashians dominate like 1/16 of all the shows, but several other parts are GREAT.

I rode an emotional rollercoaster tonight because of TV. I legitimately laughed AND cried because of TV. I imagine people without a television sitting around, learning or whatever, and neither laughing NOR crying, but experiencing life WITHOUT a kicka$$ biker gang to root for.

If I'm being honest, I'd say this: I straight up DO NOT TRUST people without TVs. It's like they are going out of their way to not enjoy a good thing...like monks. Or worse: hipsters. But I know lots of people who claim to not watch TV. All the people have been wonderful and nice, but how am I EVER going to have a conversation with them about things I like? Things like: Here Comes Honey Boo Boo, Law and Order: SVU, Happy Endings, and Friends reruns. Plus, I have the unshakable belief that they DO watch TV, but only tune in to, like, the worst shows ever.

Better to claim you've never seen a TV than to cop to the fact that you only obsessively watch Real Housewives of Wherever.

Not having a TV these days is the equivalent of not having a cell phone 8 years ago. Sure, there may be a reason for it, but it's not important and you'll get left in the dust. People NEED TV. They need Family Guy reruns and terrible episodes of Burn Notice because otherwise, life is a snooze-fest. It's boring and it's sad and it's hard. I don't want to come home from a stressful day and, like, READ THE NEWS. Puke. I want to watch other people do dumb stuff that has no impact on me whatsoever.

Then tonight, I watched an episode of Sons of Anarchy...not only was it complete amazeballs, but it confirmed why I love TV and why it's just totally awesome. Under normal circumstances, I would have zero ways to know or care about a biker gang. But tonight, I bawled my eyes out because a story got compelling, and even though someone died on TV, they didn't die in real life. Which is cool.

So to all the people who are all "MEH. I like REAL LIFE, not TV." I say this to you: Fine read your books and live in "the real world." Just don't come crying to me when you get bored. I'll be very very busy watching Revolution (which is, by the way, PRETTY GOOD.)

Monday, September 24, 2012

Twit

So, I agreed to try and explain the point of Twitter to someone tonight. Um, so asking me to explain Twitter is like asking a dog to explain how to clean up poop. I don't KNOW how it works, I just know that it does. And it stinks! ZING!  (What?!) But seriously, folks...

Okay, so my sister Prinna asked me to point out some of the finer points of Twitter. Was it a mistake on her part? Maybe. I believe I started off the tutorial by explaining "There are three uses for Twitter. 1) To market or promote something. 2) To inform and stay informed." Then Prinna asked "What do YOU use it for?"

"3) I use it try and get celebrities to talk to me."

Oh, the wonders of technology and a worldwide reach.

So, she asked how many followers I had, after I proclaimed to be the best person on Twitter ever, I was like, "Uh, only 100. I'm not, uh, INTO getting followers. But those 100 are, like, REALLY good followers."

Anyhoozle, I felt kind of bad. Like I was shortchanging my sister. She was looking to network and be helpful and important, and I was like "Now Prinna, you can tweet @Katespadeny all you want, but you just may not get a free purse in the mail for awhile. And hahaha, if you think that you'll get a shout out on Comedy Bang Bang just because you tweeted them a hilarious comment, you've got another thing comin', lady."

After a brief chat I realized that I'm not a good Twitter resource. I was all "Ha! I follow GOD on Twitter. He's hilaaaaarious." And she was like "Oh, so...but if you DON'T just want to try and get comedians and celebrities to tweet you, what else can you use Twitter for?"

Color me stumped because I was all "Um, I don't know? I guess you can keep track of what's happening on the Emmy's and stuff. Or, like if there's a revolution in Iran again, you'll probs hear about on Twitter first." I couldn't actually help her USE it though. I did my best to explain that "It's great to connect with a network of people you value." In her case, she'll fit right into the Minnesota writers group. But I realized that I had no network to which I belonged. Where do I fit in?

Whatever. I guess that's the best part about Twitter. You don't have to do jack squat if you don't want to. But, there are those will use this power for good, like my sister. Or Spiderman. For me? I'll stick to following Drunk Hulk and keeping up with the latest Gangnam Style parodies and fun facts. That's helpful, too, right?

P.S. Follow me on Twitter for more information on the nonsense I wrote about in this post. Or, you know, if you want to support me in my ongoing pursuit to befriend Jennifer Aniston and win a lifetime supply of Kate Spade bags.

Sunday, September 23, 2012

SKOL!

I'm sorry, WHAT was that, Haters? The 49ers will annihilate Vikings? Is that right? Did you say something about the Vikings choking and being a piece-o-crap team?

'CAUSE THEY WON TODAY.

I know this, you guys, because I was AT the game. I know what you're thinking: "Pharon, are you some sort of VIP celebrity or something?" But no, you guys. I'm just like you. A regular ol' gal with kicka$$ friends who give me free stuff. My friend Liz took me to the game today and I was up at like 7:30 this morning prepping for the game.

First, I tweeted a vaguely threatening message to the Vikings, warning them I'd be at the game so they'd better not embarrass me. Check. Then I had to spend 6 or 8 hours looking for all my Vikings gear and putting it on in layers. Fur vest? Check! 

I just love football, you guys. LOVE IT. We ate at a food truck and then scarfed down some cheese curds while standing around a garbage can. VIP, indeed! It was a super nice day out and a perfect day for football. 

Side note: Yesterday, I was hanging with Claire and she asked "Wanna go on a walk?" And I was all "Ugh. No. Walks are boring." And Claire was all "It's so nice out, though!" And I was like "Whatevs." Then later in the day, she briefly considered doing some chores around her house which would have left me buddy-less. I said "It's way too nice out to do chores! You can do that in the WINTER!" And Claire asked, "Wait, it's too nice to do chores, but you won't go on a walk or hang out outside?" I was like "Um, we're DRIVING around with our windows down. We can't do THAT in the winter." She was unconvinced. 

Anyhoozle, some beer, some insane yelling and cheering, and one win later, I was psyched and exhausted simultaneously. I just really love it when the Vikings win after everyone says they can't. It's like when people tell me I can't wear stilettos to a backyard barbecue because they're impractical and then I totally DO and everyone loves that I've aerated their lawn FOR FREE. Fine, it's not like that at all. Whatever.

Well, it's been a long day of football and thinking up bad metaphors, so I'm calling it a night. Hope we all get some big wins in this week!

Friday, September 21, 2012

Hits and Misses

So, I've been feeling very crafty lately. Some went well. Some went...horribly, horribly wrong. Here are the highlights.

The Hits:

Instead of throwing out sweaters with holes in the elbow (or "L Bone," as my sister Prinna used to call it) I decided to remedy the situation without tossing $80 out the window.

This was the idea:

After one embarrassing hour at Joann Fabrics, I snagged the gold fabric appropriate for this project. I cut something called "Stitch Witchery" and ironed the crap out of that and the fabric and came up with this:




And then I did this:
And then, because I was on such a roll, I attacked Claire's wardrobe and patched up some of her pants, too.
Adorable!

Then comes the miss. I saw these nails on a Kate Spade blog and desperately wanted to recreate them. Here's what they are SUPPOSED to look like:


I spent, like, TOO MUCH TIME trying to do this. The instructions on the website show 5 easy steps to achieve this gingham look. I cut like a billion pieces of Scotch tape, waited more than three hours total for different layers to dry and this is what I ended up with:


CRAPTASTIC! Yeah. Definitely NOT. THE. SAME. Lots and lots of wasted hours. DUMB.

So, yeah. You win some, you lose some.

Let's get out there and WIN some this weekend, okay?

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Dear Crabby

I'm sooooo totally ready to answer some super good questions for Crabby this week! Now, let's see if there are any great emails deserving of my great advice!

Dear Crabby,
Do you think there is really such thing as Bigfoot? How do you think one would go about capturing it?
Stanks a lot!
-Huntin' Sasquatch

Dear Huntin' Sasquatch,
Of COURSE I believe there is such a thing as Bigfoot! DUH. There's so much photographic evidence! Capturing him/her/it would probs be pretty hard, or someone would have done it already. My suggestion would be to buy a blow-up doll or mannequin, cover it in glue and brown hair, slap a bow in it's hair and some lipstick on the mouth. I'd say to put her in some heels, but Girl Bigfoot should have giant feet, and unless you're Paris Hilton, they don't make shoes that big. (I'm serious about the Paris Hilton reference. Her feet are ginormotrons and she has to have her high-end heels made specially for her swim-fin feet.) Voila. Girl Bigfoot. Then put the Girl Bigfoot in the woods,  next to a car with a flat tire. Now, I can't stress this enough: Do Not Forget To Setup A Video Camera. A high-def one. That has eternal battery life. So, when Bigfoot comes to help the stranded lady with her car tire, bash him on the head with a comically large mallet and then drag him into your basement and tie him up. Ta da!

Dear Crabby,
I'm really worried that my boyfriend is cheating on me. We've been together for a year and we just moved in together. Lately, he's been acting really weird and distant and he's leaving the house all the time without telling me where he's going. Is there a way you can tell for sure if a person is sneaking around with someone else??
Help!
-Cheat Sheet

Well hey there, Cheat Sheet,
You can go one of three ways with this thing. 1) Straight up confront him. 2) Stage an elaborate opportunity by setting up a fake Facebook account as another woman and then start chatting him up as said fake lady. If he takes the bait, tell him you want to meet him at a motel. When he gets there, you should be standing in the room, surrounded by his stuff, and break the news that he's moved out and you're moving on. 3) Assume he's going to propose, blame his odd behavior on that slight possibility and completely get your hopes up. Go with one of those three options and you'll find the answer you're looking for.

Dear Crabby,
I can't decided if I should get an iPhone 5!!!! I have the iPhone 4S and it's fine, but the 5 promises to be SO MUCH BETTER! 4G! Bigger screen! But it's pretty pricey and I just don't know if I NEED it, you know? What do you think? Are YOU getting one?!
Thank you!
iNeed Help

Uh, iNeed Help?
Pretty sure you've already made up your mind. You sound more excited about this phone than I was when I learned about Breaking Amish. And by that, I mean you sound way TOO excited. I don't know what to tell you. Get it, don't get it. Either way you'll be fine. If you want to drop some cash on the phone and can kick in for the extra accessories you want/need, by all means go for it. If you DON'T have the money, DON'T BUY THE PHONE. It's that easy. Instead of dropping a few hundred bucks on a "slightly larger screen," maybe spend that hard-earned cash on paying bills or saving for a rainy day. Or, hell, you could also just buy your favorite blogger a present. I don't know! Best of luck to you, though, and your first world problem.

Wow. Those were...weird. Varied. Pretty good, though. Anyway, as usual, go ahead and slap your own advice in the comments or email me at pharonsquare@gmail.com. Thanks, skanks!


Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Giant Jeans

Claire made fun of my jeans for approximately 45 minutes tonight. I went over to her place to watch Sons of Anarchy because she has cable and I don't and her house is fun and mine is not and Pizza Luce delivers there and...well, okay, Luce delivers here, but ordering a large 'za and large salad is so much more appropriate when you are with someone else and are NOT alone in your apartment watching Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. Anyway, I went over there to bask in the homey goodness.

However, while I was there, she pants'd me.

See, I have this pair of jeans. They are my favoritest pair of jeans ever. I bought them by saying "I want a giant pair of jeans to make me feel supes skinny." That was like 8 years ago. I still wear them because they are still way too big, but now they are also soft and I don't have to unbutton them to take them off. (I can't even sit down when I wear them, because they hang too low and no shirt in the world is long enough to cover what they can't.)

But I love them. A LOT. Sadly, Claire told me I needed to retire the Silver brand jeans from 8 years ago because they hang right around my knees and "look ridiculous." So whenever I wear them, she thinks it's hilarious to pull them down to try and teach me a lesson.

Tonight, she called them "sweans." As in: Sweatpant Jeans. They are loose and soft and comfy...a la sweatpants. But I can wear them out in public and with non-workout shirts, which makes them jeans. She still insists that I need to get rid of them. There is a hole on the left thigh, and the bottom hems look like they've been eaten by pit bulls or raccoons or both. But I NEED them.

I need these jeans because they are the perfect length. I need them because they are a part of no style trend whatsoever. They are just jeans. I need them because people keep telling me I have to stop wearing  sweatpants in public and these are the bombest possible alternative. I need them because they have a tiny dot of pink glitter glue on the left hip that I constantly pick at, but never comes off. I need them because I'm sick of jeans that suck you all in and leave nothing to the imagination.

So, when Claire yanks them down because they are comically large, I don't care.  I mean, I don't LIKE it, but I'm not about to get rid of them. Also? Geo likes them. I have a whole new attitude when I wear them. I am comfortable and not wearing stilettos and don't have to constantly tend to them. Instead, they just hang.

Yeah. I love my giant jeans. Doesn't EVERYone have one article of clothing that they have and love that everyone else hates? What's yours?

Monday, September 17, 2012

Nobors

OMG. I am THAT GIRL. I had an entire post written, explaining the amazing wonders of the show Lost and my thoughts were continually interrupted by my new upstairs neighbors. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't stop seething long enough to get a complete thought out. Seriously, it's like 11 p.m. on a Monday night and Upstairs Neighbors are playing real life Whack-a-Mole.

So I did what no self-respecting woman should ever do.

I BANGED ON THE CEILING WITH A BROOM.

I've never complained about noise. Never. I've been the calm, cool, collected lady who assumes the bumping upstairs is nothing more than aggressive cleaning. But I'm OVER IT. I have listened to heavy-stepping, angry hammering, and too many Nic Cage movies in the last 24 hours and I'm annoyed.

Anyway, because I'm such a self-empowered, classy lady, I dug out my broom from the depths of a closet I've never even opened before, and pounded it aggressively into the ceiling. ONCE.

Nothing changed.

I waited and hoped that the giant yoga monster upstairs would turn down his/her Nic Cage movie, but nothing. NOTHING. Maybe it was my imagination, but I do believe he/she actually turned it UP. RUDE.

SUPER RUDE.

I don't understand super loud people. I don't even wear heels around my house. (I mean, not until I'm ready to leave my apartment.) I feel too bad for the dude/chick who lives below me and don't want them to listen to the clicky clack, clicky clack of my shoes, no matter HOW cute they are. But up on the 7th floor? Directly above me? The TOP floor? Apparently, anything goes up there. Tap dancing. Hammering. Slamming concrete balls into the wall and floor? It's all okay.

I just did a second bang with my broom handle. Loud enough to matter, not too loud so that I'M the annoying one. Also, I went to a totally different area of the ceiling so as to make them think that there are two tiny elves living in two small apartments who separately, but equally, disagree with the amount of riDICulous noise they are making.

Pretty sure the dummy upstairs bought it. As soon as I tricked him/her with my clever elf idea, the noise of his/her bumping/grinding/stomping/smashing decreased significantly.

Anyway, I'm a woman who banged on a ceiling with a broom tonight. That's...uh...cool?

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Small Town Adventure

Just one post ago, I was getting ready to pick up Geo from the airport. Now, he's already back in stupid Alabummer and I'm back to watching TV and drinking water from a plastic wine glass with a lei around the stem. Cool.

Between the two events, thought, a lot of fun was had. We spent the weekend in a small Minnesota college town for Geo's brother's wedding. I had to wear a dress TWO NIGHTS IN A ROW. AND makeup! It was crazy, man. 

Okay, so during the day on Saturday, I was kinda on my own. Geo was all golfing and ironing wedding clothes with his brother and whatnot, so I was like, "Hey, I'm gonna go out for a little adventure with myself."

I needed coffee so I was all "I'm going to drive 10 miles away to the non-ironically-named town of Farmingdale. Farmington? Farmtown? I don't know. Something with Farm in it, and it was totally surrounded by farms. I was SURE that there would be a quaint coffee shop named something clever and punny. I drove down the one main road and saw NOTHING except an abandoned Oasis Market. So, I drove BACK to our hotel, stopping at Caribou on the way. Which is where I go like 3 times a week because there's one on the campus of my office. Not exactly "quaint."

It was a nice day, so after parking my car at the hotel, I decided to walk around town. There was a "farmer's market" going on that was like 7 tents of local fare. Some veggies, some homemade soap, some pickles, you know, the usual. But TWO of the tents were selling honey. Two different honey companies in one tiny town? The person who started the second honey company should have probably rethought that.

Then I went to an antique store that smelled like wet paper and muddy shoes that have dried and then were thrown in a toilet. I was hoping to find some super weird gift to give Geo for his birthday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GEO!) and thought I had found it when I spotted a super old lunchbox with really creepy kids on it, but it was like $15, which was too expensive for a gag gift that he would throw away anyway. 

Across the street from the antique store, though, there was used book store. I LOVE used book stores. They smell like wet paper and muddy shoes that have dried, but have NOT been thrown in a toilet. After like 45 minutes of getting totally engrossed in looking through the books, I had found a few that I wanted and even one from 1993 about genetics for Geo, because I was all "HA! Outdated science. HILARIOUS." I brought the stack of books up to the counter and was all "Hey, how much are these?" And he said "The prices are all on the back." And I said "Well yeah, but those are like real prices. These are OLD books, right? Used?" And he goes "No, well, some are, but the prices are correct." 

Uh...$20 for a dog-eared, slightly damaged paperback copy of Infinite Jest? I think not, you greedy independent bookstore owner. I felt duped and cheated by thinking these bad boys would be like $5 or $10 so I put all of the books back, even the Genetics book, and snuck out without buying a single book.

All in all, it was a very confusing adventure. No coffee shop in a tiny town? TWO honey stands at the mini farmer's market? And now super expensive used books? WHATEVS! I felt like I was in Alternate Universe world. Did I mention that the hotel we stayed in, which was AWESOME, still gave out real door keys? Like KEY keys, not CARD keys. So crazy! It was a great weekend, but I was ready to get home. 

Oh, but the hotel room had cable and I got to watch Snooki and JWoww which just felt totally right.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

I'm Annoying

UGH. I'm very annoying. I'm so annoying that I almost unfriended myself on Facebook. Whatever. I'm so annoying that I'm now going to annoy YOU with a story about how annoying I am.

Let me clarify. I'm not "Steve Urkel" annoying. Or "Kardashian" annoying. I'm just in that mode today to sit and complain about myself, and that's, like, THE most annoying thing ever. Besides a Kardashian...

I'll set the scene: I'm in the midst of a panic attack in a dressing room. Ah, the dressing room. Where I last spazzed out over skinny jeans. Remember that? The last place I should go when I'm stressed and panicked is a dressing room. But there I was tonight. Just me, 156 dresses and 3 mirrors. What's the sentence occasion? Well, Geo's back in town this weekend and his brother is getting married! Hooray! But all that meant to me tonight was that I was sorely lacking in appropriate wedding-wear. So I had to shop.

I should not go shopping alone. I spent more time texting pictures of myself in various dresses to people than I did actually looking at myself in the dresses. But after the 100th dress, I was all "This is not working. I hate these fugly dresses." Then, after the 156th dress, I was like "This is DEFINITELY not working. And now I hate myself. And bagels. I'm definitely hating bagels at this point." (I'm kidding, Bagels, I could never hate you.)

So I get a call from Claire. She's all "Whatcha doin' tonight?" And I'm all "I'm in shopping hell." She told me to come over go shopping in HER closet, 'cause her stuff is guaranteed cute. So I did, and voila! I found a super cute dress. But I had it on and I said "I love it. It'd look so much better on someone smaller, though." She almost slapped me. She's like "OMG. You're annoying. Knock it off with the pity party. You look amazeballs."

After that reality check, I calmed down. We talked about things that were not related to me, which was great. Then, somehow, we got, as Claire calls it, "back to me." I started dwelling again. I was worried about this weekend. I was worried about the idea of shopping for wedding dresses. I was wishing for different hair. ANNOYING. Claire took it in stride. Until...

UNTIL.

I sucked her into this weird thing I do. I am friends with this chick on Facebook. I barely know her, but we have enough history that we are suitable FB friends. (Don't get it twisted, guys. It's none of YOU. I LOVE YOU.) Her updates bore me. Her info page is lackluster. None of her friends say anything particularly interesting. But she is super beautiful and she always has pictures where she's with tons of other beautiful people and she's, like, NOT sticking her tongue out at the camera or photobombing anyone or trying to hide her arms. So I have this weird thing where, when I'm feeling down, I pore through those pictures and just talk about how pretty she is. "Look at that dress. I could never wear that dress. How can ANYONE wear that dress?!" It's SO ANNOYING.

As I'm dragging Claire through this hideously annoying tradition of mine, I noticed that she's inattentive. I'm all, "CLAIRE! Are you even LISTENING TO ME?! Look at her calves! Who even HAS calves like that!?" And Claire was all "You're the most annoying person in the world. Why are you doing that?"

I didn't have an answer for her. I stammered, "I, I, I just don't know. I just, like, I guess I like seeing what she's up to these days." And she's all "You liar. You're Facebook stalking." And I was. I do. I do it all the time. I don't know why.

I asked Claire what she thought my problem was. She suggested that maybe I'm crazy, but I don't even have ONE cat sweater, so I'm good there. Then she's like "Are you jealous?" And I was like "Wouldn't you be?! Don't you want to be her friend?" And Claire says "No. I'd like to be YOUR friend, though, when you're done being some crazy person I don't much care for."

So, whatever. I'm annoying. But what's MORE annoying is the fact that this girl I can't seem to stop FB stalking is not even REMOTELY annoying. She's, like, NORMAL.

But the MOST annoying thing of all is that I still don't know what to wear this weekend. (And that, my friends, is what Claire refers to as "Back to Me.")

Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Dear Crabby

I both LOVE and HATE reading good books. I had some pretty big goals today that went completely abandoned because I spent 5 hours reading my latest book. It's called Gone Girl and it was...well, it was good enough to keep me drawn in for 5 hours straight. So, yeah. Sorry, Chores and Responsibilities! Maybe  we'll get around to you guys tomorrow! Now onto the only responsibility I take seriously enough to put down my Kindle. Deeeeeeeeeear Crabby!

Dear Crabby,
I am SUPER stressed out at work. The deadlines are about to break me and I'm freaking out. I feel like it's time for me to move on to a less stressful job with fewer responsibilities. I'm only 28 and I've had an ulcer! What do you think I should do? Is it time to move on, or should I stick it out?
Please reply a.s.a.p.!

OMGOMGOMGOMG,
Okay, PRASASP, I'll make his quick. WhatEVER you decide to do, you need to CALM DOWN. Seriously, girl, I was stressed out just READING your post. Ugh. Sheesh. Please hold while I take a few relaxing breaths. One...two...three... Okay, I'm ready. I don't know what you should do. You seem uptight, though. IF that's not how you were BEFORE your job, then yeah, go ahead and start job hunting. Be warned, though, the process of looking for a great job is very stressful. Take it from me, though, it's worth it. However, if you are just generally an uptight, crazy person, it's likely that YOU are the one making the JOB stressful. Take break and think for a second. I have a feeling if you can give yourself an actual chance to THINK about what you want, you'll figure it out. Good luck and consider yoga.

Dear Crabby,
My daughter has been watching Toddlers & Tiaras lately and told me she REALLY wants to try doing a pageant. Trust me, I know it's probably a bad idea, but she's really cute and smart and wants to do it. Do I let her?
Blowing kisses,
Pageant Mom?

Pageant Mom,
I, personally, think that's probably the most horrible decision any parent could make. You say you've seen Toddlers & Tiaras, but I'm concerned that it was AFTER seeing the show that you thought pageants were a good idea. Those shows typically make people think "OMG, I'm glad those kids aren't mine." Most people don't watch it and say "Oooh, that looks healthy and fun!" So, already I'm worried about you. I say no. Those kids are insane. Case in point: Honey Boo Boo. See, the show is entertaining, but I'm not going to go bobbing for pig's feet anytime soon. So yeah. Don't do it. I have a feeling it wouldn't be pretty.

Dear Crabby,
Are your Dear Crabby questions REAL questions? Like, for real? Sometimes they seem way too crazy and whacked out to be actual questions. So...?
Your faithful, but skeptical, reader,
Fo' Realsies

Hello there, Fo' Realsies,
These are very real questions. Questions that real people have had at one point or another. They are as real as that question (THOSE questionS?) you sent in, dear reader. DUH. Now I have a question for YOU, Fo' Realsies. Is that your REAL name?

Okay, I gotsta get back to my book. I'm like 98 percent through it and I've spent like 30 minutes NOT reading, which is killin' my page-per-minute average. Got  more questions? Send them to pharonsquare@gmail.com and I will answer them. FO' REALSIES.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

B.A.N.A.N.A.S.

I was facing a major debate today. There is no doubt that September 11 is quite possibly the most important day in my lifetime. So I was wondering whether to blog about the fact that NBC ixnayed their coverage of a moment of silence for the victims of 9/11 in favor of a freaking interview with a KARDASHIAN...or if I should talk about the banana I ate at lunch.

Because I cannot possibly fathom why a major network would choose to show a fame-hungry whore over sharing a moment of silence for the true heroes of our country, I choose the banana.

I would like to say here that I spent the day remembering those people who rushed into the buildings to save those trying to escape. I thought about how, in my lifetime, there has never been a more heroic display of courage and humanity than what people showed on that day. I honor them, I remember them and I sincerely thank them. The Kardashians are the garbage pile upon which I toss my rotten banana peels. Even I don't watch their shows.  So yeah. Major Fail, NBC.

But the rest of the day was seriously bananas. Mostly because, well, I ate a banana. I HATE bananas. However, it was free fruit day in the cafeteria at work and I'm trying to eat better. What can I say? I'm a gal who is desperate to appear both economical AND healthy!

So I snatched up a banana. I sat outside, eating my salad and just staring at the banana next to my plate. It was mocking me, you guys. Which is SOOOO totally something that bananas do. When I scraped the last of my salad into my mouth, I just looked at the banana. So sure of itself. So confident in the fact that it is so disgusting but everyone needs it.

See, I've hated bananas since one gave me a stomachache when I was working at this magazine. I was busy being very important and doing that month's layout or something when the punch of a humble banana came back to haunt me. Right in my tummy. I had to leave work early because I felt sick. Was it the disgusting texture of bananas? Was it the late night of drinking microbrews beforehand? Was it the uncomfortably sweet/stringy taste of the banana? Who's to say? Whatever the reason, I got sick.

Since then, I've avoided bananas at all costs. Their gross, stringy, pukey texture makes me want to fight every banana that I see. But people tell me that I'm crazy and that there is, like, loads of potassium in bananas. Apparently, I'm 100 and need potassium.

Bananas taste like they've already been eaten and then spit back up. They have the unsure texture of what it would be like if someone ate the self confidence I have at parties where I don't know anyone: Sort of soft, sort of firm, totally trying too hard to be something. ANYthing.

But today, I got a stupid banana because they are "good for you." I peeled back the overly aromatic peel and stared at the gnarly thing in front of me. Do I need to chew it? What's with all these strings coming off of it? WHAT IS THIS?! I ate a bite, telling myself "There is SOOOOO much potassium in this devil fruit!" I moved it around my mouth like it was poison and swallowed it.

IT WAS DISGUSTING.I tried a few more bites before totally disassociating myself with the "fruit" altogether. I was sure now. Bananas are effing HORRIBLE.

I felt way too happy throwing that half-eaten banana away. I was all "You're effing gross and you taste like an old potato. Into the garbage you go!"

Then I felt bad for all the people who would LOVE to have a free banana. Even Kardashians eat bananas. Probably. Whatever. I hate them and they are probably Satan's favorite food. GROSS.

So, what I'm trying to say is that everything in this world is crazy.

Monday, September 10, 2012

The Big Screen Test

Yeah, yeah, yeah...go ahead. Complain about me totes phoning it in last night. I couldn't help it. I spent a long afternoon in the sun drinking beer, watching football (SKOL VIKINGS!) and only barely made it home in time to watch my newest badassest show, Breaking Amish. So yeah. I was tired and very unfocused on writing. But whatevs! Today is a new day!

Tonight, I had a great work outing with my fellow bloggers to the Twins game! Hooray! I ate a hot a dog, drank a beer, and then ate ice cream out of a mini Twins helmet. Also, there was some kind of baseball game going on, apparently.

So, there I was, scarfing down my helmet ice cream sittin' next to Rachel. We were chatting, staring up at the Jumbotron in between innings and mouthfuls of ice cream. All of a sudden, I'm all "Hey, who's that nerd sitting next to Rachel on the Jumbotron?"

It was me and Rachel. Lookin' like nerds on the giant screen in front of hundreds of people. We froze. As Rachel would lament later, "You just never know how you'll react to fame."

I have never wanted to be on the Jumbotron. I know that I will just freeze and laugh like a mental patient. Which is exactly what happened tonight. But I'm not the kind of person who seeks out the camera guy with some sign or weird choreographed dance.

In fact, I have gone out of my way to fly below the radar at sports games. Seating assignments at games are done purposely, to avoid any awkward Kiss Cam moments. I don't sing along to the sing-along songs. I barely muster up the courage to stand up during the wave. When most people hold up signs so Bert can circle them, I duck behind them and shove the rest of that hot dog in my face hole in privacy.


Oh, and ALSO? NO ONE EVER KNOWS WHERE TO LOOK WHEN THEY GET ON THE JUMBOTRON. People stare at themselves on the screen, and therefore away from the camera. I used to make fun of the n00bs who didn't look into the camera, but realized tonight that I am, in fact, one of those people who suddenly didn't understand how cameras worked. I stared at the screen, wondering how I could be up THERE when I was down HERE. I mean, first you have to get the attention of the person sitting next to you so you can both look up at the screen together. But then, unless you're cool, you just sit there, looking at yourself, wondering what you'll do next.


Anyway, tonight they found me. Maybe the camera guy just couldn't resist the way that I completely did not want to be on the screen, or maybe he has some depth perception issues, because the dudes behind us were way more entertaining.

Whatever it was, I hope it never happens again. I'm simply not ready for that level of fame.

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Sunday Funday

I had a Sunday Funday for my sister-in-law today. Then Breaking Amish premiered. My mind is busy being blown. That is all.

Thursday, September 6, 2012

Pregnant Pause (NOT ME)

Hey, Friends...STOP GROWING UP WITHOUT ME. Sorry. That's just a little sumthin' sumthin' I needed to get off my chest. My friends are very awesome, but they keep doing very mature and grownup things without me. I'm still TOTALLY into Demi Lovato and NOT having babies.

Uh, yeah. So I hung out with Lana and Valerie tonight. The conversation of baby names came up. It was NOT for my benefit, so don't get it twisted. Anyhoozle, we were talking about baby names because people my age are now starting to shoot humans out of their hoo-hahs. I was offering my opinion like it was going out of style.

"Lydia sounds like 'chlamydia'."
"Clarence?! Who names their baby CLARENCE?! Is he born as a 40-year-old man?"
"Ugh. I went to high school with a Krissy. She sucked. Don't use that."

I was a wealth of suuuuuper helpful naming tips. I, PHARON, was all "Don't name a baby something weird. They'll turn out weird and be, like, a serial killer." 

PHARON. 

Needless to say, my pals were taking my thoughts with an enormous grain of salt. I was all "Listen, I've heard some crazy names before. Padrin? Prinna? Perek? There is nothing crazier than a made-up name!"

Lana and Valerie protested "But Pharon, don't you LIKE those names?" I was all "Well, YEAH! I mean, you definitely can't COPY them. But they are soooooooooooo weird." Then they dropped a few bombs on me.

Did you know that there is a human girl person named A-a? That is a REAL NAME. It's pronounced "Adasha". An actual person has a very real dash in their name and we are expected to know how to say it.

I told them that I would name my child "#baby". It would be pronounced "Hashtagbaby". As Valerie pointed out, "It will ALWAYS be trending!" What's to stop a person from naming their kid "Beatr!ce"? (Isn't it OBVIOUS that her name is beatexclamationpointice?!) Then I also thought about naming an innocent little newborn N@talia. It's pronounced "Nattalia". That kid will punch me while I sleep.

Basically, we decided that probably the most important thing in the world is assigning a name to a human. You are essentially assigning that not-quite-human thing a personality. A nickname. A reason for kids to bully them. A profession as a stripper. An entire life that the kid can't even SEE yet. 

No pressure, pregnant friends. NO PRESSURE.
 

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Dear Crabby

Wazzzzzuuuuuuuuuuuppppp! Aw, I miss that ad campaign. I'm going to bring that back. ANYways, let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?

Dear Crabby,
My friends dared me to streak at the next Twins game. I'm a pretty spontaneous dude, but I'm a little worried about, eh hem, exposing myself to all the possibly eligible chicks at the game. Will they judge me?
Thanks,
We're Going Streaking!

We're Going Streaking!
Yes, they will judge you. Not just because of your unimpressive goods, but because you are lame enough to streak a baseball game. That was pretty funny in, like, the 90s when the first person ever did it. Now it's just annoying because it slows down an already very long game. Don't do it. Seriously. No one will think it's funny unless one of the players beans you in the head with a ball. THEN it'll generate some laughs. But then you'll have to deal with medical bills, and that's no good. Otherwise, it's just a pathetic cry for attention. Also, the fact that you're thinking about this in advance means you are NOT spontaneous. Duh.

Dear Crabby,
My kids are FINALLY back in school and I've got nothing but time on my hands! Do you have any fun project ideas I can do this fall??
Muchas gracias!
All Play and No Work

Hey there, APNW,
Here's a fun project! GET A JOB! That, or stop BRAGGING about having "too much" free time! That's straight up rude. I'm sorry your fabulous life is leaving you with too much time and not enough to do. Bitterness aside, here are some project ideas: Learn to knit, learn a new language, watch every episode of Lost, build a Pac-man machine, redecorate your house every week, spy on your neighbors, develop a bread-only diet (and share it with me immediately), brew your own beer, read books, volunteer, research volunteer opportunities and then take a nap, map the Internet, get a degree from the University of Phoenix, recarpet your house, orrrrrr maybe you could start a blog.

Dear Crabby,
What did you think of the DNC and RNC? Which one do you think was better?
Just curious,
Politically Correct

Politically Correct,
Nunya. As in "nunya damn business." Politics, as far as I'm concerned, are more annoying to discuss than to listen to. So many idiots. So, I guess my answer is that both of the conventions fully satisfied each party they were designed to please. Ugh. I can't even think of anything even remotely interesting to say about politics because whatever I write will enrage some extremist fanatic who is insane. So instead, I'll just say that politics is not even remotely interesting to write about. Sars, yo. Just get on Facebook and then you can see all the annoying, unsolicited soapbox speeches you clearly are looking for. Probaly just so you can snap back with your own opinion. Ugh. SNOOZE.

And that does it! Another day, another life changed thanks to yours truly. So, you're WELCOME, everyone! If you've got 99 problems and need me to solve one, send an email to me at pharonsquare@gmail.com. Cool? COOL.

Hair we go!!

Hey, guys! Let's dye our hair tonight, okay? No time to make a salon appointment? NO PROBLEMO! I'll walk you all through the careful steps necessary to do it yourself in the comfort of your own home!

Start with a crippling sense of self-loathing and hair envy. I mean, you can use your own inspiration, but I started with spending weekend after weekend of staring at shiny, vibrant hair at weddings. Then go home, stare at yourself and your super dull hair in the mirror and decide that you'll do ANYTHING (under $20) to achieve your own luxurious locks.

On a whim, buy some hair color at Target. Don't ask anyone's opinion, and spend no longer than 35 seconds deciding on Dark Brown.

Now, it's important that you have proper hair-dyeing amenities. You'll have to rinse your hair in a bathtub, so SPACE is important. Because THIS is what I'm working with:



I called some pals to mooch some square footage off of them. But both Liz and Claire would rather do other things than watch me dye my hair. RUDE. So, I had to work with what I had.

Okay. So, now you're ready to get to work. Put on a $hitty t-shirt because you'll get dye ALLLLL over it, take off jewelry and then mix up the chemicals, making sure to splatter it all over your bathroom as a permanent reminder of this bad decision.

It's really awesome if you have long hair because there will NOT be enough dye in the bottle to color all your hair. It'll be SOOOO exciting to see what gets dyed and what doesn't! Oh, and if you steal shower caps from hotel rooms like I do?! SCORE. You have an easy-peasy way of keeping the brown dye off your back. So, once you use up all the dye on 84 percent of your hair, go ahead and wait.

Now, the 10 minutes it takes for the dye to seep into your hair is very important. You need that time to rethink your decision, text your fiance in a panic ("Just dyed my hair. Not sure I've thought this through.") and then really freak out about whether or not you should have done the Allergy Test, as recommended. Is my scalp itching? Am I going blind?! If you can talk yourself into thinking that it's NOT going to be that drastic of a change, that's great.

When the timer goes off, run to the bathroom and squeeze in between your sink and tub and start a-scrubbin' that stuff off of your noggin' under the tub faucet. The directions say to rinse until the water runs clear, so around the 5-minute mark of poop-brown water spilling down the drain, you can totally start crying a little bit. You can also take this opportunity to note the brown stains all over your forehead and hands and cry a little more.

Eventually, the water will run "clear-ish" and you can put in the conditioner, rinse and go ahead and tie up your newly-darkened hair in a towel to dry.

Now, your urge to unwrap and dry your hair quickly should be fought at all costs. You'll need another good 10 minutes to talk yourself into either thinking it's the color of your dreams or that it made no difference at all. When you're ready, go ahead and take the towel off.

What's that? Your hair is JET BLACK?! Try not to worry. It's still wet, right? Get to work drying it. Now, if you've followed these instructions, parts of your hair will NOT LIGHTEN UP as they dry.

It's about this time when you can toast up a bagel and pour a glass of wine because now you won't know WHAT to think about your 'do. You'll try and take picture of it, but no lighting in the world can truly portray the drastic change you see in the mirror.

Hooray! You've now dyed your hair like a true Square. Congrats! Also...sorry.

Monday, September 3, 2012

Once you pop...

I am nearly out of this year's wedding season. I've already been to two this month, and had to skip two others because they were on the same night. This weekend, Geo and I went to Rochester, MN to celebrate the wedding of our loverly pals Chad and Angie. Three days. One 2nd place win in an awesome Amazing Race around the city that the couple planned. Way too much fun.

But what I was ALSO really excited for this weekend was that all my bridesmaids were OFFICIALLY invited to be part of MY amazeballs wedding. See, remember when I wrote about etching glasses? The reason I was doing that, and the reason I didn't include pics, was that they were part of the surprise gift for my lady friends. Now that they all got them and opened them, I can share my crafty genius with you!

So, the idea was to "pop" the question to them all. I etched their names in champagne flutes and was going to include a bottle of bubbly, but the cost of MAKING and SHIPPING the things made champagne totally over-the-top. But the flutes were adorbs.


Then I made these confetti poppers. Prinna found the idea NOT on Pinterest and I loved it. (If you are inclined to try this at home, might I suggest using this lady's tutorial: Confetti Invitations.) See, what you do is buy poppers, set them off to get rid of the cheap confetti they come with, reload the spring thing, fill it with your own fun confetti, wrap a label on it and voila!


So, inside the popper, I also included a little chain of colored circles that read: "the time has come to...POP...the second question. Will you...be my...Bridesmaid/Maid of Honor?" Here's what they all looked like together...like pretty little (brides)maids all in a row.


Yup. So, there they all are. It took hours and 45 mazillion trips to Party City, but I think it was worth it. And while I was excited to see four ladies open them in person, I had to ship Padrin's and Madeline's to them. I was in a Google hangout with Padrin when she opened hers, and then Madeline and I were able to convince her boyfriend to video her opening hers. So I got to see everyone freak the eff out when glitter, confetti and tiny diamonds shot out into their own homes. Yay!

video

So it was totally awesome. And luckily for me, they all said Yes! w00000t! Now, on to the next wedding task!