Wednesday, October 31, 2012


Come with me, dear visitors, and see the danger and evil that lurks behind the unassuming doors of Suburbia. Leave your fears behind and follow me into to a world that is dark, twisted and eviiiiiiiiiiiiiiilllllllllllll....muahhahahahahhahahahhahahaha! (I went to Claire's house tonight to pass out candy to neighborhood kids. I wore a flamingo costume, Claire was Cleopatra. Spooooooooooky!)

Don't be scared, dear readers. I am but your humble travel guide into depths unknown. Fear so real that your toes curl and you can taste the blood in your split ends. Come, now. Don't be afraid and step into the scariest place in the world.

An unassuming home on Halloween night after you've run out of candy for the trick or treaters.

Enter only at your own risk, reader. This is not for the weak-stomached.

Imagine, if you will, a home with awesome Halloween music playing on Pandora. A few pumpkin-scented candles lit in the front window, beckoning little Buzz Lightyears and princesses to come and beg for candy. Come here, little ones, and we will give you, like, a handful of candy (if we like your costume). 

As the night continues, I watch as the candy in the bowl dwindles. And dwindles. And DWINDLES until there are but 12 tiny Snickers bars left. Two jerkface kids come and try to to steal the last batch of candy, and I slap their tiny hands away. Just one for you, poorly-executed version of a Jedi knight. I breathe, hard and quick, as Claire leaves to purchase more candy. I plead with her "Please, JUST HURRY!" and I am left behind to defend the homestead. I ration the remaining candy, sure to only truly reward those who have actually put a little effort into their costumes. (Also, this one weird kid told me he "heard about the house with the pretty flamingo" so I gave him 100 candy bars.)

And then, as if from nowhere, a cowboy reaches his grubby paw into the bowl and looks up me, his lone flamingoed host, and says "There's none left for my sister." I panic. I look right into his tiny eyes and say "Come back in like 20 mins. There'll be more candy then. Until then, give that to your sister."

He laughs. He will NOT be giving that candy to his sister. I close the heavy door behind me, ripping off  the "Please Knock. IF YOU DARE." sign on the door and make a run for the safety of the kitchen with my empty candy bowl. I hear the incessant knocks of kids at the door, but I am paralyzed with total lack of candy and fear that evil children will egg my friend's house.

I blow out some candles, flip off some of the lights. In the kitchen, I sink down to my knees on the floor, tormented by the "Knock, knock, KNOCK" of eager children. I search for my phone and realize that I have foolishly left my only connection to the outside world in the front room, right in the direct sight of youngsters approaching the front door. I am stuck. I am alone in a house with no phone and no candy, yet the children keep coming. And knocking.

Did the lights just flash? What was that creaking? Was that a curse I just felt?

I eventually pull myself together and gather enough bravery to peek through the side window, on the lookout for Claire with the reinforcements. It takes 20 years until I finally see her Cleopatra'd head behind the wheel, parking in front the house.

As I'm drying my tears with the Twix wrappers I had casually tossed aside earlier when candy was as plentiful as water, Claire bursts through the door. "What happaned? Why is the big door closed?" she begs.

"It was terrifying, Claire! The candy was gone and the kids just...wouldn't...stop...coming!! I hid in the kitchen and couldn't call you because I was too afraid to get my phone from the front room! Don't leave me alone ever again!

After the candy was replenished and I had calmed down, I was overly angered at the lazy, uncreative pre-teens would wore Uggs and a fuzzy sweatshirt and called themselves "fuzzles" coming to the door. I glared at at least 10 of them, annoyed that they were taking handfuls of candy from super-awesomely-costumed girls without so much as a "Thank You" or a decent makeup job. Put some effort into your pre-obese phase, kids.

Well, wary readers, if you've made it through my horrifying tale, consider yourselves rockstars. Good for you. I, on the other hand, will be having nightmares of kids hiding under my bed, asking for candy I just simply don't have. There is no worse thing in the entire world.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Hurricanes are the worst

I have several trivial things that I could talk about tonight. SEVERAL. Yet, the majority of my readership is in some serious $hit right now out East and all the trivial things sound, well...trivial. I made some horrible joke on Facebook today about people on the East coast not being able to watch TV tonight and I've spent the day just reeling from the tasteless nature of my "humor" all day.

So...hurricanes. I can only assume they are devastating. I live in Minnesota. The closest we get to a hurricane is when it rains a buttload and a "Wizard of Oz"-type tornado blows through. I have no clue what actually happens in a hurricane. I spent the day obsessing over "before" and "after" pictures of East coast landmarks. My grandma has a beach house in Rhode Island and the flooding there was gross and sad, not to mention the damage that has been done in New Jersey and New York. Man, Sandy is such a bitch and no one likes her.

Really the only thing I have to offer to this conversation is how these storms are named. I briefly researched the process of naming natural disasters (a.k.a. read one answer on Yahoo! Answers) and just think it's dumb. They just pick names, willy-nilly. But seriously? Katrina was once a great name. But no. Now it's a hurricane and the name is one of the worst names ever (after "Angelina" of course). Why can't we name natural disasters after truly horrible people? Hurricane Adolf. Tropical Storm Mussolini. Tornado Chlamydia. You know, names that no one actually WANTS.

Instead, these no-name people are taking perfectly good names and ruining them for everyone. Poor Isaac! Irene! And now Sandy? RUDE.

Yeah. So, I've got a beef with naming these tragic national disasters after super normal people. From all accounts that I've been obsessed with over the 24 hours, no one likes hurricanes and all they do is ruin everything. No one wants to be associated with that. Let's maybe rethink the names that we give these things that ruin people's homes and lives. Who can I talk to about this?!

But if any of my beloved East coast relatives, friends and readers are seeing this, I hope you are safe. I hope you are, like my cousin Jackie, using this as an opportunity to drink some Jack Daniels and make the best of it. And I hope that the jerkfaces who are breaking into flooded homes and stealing stuff get punched in the face by Mother Nature. HARD. But mostly, I just really hope that everyone is safe and dry and healthy. If you're not, let me know and I'll figure out some amazing rescue mission that involves me, my adorbs Ralph Lauren rain boots and a boat I'm bound to find on my way to saving you. I love you guys! Stay safe!!

Monday, October 29, 2012

The Aftermath

Sooooo sorry about last night's post. I was in no condition to string together the kind of clever, insightful and hilarious thoughts that you are so accustomed to reading from me. At every bad decision I made yesterday, it dissent was waved away with a casual "Whatever, it's my birthday!"

Hence, the 2-for-1 beers all day and the super fried foods for lunch. And dinner.

I had started the morning feeling all sorts of sorry for myself. I was missing Geo and I had finally come to terms with the fact that my birthday is NOT the most important day of everyone else's life. So, I sulked. But then Claire was all "Get up. Take a shower. You want a Sunday Funday, we're going to have a Sunday Funday." And we did.

I had plans to bop around to different places all day with just Claire because other people were busy. Instead, we sat in one place all day as my brothers and Leah, Liz, Kim, Grant, Peter and Sanna showed up throughout the day. It was phenomenal. Plus, I still made it home to watch Revenge and Breaking Amish.

Needless to say, I was not looking (or feeling) too amazing today. On Saturday, my family threw a little birthday party for me and I got a bunch of awesome stuff, including Apple TV. I put that thing to good use today after work and hung out in the fetal position while watching Netflix and sipping on water.

I felt both young for having spent a weekend day at a bar but also old for the long-lasting effects that beer had on me. As one of my friends put it "Well, maybe you needed to get that out of your system." I think she's right. Sunday Funday isn't nearly as fun when it's followed immediately by a Monday. Which I think happens a LOT.

But thanks to everyone for the lovely Facebook and in-person birthday wishes! It really meant a lot to me. I wish it could be my birthday every day, but then I'd be like a billion days old which just does not roll off the tongue. Anyway, thanks again to all my wonderful friends and family for making it so much fun!!

Sunday, October 28, 2012


It's my birthday. I drank beer all day like it was my 21st birthday. I am ill-equipped to blog right now. I am old and my joints hurt. I will get back to y'all when I recover.

Friday, October 26, 2012

Putting the AD in BAD

So heeeey, guys. I've been sitting in front of this blank blog entry page for, oh, an hour now with nothing but that incessant blinking cursor mocking me. Not one clever pun. No adolescent abrevs. I can't even come up with one horrible thing to say about Angelina Jolie, who must be really looking forward to Halloween so she can fly around on her broom or eat spider venom while dangling her tentacles in her Jacuzzi or whatever it is soul-suckers do to celebrate All Hallows Eve. (Oh, hey! Look, I COULD think of something!)

But I've just been sitting here, watching TV and laughing hysterically at the image of Angelina with tentacles. I hate TV now. No, that's lie, I'm sorry TV. I didn't mean it. But without cable and a DVR, my life has turned into Office reruns, googling TV schedules to figure out what terrible movie I'm stuck watching and commercials. COMMERCIALS! I feel like such a plebeian.

TV commercials are the worst. First, has anyone noticed that there are LOADS of repeat characters in commercials? Like, what, we're just expected to FORGET that one of the guys in the Pizza Hut commercial with Aaron Rodgers was in a DIFFERENT fast food commercial as the "tiny hands" guy? What happened to his tiny hands!? Tell me THAT, Hollywood!

Are commercial casting companies so low on candidates that they need to keep reusing the same people? I know. I ALSO find it VERY FREAKY that I remember characters in commercials. Maybe they should be given their own shows because they make quite an impression. I don't know. But the point is, it's very distracting and it makes me think the companies are cutting corners.

However, the worst commercials of all time, in all the lands, are those RIDICULOUS Charmin commercials. They make me want to punch myself in the face and jump out a window and I have honestly made a conscious effort to NEVER BUY CHARMIN again because of these commercials. You know the ones I mean, right? With animated bears who apparently don't understand how to use toilet paper?

Um, OF COURSE they don't know how to use toilet paper. They are bears. BEARS.

Those commercials visibly upset me. The worst one is when the parent bear has to like pick out t.p. particles from the kid bear's butt. GROSS.

As if the TV gods were reading this over my shoulder, they just played the second-worst commercial of all time: The new Chanel No. 5 ad with formerly hot Brad Pitt. It's nonsense. It's garbage. It's the worst thing that Brad Pitt has done since sucking face with the ultimate blood-sucker on the set of the suckiest movie ever while beautiful and perfect Jennifer Aniston hung out at home, NOT sucking at anything. I just tried to stick toothpicks in my nail beds to relieve the pain of seeing homeless Brad Pitt in a puke-tastic commercial. What has Chanel done?!

During one football game, I was audibly angry at the amount of commercials narrated by Tim Allen. I tried to turn it into a drinking game, but people didn't want to play because they were sure I was insane. OH! And also? The Kashi commercials make me hate nature and everything it stands for.

I didn't realize that I had formed such strong opinions of TV ads until I was forced to watch them instead of just accidentally forgetting to fast forward through them. The only good thing about these abhorrent commercials is that they gave me a blog post topic when I thought I had nothing.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Dear Crabby

What a remarkably unproductive day. Seriously. From start to finish. My underachievement is almost an achievement in itself. I guess the least I could do is muster up some energy and drive to answer some problemos for Crabby. Hold on. Let me roll off the couch and dust these crumbs off my shirt and go through the challenging process of digging through ones and tens of emails.

Dear Crabby,
I saw your post about putting elbow pads on sweaters with little holes in them. I LOVED it and even patched up one of my own shirts! My question is: Would you ever consider patching up other clothing items? I mean, without holes in them? Like, I wanna add a cute patch to a jacket I have, and think it could be super cute to put knee patches on my jeans. Do you think that sounds good?
Sew Curious!

Sup, fellow crafter-
I'm glad you liked the post! I have actually gotten loads of compliments on those patches, so I'm, like, basically a fashion designer. That totally make me qualified to answer this question. Um, let's see. I guess a jacket patch would be fine. Unnecessary, but fine. As far as the knee patches? No way, lady. That sounds pretty terrible. Like, I'm trying to imagine what that would look like and every time I get a visual, I almost vom all over. BAD IDEA. Knee pads? No. You could put them on the butt or something. Or just cut them into a cute shape and put them on the hip or whatevs. OR: You could cut the fabric into a bird shape and stick in on the pocket. In other words: Put a bird on it.

Dear Crabby,
I bumped into my ex while I was at a happy hour recently. He was a total jerk, as usual, but I actually started getting along really well with his new girlfriend. She and I have similar jobs and tastes (mine is arguably better since I dumped the poor shmuck she's still dating) and we really want to hang out with him, you know? Is that crossing some sort of line? Like, do I need to clear it with him or something?
Befriending My Ex's Next Ex

Hello, B MENE-
Yeah you can be friends with her. Guys don't care about that stuff. But even if he does, it's not YOUR PROBLEM anymore, it's the new girl's. However, to keep YOUR sanity in tact, limit your discussions at the beginning so that your friend dates aren't just excuses to dump all over the guy. Sure, you COULD bond over his bathroom habits that leave much to be desired, but why? I would focus on  having fun and being cool. And when they breakup you guys can stay friends and maybe consider starting a little gang of ex-girlfriends.

Dear Crabby,
Um, when do you think would be a good time to tell my best friend that I accidentally ran over her cat a couple years ago? It's been eating me up inside ever since and I feel like I should tell her and clear the air. 

Dear CATastrophe,
While I applaud your clever pseudonym, I'm worried that you may be a horrible person. Dude, the best time to tell your friend that you hit her cat is 5 minutes after you invent a time machine and go back to the scene of the accident. You should have been honest with her right away. It was an honest mistake and if you really do feel bad about it, she would have forgiven you I'll bet. Now, you're just going to be a liar...AND hurtful to boot. Since you've kept this to yourself for so long already, I'm pretty sure you have keep keepin' it to yourself. There's no point in causing her further pain by rehashing the accident and then saying it was your fault.

WHEW! That really took it out of me! All that movement and thinking just super tuckered me out. Hopefully, you're more productive than me and have time to email your questions to I wish I had more energy to come up with a clever closing here, but I don't. So there.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Chalk Block

In my never-ending quest to drastically change my hair for extremely brief periods of time (much to my mom's dismay), I decided to give hair chalking a shot tonight. For those of you who don't know what hair chalk is (which, I'm guessing is approx 100% of you), hair chalking is an "easy" way of using soft chalks to temporarily color hair. If you have been paying the least bit of attention to celebs and the runway lately, you've seen people with these colorful streaks that magically disappear by the after party. One way to achieve this look is with hair chalking.

It looked easy enough, based on the YouTube tutorial I watched. Buy some chalk, put it on your hair in cool, fun streaks and voila! Temporary rockstar! Here's the look I was going for:

Here's what I started with:

All that brown! GROSS! (Also, I do believe I am making a face like I'm smelling something ELSE brown. Whatevs.) So that's what I was working with, folks. So I got the tools:

Now, the tutorial calls for those plastic-y gloves, but I forgot to get some and I figured those gallon-sized Ziploc bags would be just fine.

Spoiler! They were NOT fine. They kept slipping off and it was like impossible to grab the tiny little strands of hair without the benefit of opposable thumbs, so it was a very messy, messy event. Plus, the chalk gets all wet and covers the ginormous bags so the colors mix and it's just all a very big to-do.

Also? I have BROWN HAIR. Drawing chalk on brown hair is like using a highlighter on tree bark. It was much less noticeable than I had hoped.

Okay, so when you're done chalking your hair, you're supposed to like DRY it and COMB it and then CURL it to lock in all the colorful goodness. But I'm not made out of time (or patience), so I just straight up brushed my hair, knocking 50 percent of the chalk to the ground. While my bathroom floor is now a positively glorious shade of tie-dye, my hair retained far less of the chalk than I had hoped. Here's what we ended up with:

Can you see the blues? The pinks? The yellows and the greens? NO? Well, it was cool in person. Here's a close-up on the good side:

Yeah, I know it's all rough and chalky, but again, I didn't have TIME to actually make it look NICE. UGH! But it's colorful!

Here's the upside of hair chalking. It's very temporary. Wear it for a night to spice up an outfit and it's gone the next day. The downside?

It's very temporary.

Seriously. It gets all over everything and will definitely run onto your clothes (note the change from white tank to black in the before and after pics) so you can't wear anything light or, you know, nice. Chalk dripped onto my skin and clothes. The second I got warm with my stupes Ziploc bags covering my hands, the chalk pasted itself to every bead of sweat. Every millimeter of moisture. God help you if you wear your hair chalk out in the rain.

Satisfied with my experiment, I hopped in the shower to de-chalk which was the dopest part. Washing your super temporary, multi-colored chalk hair makes every shower a hyper-color t-shirt with all the colorful water swirling around, which is just the best.

Verdict: While I will definitely chalk my hair again (much to my mom's dismay), I will only do it if I have loads of time, black clothes and lots more gloves. But I will DEFINITELY do it again. I guess you can CHALK it up to a refusal to learn my lesson. ZING!

Flight Risk

OMG. I went out for dinner for my loverly pal Lana tonight to this restaurant called The Bachelor Farmer and it was amazeballs! Who knew that I would absolutely love pate and beef tartare?! NOT ME, that's for sure. But turns out, I just love all meat in all forms. So, that was an important lesson learned.

Okay, so ANYHOOZ, I promised a blog about traveling, and a travel blog ye shall get. See, I'm NOT a good traveler. Especially when I'm on my own without a person to bounce my crazy off of. So, it started with one nonstop flight down to 'bama. Should have been easy enough. But no. I checked in exactly 24 hours before boarding, re-read the the baggage restrictions, googled "travelling with a computer" and still was uneasy.

See, this was the first time I've traveled with a computer, so I actually had to check a bag. I didn't know where to go or what to do. I had Claire take me to the airport and coach me through the bag checking and computer-through-security process. I got through relatively unscathed, and felt pretty confident. Until I realized that I needed to get on a plane.

I had worn my most uncomfortable (but CUTEST!) shoes to the airport and put away a big ol' glass of wine before running at light speed to my gate. The plane took off, I started sweating. The plane went through some turbulence, more sweat. And knuckle-clenching. And a single tear. But the landing was, beautifully, uneventful. I had four nights until my next flight and I was trying to forget all about it.

I was not on my game when I got back to the airport on Sunday night. I was sad and crying from saying goodbye to Geo and I was in a strange airport. I had to take TWO planes to get home and I was paranoid the entire time that my luggage would get lost. As I put my 135 buckets through security, the TSA guy was like "Hey, pretty girl. Don't cry! And also, put your sweater in the bin, n00b." (Okay, I added the "n00b" part, but I know he was thinking it.)

The first flight was supposed to a quick jaunt over to Dallas. It was long. I sat in a middle seat and was too scared of falling asleep on a stranger to close my eyes for even a minute. The flight attendants skipped my row accidentally when it came to beverages, so I clenched my way through the turbulence sans calming glass of wine or cathartic diet Coke. It was bumpy, too. I tried to read my book on my Kindle while listening to a podcast but even all that couldn't help me forget about my fear.

Side note! As a fearful flyer, I find it positively torturous that I cannot listen to anything or play a game or anything during the two freakiest parts of the flight: take off and landing. It's when I'm most afraid, and no article in any magazine will help. Instead, I just sit there and listen to the scary sounds and feel the scary movements through the air and just try and not cry. Can't someone remedy this?!

Okay, so the first flight was late because people who don't know how to board a plane on time, so if I wasn't sweating enough as it was, I was sweating more when I learned I'd have to find a sherpa and a compass to get me to my second flight. With, like, NO TIME to spare. I ran from one gate to a tram and then from the tram to another gate. Stupid adorable, uncomfortable shoes. I was honestly DRENCHED in panicked sweat when I arrived at my gate. Twenty minutes before the boarding started. I texted Geo, "Am I the most paranoid flyer ever? Ran to my gate because I was afraid of missing it, but I'm here with over 30 minutes to spare." And he was all, "Yes, you are."

So I finally get on the plane. I'm getting nervous because I had used up a lot of my favorite podcasts and games and books on the first flight and didn't think I'd have enough to keep me distracted on the second, longer flight. I was also scared because the flight attendants were moving people around, and I was FREAKED that they'd put me in another middle seat - or worse, a WINDOW seat - but they didn't. The take off was...SWERVY. I was white-knuckling my way through the process when the girl next to me said "Ha! You grabbed my arm rest at the same time I did!" And I almost snarled back, "THIS IS MY ARMREST DON'T TOUCH IT OR I'LL PASS OUT." But I managed a smile as the plane dipped and my stomach dropped.

It was a very uneven flight. At every dip or bump, I'd panic. I had to pee, but didn't DARE unbuckle my seat belt and DEFINITELY didn't want to get tossed around in the bathroom. My Kindle was super low on battery, and I'd listened to every podcast I had on my phone. I briefly considered pulling out my laptop to play solitaire or something, but I couldn't risk all that movement. The plane continued to dip and swerve and I continued to quietly panic while trying to read my InStyle magazine for the 925th time.

Finally, the plane landed. Did I let out the tiniest "Aaarghh!" as the plane swerved one last, terrifying time before landing? YES. I don't care. I was scared. I bolted off the plane and nearly kissed the ground in the MSP airport before heading to baggage claim. Much to my surprise, my bag was there and ready to go. My parents picked me up and I sunk into the backseat, so grateful to be done flying.

I have made plans to go see Geo again, but I'm wondering if I can opt for a bus or a train or a teleporter.

Monday, October 22, 2012

Down (South)

Well, I'm back in the Great White North. And it's dumber than it used to be. Not that I don't whole-heartedly love Minneapolis, but I had a fantastic time in Alabama. With Geo. And he's the one thing this town is missing right now. We went to a concert, a movie, I met some of his awesome classmates, we had fancy dinners and Chik-fil-A (which I morally hate, but it is just very tasty), made pizzas, enjoyed the beautiful weather, watched the Vikings game and had our toothbrushes in the same bathroom again.

So, yeah, I'm pretty down. While it's good to be home, I already miss him so much that my tonsils and toenails hurt. And even though I have a beautiful view from my own apartment and Geo's view is street level of Birmingham, the Alabummer of it all is that nothing looks better than a fiance.

Yeah. I'm gushy and lovey and missing him a lot already. Sorry.

Also, it's now past midnight and I just got home, so I'm exhausted and just too tired to write anything not gushy.

But fear not, faithful Squares! I had a decidely non-gushy experience on my flights, so as soon as I can think straight tomorrow, I'll tell y'all all about it. OMG. "Y'all." Five days and I'm already quite the Southern belle. Score?

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Dear Crabby

Ah, here we are again. Another week, another Dear Crabby. Weird. There's only one question in the hopper. (Or, as they say in DirecTV commercials, the hoppah.) Let's see what gets messy...

Dear Crabby,
I'm visiting my fiance in Alabama and he is awesome and wondeful and had a beer ready for me when I got here and is simply amazeballs. But I have a blog to maintain. What would you do??

Dear Alabummer,
Shockingly, I'm in that EXACT SAME situation. Here's my advice: Take a break and spend time with your lovey. I'm sure that ALL YOUR READERS will understand that you need to take a break from blogging so you can chill with your man. If they don't, they are SUPER RUDE. I'm sure they'll tune in next week.


So, the jig is up. I'm the question-asker to Dear Crabby. I'm in Alabama now. Experiencing the Deep South. I've gotta focus on chilling with Geo. I'll see you all on the other side of this weekend. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. LOVE YOU!

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Bird is the Word

What's that they say about the best laid plans? Well, whatever. I had laid some best plans of my own tonight. I was going to come home, take a nap, make a wonderfully healthy and tasty dinner and spend several hours packing for my trip to Alabama tomorrow. That's what was SUPPOSED to happen.

Here's what ACTUALLY happened.

I was well on my way into step two. I had come home, I was snuggled in my bed ready for a little post-work nap, and had even taken my contacts out. So, there I am, in sweatpants and glasses, reading Newsweek to get all nice and sleepy. Then I hear it.

Scratch. Scratchscratchscratch. Flippy flap scratchy scratch.

WHOA. What is that? Am I already dreaming? No. Is it coming from outside? No. Is it the vibration of my jewelry against my closet door? No. WHAT IS THAT?!

The more I hear the sound, the surer I am that there is a CRITTER IN MY WALL. I have this access panel in my closet that should have a cover on it, but I knocked it off when I was trying to make all my shoes fit inside. I quietly peered into the closet, and I hear the critter in the open access panel.

So, obvs, I panic, scream and slam the sliding doors shut to my closet. At that moment, I got a text from Liz asking "Hey, chat and wine?" I immediately called her back and screamed "THERE IS A MOUSE OR SOMETHING IN MY ACCESS PANEL!" She's all "Come on over!"

Before I fled to the safety of Liz's house, I called my property managers. Here's the voicemail I left. Keep in mind that I am screaming and shaking and near tears while leaving the message.

"Um, hey guys! So, I don't know if this is an emergency or not, but I'm pretty sure there is a mouse or a possum or a beaver or something in my access panel in the closet. I'm really really scared and don't know what to do. I'm fleeing to my friend's house for awhile, so if you could swing by and check it out, I would SUUUUUPER appreciate it. I'm really scared. I closed the closet doors because I didn't want it to get out and, like build a nest in my basket of summer shoes, so be careful opening the closet doors because the access panel is open and whatever's in there might have crawled out and into the closet. It's scratching and I'm worried it could be like rabid or something. I'm freaking out, though, so let me know if you can stop by tonight. Thanks!"

Yeah, NORMAL. So anyways, I go to Liz's we have a wonderful time and I finally decide I'm brave enough to come home. I unlocked the door and kicked it in, expecting a honey badger to come flying out at my face. Nothing. Right after I walked in the door, two dudes knocked on my door. It was my property manager and his buddy. YES. Two guys, one critter. Can't lose.

Luckily, my apartment is spotless and adorable, but I barely even have time to pat myself on the back for being such a good grownup. The guys come in and bring a step stool, a flashlight, and some tools. They open my closet and I scream because I'm freaked out there's a bat in there or something. They laugh at my girliness and then comment "Whoa. You got a lotta clothes in here! And it's all so neat! What are you, Rainman?!" And the other guy goes, "Damn, girls have so many shoes!" OMG. I've never felt more validated in my life.  

So, they're peering in the access panel, shining a light in it and sticking tools down there and nothing happens. No animals emerge. No one's face is bitten off by a snake. Then my property manager says "Well, whatever it was, you probably scared it with your screaming. Good work. Now, I'll tell you that someone on the 2nd floor had a swallow in their a.c. unit a couple days ago. My guess is that there are birds trying to get into the building to nest and scratch at the covering on your a.c. unit. But yours is totally in tact, so I bet they were just on the outside of the building trying to get in. No biggie."

Birds in the building?? Yeah. NO BIGGIE.

After the dudes left and the critter was "probably" gone, I finally got to work packing. I could finally dig through my closet, but did so very carefully just in case a bird managed to hide in my sweaters until it got the chance to come out and peck my eyeballs out. So far, so good. I shoved a billion bird-free clothes into my suitcase and finally am back on track with my plan. Just in time for bed, which is good because I never did get that nap.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Hi Kelly! Good luck!

Um, yeah. So my friend Kelly is about to give birth to a child and I did laundry at my friend Claire's house. We are on two very different life tracks.

Am I excited? YES. Am I  jealous? Not yet. Having a baby sounds very hard and not very pleasant. However, I was texting with my BFF Madeline and we were both hopped up on excitement and emotion and were crying via text because we couldn't be in Iowa with Kelly.

See, here's the thing. Some of my greatest friends in my lifetime live nowhere near me. So, we are forced to text and Skype our way into each others's lives. I haven't even gotten to see Kelly since I found out she was pregnant. I feel like a terrible person because I never got to see Kelly and her stupid-big belly. I never even got to see her TINY belly. I've missed out on a lot.

So, I understandably am very VERY excited about my first supes close friend having a baby. Now, I have been the very proud aunt of five nieces and two nephews. I've been around the block when it comes to babies. And I get super obsessed with each and every one of the chubby bundles of adorable. But this is the first time a FRIEND who I took tequila shots with a billion years ago has gotten it together and started a family.

Anyway, I don't even know what to do. She's going to squirt out a human and I'm still doing laundry at my friends' houses. (It's not my fault. Apparently someone with a billion clothes just moved into my building and has been totes hogging the washing machine ALL DAY.) But I'm still really excited for my pal. Will she let me babysit? Will she let me teach him about women? Probably not. She knows me too well.

Madeline and I were texting her today to figure out how "serious" her contractions were. I started bawling immediately, so I was of little help. But Kelly was all "It's fine. I'm good. Stop freaking out." How appropriate that SHE is the one calming ME down? Plus, she's a nurse and doesn't get NEARLY as freaked out by nature's disgusting sense of humor as I do. That's why she rules.

The moral of this story is that I'm insanely excited for Kelly and her hubby.It's highly likely that tomorrow my dear friend will be a parent and I will still just be a girl who is late for work. So yeah. Let's all just shoot our happiest thoughts her way and hope that tomorrow we all can be stoked about a brand new baby in the world!

Sunday, October 14, 2012

Pharon Square at the Fair

Well, people told me not to do it. They said "Pharon, it's a nightmare. It's a scam. It'll steal your soul if you let it." But did I listen? NO. I like to make my OWN mistakes, thankyouverymuch. So I did it, and I dragged my pal Kim along with me.

We went to the Twin Cities Bridal Fair.

For those of you who don't know what the Bridal Fair is, it's a trade show for brides. That's right. The wedding industry is chomping at the bit just to get in with brides to cash in on the biggest day of their lives. If that's not romance, I don't know what is. I digress. Anyways, so all these DJs and restaurants and caterers and photographers (and liposuction doctors, rudely enough) all set up their little booths in convention center and hang their little pictures and set out their little brochures and ooze desperation as overwhelmed brides pass them by.

The weirdest part? I loved it!

So, okay. We prepared for the day with mimosas. An essential for getting through any trade show, as far as I'm concerned. We walked into the convention center and were immediately bombarded by an elaborate lighting display and pink tulle and wedding dresses in this very overly dramatic entrance hall. It was a little "Hall of Horrors" for my liking, though. No windows, creepy soft music, headless mannequins with $2,000 dresses hanging on them in glass cases.

Then we got into the ROOM. It was ballistic. Booths, music, bowls of bribes in the form of Jolly Ranchers all over the place.  But most importantly, there were BRIDES...EVERYWHERE. OMG, you guys! The brides! There were gaggles of gals wearing matching t-shirts, swooning over free luggage tags and $20 off a $1 billion photography package. They were, like, aggressively "blissful." It was so bizarre.

Kim and I were among the less-frenzied visitors. While I loved the sparkles and the activity and feeling very wanted (as a client), Kim and I were much less fanatical. We hit up a fashion show, then the bar with fun girlie drinks, then another fashion show. In between these very important bridal fair essential events, we buzzed around eating free cake and entering drawings. See, you have to enter drawings to the vendors can steal your most personal info and then spam the bejeezus of you as a consolation prize of not winning the big prize. SCORE.

The weirdest thing, by the way, was the amount of BAGS these people give away. You get one at the door, then another one when you stop and look at a vendor's wedding dress display, and another one when you sign up to win up to 10 free tuxedo rentals. Just, like, LOADS of empty bags. So at the end of the event, you walk out with one bag full of OTHER bags and 205,304 brochures and business cards. So much paper wasted.

But, I'm planning on winning some tuxes, at least one honeymoon package, photo booth service, and like 2 or 3 wedding dresses, probably. So, it's cool.

Thursday, October 11, 2012

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

Hey, guys. Keep it down, wouldja? I have NEIGHBORS, you know...

So, I hate my neighbors. I do. I don't actually KNOW any of them but MYLANTA are they annoying.

I always imagined my 6th floor living to be quite luxurious and special. However, I forgot about the three other apartments on my floor. I live in constant fear of the other people on my floor. Are they judging me? Can they hear the elevator 'ding' when I get home at 1 a.m. on a Tuesday night? Do they worry about me when I haven't left my apartment in 24 hours?

The girl who lives directly across the hall from me seems to be insane. Every night when she gets home from work, she announces "I'M HOME!" seconds before she actually puts her key in the door. Once, her boyfriend scared me on the elevator because he's a superhumanly enormous weightlifter. They are just weird. Plus, they are both CRAZY fit so my bi-monthly trips the gym are definitely not impressive to them.

There's a woman who lives diagonally from me who yells are her two sons nonstop. Based on echos in the hallway, her two sons play video games 100 hours every day and vehemently disagree with their mom about the violence of the games. They wake up at 4 a.m. and go to bed at 8 p.m. Also, she parks like a maniac. But whenever I see these kids in the hallway or elevator, I feel like they are hissing "Youuuuuuu watch Jerrrrrrrrrrry Sprinnnnnnnger allllllllllllllll dayyyyy."

There is another person who allegedly lives on my floor who I've never seen or heard. That's the person I'm the most freaked out by.

For reasons unknown to me, I am terrified of disappointing my stranger neighbors. I don't want them to think I'm weird or crazy or rude. And, given the fact that I work from home three days a week, there are a lot of assumptions that are made. "That crazy girl NEVER leaves!" "That insane chick only leaves at night! She's a vampire!" "Sometimes, she goes on walks in the middle of the day for no, DRUG DEALER, MUCH!?"

Yeah. I'm freaked out by what my neighbors think of me. I get my mail at weird times of the day and watch dumb shows on TV that anyone who is waiting for the elevator can hear. And sometimes I wonder if they laugh at how much I curse when I'm cooking.

My point is that there is an entire population of people very near to me who scare me that I've never even met before. I only have a vague awareness that they are around. But as I sit here, click-clacking on my computer and watching an informercial about hair care, I am constantly fearful that some stranger will be all "What is WITH that girl and weird TV shows? She needs a boyfriend."


Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Dear Crabby

I'm going to break a rule tonight. I have my OWN question that I'd like to ask Dear Crabby. So yeah, the first one is mine. Sorry to hijack this very valuable service for my own needs, but this girl's got a question that needs to be answered.

Dear Crabby,
Um, why do people go to spinning classes at the gym?
Your biggest, bestest, sorest fan,
Curse You, Crazy Legs Exercise 

Boy, I'm SO glad you asked this question! I don't know WHY people go to spinning class. I went to one tonight and have zero plans of reattending. It seemed harmless and simple. Like riding a bike, some would say. But about 2 minutes into the nightmarish experience, my legs were shaking uncontrollably and I couldn't even do the "easy standing sprint". Also? The class was only 45 minutes long, but no one told my rear end that. Actually, I'm not going to sugar coat this because there was nothing polite, proper or mature about what was happening to my ass. It was a vulgar, painful, rude and offensive experience that could only have happened to an ass, not a butt or an unassuming rear end. I desperately looked over at my workout pal Chandra and mouthed "OMG. MY ASS." And she loudly responded that "NEXT TIME WE NEED PADDED SHORTS!" Listen, I only wear padding on my fists in kickboxing. Never in the history of time would anyone ever imagine that I'd need MORE cushion in my jeans. It was inhumane. When we finished the class, I was nauseous and didn't trust my jelly legs to carry me safely to my car. So, yeah. I don't know WHY people go that class. I thought it would be easy to sit and exercise, but I was sorely (HA!) mistaken. 

Dear Crabby,
I'm starting a new job next week and I'm SUPER nervous!!!! It's my first real job since I graduated, and I have no idea what to expect. Do you think you could give me a tip or two for this new girl? I really want to make a good impression!
Jitters On Board 

Sup JOB,
Um, tips for a new job? I don't know. I guess it depends on the job. I mean, I guess that what I'd do is to make some really uncomfortable statements and conversations with people and be sure to wear clothes that ensure excess sweating. If you can wear the most impractical shoes ever to make every step you take more painful than the last, then you've downright nailed my patented First Day At Work routine. Or, you know, just do the opposite of all that. Either way, good luck to ya!

Dear Crabby,
Okay, I started watching Revenge after your post on it and LOVED it. Now I need another new show to get into this fall. Got any other boob tube suggestions?
Signing off,
Your faithful fan 

Salutations YFF,
For those readers who don't know what you're talking about, go ahead and catch up by reading this post. Okay, so I actually DON'T have a suggestion for you, unfortunately. Especially one as awesome as Revenge. I can't even keep up with real TV anymore. I don't have a stupid DVR so it's hard enough to even  care about shows that I manage to accidentally see in real time. Which is, like, SUPER annoying. I guess you should just cruise around on Netflix and see what lights your fire. Or, you know, get a hobby. 

Done, done and DONE! Good questions this week, guys! I especially like the brilliant thoughts and poetic curiosities in the first one. Anyway, I'll try to not hijack next week's Crabby. Go ahead and flood the mailbag with your own freaky queries so there won't even be ROOM for my own petty probs. 

Tuesday, October 9, 2012


Hey, nerds. Long day. LOOOOONG day. And I have nothing hysterically entertaining to write about (what else is new), but I do want to bring the lights down and get serious for a minute. Can we all get in a Kumbaya circle?


Today is a warm, fuzzy day. It should be a day that you hug every single person you see and smooch every stranger on the bus (says the girl who doesn't take the bus anymore). It's a day to take an extra deep breath of autumn air outside and make out with a pumpkin...or something.

See, five years ago tonight, I had to say goodbye to a 9-month-old baby who I loved very much. My niece, Sophia. It was too early and it was too hard. But five years later, I am constantly astounded by the strength and love that I see in my family every single day, and it makes me incredibly proud of those who are genetically assigned to me.

So, tonight I did some bittersweet crafting with lots of modge podge and gllitter. I thought about the people I'm lucky enough to love (and who, try as they might, cannot help but love me back).

Anyhoozle, yeah. It was a weird day. I didn't even eat ONE PASTA NOODLE today. Who AM I anymore?! And even though I didn't make it to the gym, I toooootally thought seriously about considering going to a yoga class. Did I just brush my teeth before bed?? I THINK I DID. See? was a weird day.

But whatever. I love my family. Every single day, I love them them more than I thought I ever could. And although I don't say it enough, you guys truly complete me. You had me at "Wait, so is 'Pharon' a boy or a girl?"

Now, I know I SHOULD wash the glitter off my hands, face, and (somehow) feet but I'm not going to. Some things never change.

Monday, October 8, 2012

This Post Is 100% Organic

I got on this kick today where I wanted to cook something. Nothing too complicated or with too many ingredients, just SOMETHING. For some reason I still don't truly understand, I decided to go all health-food kicky too. I thought "Hey, I'll buy health food just like everyone else."

Well, thanks for NOTHING "everyone else." Because of you even grocery shopping is hard. By the way, 99% of my friends and loved ones eat very healthily. I know. So I hope you health nuts will take this post with a grain of basmati rice. (See what I did there!?)

Okay, so Pharon Going Health Food Shopping is a lot like Pharon Doing Long Division In Her Head. It's never truly been done before. And if it HAS been done before? It was purely unintentional and likely misguided. But I went to the stupid grocery store to buy stupid non-bagels. First, I made a list:

* green leaves of some sort

Pretty succinct list, if you ask me. So anyways, off I go to buy god-knows-what.

The lame thing about health foods is that a lot of them are either 1) disgusting or 2) obscenely expensive because people put these trendy foods so high on a pedestal that only people who are truly COMMITTED to eating like a bird can buy them.

Note/Proof of Theory: I went on the search for some shelled edamame in my regular grocery store. I couldn't find any so I asked "Yo, where's the edamame?" And the dude was all "Ugh, they put in the 'organic' section so they can jack up the price. You KNOW it's just soy beans, right?" I was all "Thanks for your honesty, broseph."

UGH. ORGANIC SECTION. May as well call it "Food For Rich People."

That's where I end up having to buy a bunch of stuff. After getting the edamame for a billion dollars, I had to find my favorite drink: Skim milk. I LOVE milk. I pound skim milk like it's water and I've just run a marathon. But APPARENTLY it's not good for you (thanks for nothing, Every Health Class Ever). So I go searching for this soy dairy-free meatless vegetarian tofu type of milk. I couldn't find it anywhere.

Oh, silly me! It's NOT in the refrigerated section! The MILK is on a SHELF with RICE! GROSS!

Still shaken by putting a warm box of "milk" in my cart, I had to find quinoa. Now, I've actually made/bought/eaten quinoa and liked it a lot. But now, since it's all part of this nutso health craze, they apparently jacked up the price. For the price of a little bag of those quinoa seed-looking things, I could have gotten like 10 toys in the dollar aisle at Target. (Mental math: That's $10 on seeds that I need to cook and eat.) Now, I love protein-packed seeds as much as the next guy, but come ON!

Finally, I had to get out of the high-rollers club "organic section" and made a beeline for more familiar territory. The bread aisle. I was trying to find this bread that my mom likes. It too is apparently free of carbs/wheat/sugar/nomnom/taste, but I tried some and liked it. (I do find it odd that the so-called good-for-you-bread is wrapped in more plastic than Barbie. Healthy!) But, annoyingly, I couldn't even find the bread. I was too nervous that I'd accidentally buy 12 bags of bagels while I was in the aisle so I made yet another beeline for the checkout counter.

I stood there while the girl swiped veggies, lettuce, unsweetened applesauce, fake milk, soy beans, seeds and some nuts and was DISGUSTED at how much I had to shell out for FOOD that is supposedly "NATURAL." WTF?! If it's so "natural" why does it cost more than something with 156 ingredients and chemicals? That stuff isn't FREE, you know.

I fought the urge to return all that "food" in favor of ready-made frozen meals and sooooooo many kinds of cheese. I could have saved a billion dollars. But no. I came home, ate some nuts and then locked away my food in a safe with my car title, ring insurance form and other things I can't afford to have stolen.

Sunday, October 7, 2012


I know it's Sunday, and I'm supposed to have a wealth of hilarious weekend stories to discuss (or at least one very serious pet peeve) but I don't have it in me. I have a raging headache brought on by over-indulging in online shopping and too much cheering during the Vikings game (SKOL!) and possibly the bloody Mary or three I had during the game. So yeah. I'm going to go to bed and hope that whatever is smashing concrete bricks in my head will also take a break.

Meanwhile, I'll leave you with a mini-story/rant. I went to Target this morning because I just wanted to find some guacamole, face lotion, dish soap and slippers. (Let it be known that for the first time ever I didn't get ANYTHING extra at target. It was insane.) Everything was going great until I got to the slippers. I really just wanted a smooshy, comfy pair of Minnetonka Moccasin knock offs. So, I aim directly towards the kids aisle.

Yes, I have child-sized feet and like to save some Benjamins. Let's build a bridge and get over it.

Stupid Target apparently doesn't GET that adults shop in their shoe section every once in awhile. I had like 3 options: bedazzled mocs, Dora mocs and tan mocs with Hello Kitty laces.

WTF, Target?

So, not only do I have a headache, but my feet are cold. And it's all Target's fault. Anyway, that is all.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

It's a Walk

Well, I've officially lost it. I resorted to such inane and arbitrary behavior tonight that I barely know who I even am anymore. I was stressed, anxious, excited, annoyed and frustrated, so I did something I never thought I'd do.

I went on a run.

Before you get it twisted, my "run" turned into a "walk" by the end of my block. But I had to get out of my apartment. My friend Kelly is having a baby in Iowa, my BFF Madeline was watching TV with her boyf in Illinois and Geo is doing whatever boys do in Alabama. I felt displaced. I felt sad. I finally had that feeling like "I'm going crazy."

And I had recently listened to the recent Good Guys to Know podcast where the Good Guys interviewed a dude who felt lost and annoyed and frustrated and he started running. He talked about how much better he felt after he started running and so I just did it. I put on my running shoes (without socks! WHAT?!) and just wanted to feel the pavement under my shoes.

So yeah, a block later, I was panting and still stressed out. So I slowed it down and walked. For a billion blocks. I walked and I walked and it was super dark out and scary, but I just kept walking. I thought about missing my friends and being sad that some of my dearest friends are hundreds of miles away and how I just wanted to talk to Geo and whether or not I'll ever find a wedding dress. So I just walked until I got over myself.

Then I got scared. I mean, I'm an adorable woman in a giant city! Also? I took a shower this morning and brushed my hair, so I'm lookin' my best. Meanwhile, I'm walking down strange streets with dark clothes on with only my keys to keep me safe. I was prime pickins.

The thoughts that ran through my head were: "Oh man, it's windy. And cold. I wonder if Kelly's going to have her baby tonight? Do I turn my engagement ring out so it can hurt someone I punch, or do I flip it inside to discourage muggers? What if I never find a wedding dress? What if I never have a baby? Did that car just almost sideswipe me?! OMG, I love the smell of Fall! I hope all my friends find someone as amazeballs as Geo. If Geo was here, and I got mugged, he'd totally just take off running. Are feathers tacky on a wedding dress? Why am I so obessed with my wedding when I know that's supes annoying? Is there any chance Kate Spade knows how much I totes love her stuff? Do I have any mac n' cheese at home? Why do carbs taste so good when they are so bad? Did I do enough work today? Will my mom and dad like my wedding? Why don't people wear socks with their running shoes? These things are going to be nastballs when I get home. I wonder if smaller feet smell worse than bigger feet."

After my very real concerns diluted into totally stupid thoughts, I turned around and headed for home. No, I didn't solve anything. No, I didn't actually figure anything out. And most importantly, NO, I didn't get mugged. However, I realized that there's just a lot of crazy things going on right now and for once, I guess I'm just one of those crazy things.

Wednesday, October 3, 2012

Dear Crabby

Gee, let's see if I can pry myself away from this stimulating pissing contest (a.k.a The Presidential Debate) to tend to the issues that REAL Americans are dealing with. Dear Crabby for President!

Dear Crabby,
I've been texting with a dude for a couple weeks now, and we've been out twice, but I think he's losing interest. Any tips for spicing up some texts to be a little flirtier and get another date on the books?
Vexed with Texts

Oh, HAI, Vexed with Texts-
I hate to break this to you, but flirting via text is probably the easiest thing on the planet. I'm pretty sure I accidentally flirted with my automatically-generated bill pay reminder text yesterday. As my friend Rachel and I discussed earlier today, texting is, in fact, the EASIEST medium to use for flirting. You can take your time with responses, ask friends for opinions, proofread it and easily dismiss miscommunications with "Ugh. Texting..." The trick to flirting via text is to keep it vague. If he says "What're you up to tonight?" Don't say "Clipping my toenails on my couch while reading back issues of InStyle and eating a loaf of bread dipped in melted butter. You?" Keep it mysterious and short. Try something like "Chillin. May head out for a drink or something." Then just throw in a few "I just got out of the shower" or "Sorry it took so long to get back to you, I was busy participating in a bikini contest," statements and you're golden, Pony Boy.

Dear Crabby,
Oooookay. This is a dumb question, I know. But I need a super objective opinion. My boyfriend and I have been dating for 3 years and he says that he doesn't want to get married. His brother is divorced, his parents are divorced, and he just says he doesn't think he's into marriage. Do you think that's a real concern for him, or just an excuse not to tie the knot?
Much appreciated,
I Do (Want To Know What's Up With My Boyfriend)

How should I know? If you guys are super happy, I'd buy his argument, I guess. Why mess something up that's working when he's only seen how divorce can ruin that? On the other hand, if you guys have been fighting or whatever and you aren't happy, he might just not want to marry You. Whatever the case, I can tell you one universal truth: nagging him into a marriage he either doesn't want or doesn't believe in is probably the worst decision in the world.

Dear Crabby,
I know that thongs are, like, essential undergarments for certain types of attire, but I find myself so uncomfortable when I wear them. My friends have made fun of me because I don't actually OWN a pair of non-regular undies. Do you think that's weird? Do people really wear thong underwear and feel comfortable in them? I just don't see how that's possible.
Curious to Hear Your Answer,
Thongs Are Wrong 

Sup, Thongs Are Wrong-
Dude, I don't know the underwear habits of other people, so I truly don't know what to tell you. Clearly thongs are popular, otherwise Victoria's Secret wouldn't exist. Plus, I only just realized that ladies don't wear underwear under Spanx (don't ask why that came up or why I feel like that's relevant to tell you now). So, I'm not exactly an underwear aficionado. (Side note: Is Underwear Aficionado a real thing? That'd be awesome.) Anyhoozle, no, it's probably not weird that you don't have thongs, but yes, people wear them and like them and you probably would too if you gave them a chance.

Okay, well, I feel as though I've tackled these big issues fairly and without increasing taxes on the middle-class. So, YAY for me! Meanwhile, I made it through about 45 minutes of the Presidential Debate before smashing my head into a brick wall and changing the channel to The Big Bang Theory. Bazinga, indeed. Make sure to email your questions to for next week!

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Boo Boo Kardashian

There has been a major thorn in my side lately. That thorn is the clan Kardashian. I can't stand them (except Khloe. Lhove her). They are annoying and self-righteous and entited and they have like a jillion shows showcasing how sucky they are. Then, BOOM. Here Comes Honey Boo Boo comes along and everyone's like "Gross! Poor people who are overweight? How ruinous for our society!" RUDE, people. RUDE.

Here are the reasons that Honey Boo Boo will always be better than Kim Kardashian.

1) Kim Kardashian is famous because she taped herself having sex and then released that tape to the public. Honey Boo Boo is famous because girl's got a killer personality and confidence and only wants to win an occassional beauty pageant.
2) Honey Boo Boo jumped into a giant pool of mud for the Redneck Games-FOR FREE. The Kardashians probs pay a billion dollars a year just to have that same mud smeared on their clogged pores.
3) Kim Kardashian did some rando publicity stunt by having her butt x-rayed to prove it was "real." The Boo Boo family just eats enough that everyone knows the plump is fo' realsies.
4) Boo Boo's sister had a baby out of wedlock. So did a Kardashian. Twice.
5) Boo Boo's mom and her boyfriend, Sugar Bear, don't see the point in getting married to prove their love. Kim Kardashian has been married TWICE. In case you forgot, once she was only married for 72 days before bailing. #sanctityofWHAT?
6) The Boo Boo's go mud bogging on 4-wheelers as a family. The Kardashians drive their borrowed Lamborghinis to publicity stunts.
7) Honey Boo Boo just wants to win a crown by being the little chubbers that she is. One of the Kardashian youngsters is optimizing an inevitable case of anorexia to parlay her "fame" into a modeling career.
8) The Boo Boo's play "Whose breath is that?" The Kardashians play "Whose sex tape is that?"
9) Sugar Bear (Boo Boo's dad) may or may not have teeth. Bruce Jenner may or may not have a human face.
10) Boo Boo's mom coupons for free toilet paper. Kardashians would happily pay $1 billion to have their faces printed on said toilet paper.
11) The Boo Boo's are a family who love each other and spend time together all the time. The Kardashians' have at least 3 TV contracts obliging them to hang out together in carefully scripted scenes.
12) The Kardashians talk out of their a$$es or through a publicist. Honey Boo Boo talks out of her belly, hilariously.

Moral of the story: The Kardashians are the kind of garbage that TV wants us think is great and the Boo Boos are the families we actually are, and TV has positioned as "trash". Psht. I'd pick Boo Boo every time.

Monday, October 1, 2012

I (Can't) Spy

So, I've been devouring a show called Revenge. Seriously: DEVOURING it. My friends Liz and Claire both watched it told me I'd like it. I put it off because I hate it when people tell me to do something. Then I started watching it and I couldn't STOP watching it. I've watched all the eps on Netflix and I'm allllll caught up for the new season.

Even though most of you guys don't watch Revenge, I'll give a brief rundown in order to justify the point of this post. It's about a chick who's dad was killed by a bunch of gajillionaires in the Hamptons when she was a kid. As an adult, she shows back up in the Hamptons with a new identity, a bangin' bod and one thought on her mind: REVENGE.

So yeah, she's back to spy on those who destroyed her father and just wants to destroy them. She's smart, brassy, sneaky, vindictive and an insanely good sense of fashion. Emily/Amanda is awesome.

With that in mind, I'd like to present a list of reasons why I would never make a good spy.

* I am never a step ahead of anyone.
* I never have a Plan B. I'm always like "Let's stick to the plan at all costs." If something goes wrong, I can't adjust or just go with it. I just assume everything's ruined.
* I can't casually overhear conversations without totally reacting to it, giving myself away
* I only have one wig...a purple bob. But I don't even know where it is.
* My ability to make up lies on the fly is horribly underdeveloped
* I'm not "ready for anything"
* While I may be able to punch someone, I can't take a hit to save my life. One slap across my cheek and I tear up like a tiny baby
* I just don't have the attention span. I once got curious about a friend I had in college. We were really good friends and then she turned out to be a total skeez. Anyways, I wondered what she was up to, hoping she was fat, so I tried to track her down. After 2.3 minutes of looking on Facebook, I gave up and just decided she was fat.
* I'm not a "multiple stop" person. I HATE making a couple stops when I could just go to Target or whatever and get everything done at once. Spies can't do that. They have to like spread out their purchases of rope and duct tape and hidden microphones or whatever so they don't get caught. Sounds like it's way too inefficient for me.
* I'd probably just get too emotionally attached to whomever I'm supposed to be busy destroying
* I DO know who my real friends are
* I get lost all the time
* I've never been able to keep secrets
* I don't have a fireplace to burn pictures/evidence in
* It's never business with me, it's always personal

Yeah, so that's...well, that's a list of reasons why I'm not a spy. I'm sure you'll all update your diaries accordingly.