Thursday, January 31, 2013

Crap on an App

I woke up in the middle of the night last night, shivering my tootsies off. My room was a blistering 62 degrees and I woke up with a nose so cold that I was afraid it would snap off. Anyhoodle, I woke up angry, cold and a little delirious. I have this bad/hilarious habit of waking up mid-REM cycle, convinced I have come up with several GENIUS blog topics. I jot them down on my Notes app on my phone and then go back to sleep to try and get back to being on stage with Guns n' Roses at my house, which isn't REALLY my house but kind of more like my college dorm, while Ryan Gosling ties my shoes and tells me how happy he is that I don't have cankles.

The next day, I wake up with only a fuzzy memory of what I put in my app and assume it was genius. Then, on nights like tonight, I click back into the app for some great ideas and inspiration.

I'm never NOT disappointed. I'm an idiot at 4 a.m. I am not creative, funny or interesting in the middle of the night. And yet, I still convince myself that I have come up with some absolute blogging GOLD.

So tonight, I go to my list because today was uneventful, but I felt like blogging and needed some blogging gold. Instead, I found a list of sleepy topics that, on their own, are straight garbage. But as a group, they "work."

Here we go. Here is the list of "great blog ideas" I had, written exactly as they appear in my phone:

* Am I old now that I put hand lotion on before bed? Like on TV shows, aren't  moms and grandmas like always putting lotion on while yelling at their husbands about their kids or whatever?

* Pretty sure Subway sandwiches are not actually 6 inches long. [Editor's note: I wrote this BEFORE some dude in Chicago filed a lawsuit against Subway for screwing customers out of that crucial 12th inch on their footlong subs. Read that full story HERE.]

* GENIUS IDEA: Magazine for after weddings? Too depressed!

* Could I still play a song on the flute? Can you forget how to play music? Like, what the notes look like?

* I feel like turtles' bodies would feel disgusting without a shell

* Food. Patina. DSW. Urban? [Editor's note: Turns out, this was just a list of places I wanted to shop the next day, I think.]

* Try to give up using a fork or a knife for a week.

* How does one sock ALWAYS come off in the middle of the night while I'm sleeping? Beds=Dryers???

* I should start saying "Second that emotion" more often, other funny phrases from songs as words

* Pants made out of blanket? Pankets! (MAKE THESE)

What?! These are so amazingly bad that I question the quality of topics I actually DO write about. I'll admit, I've pulled a few posts from this Notes app list in the past, so I shudder to think what people think about them in the light of day. Oh well, I can't be amazing all the time.

Oh, also? I'm pretty sure that Pankets idea is genius.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Weight Debate

I know you'll all be shocked to learn that this girl [points to self] likes to stay informed by reading the news online. That's right. I'm not all Entertainment Weekly and cereal boxes. I am an ENGLISH MAJOR, after all. Anyway, I read an article today on the Huffington Post (I said I READ, I didn't say I was Einstein.) It was kind of interesting and struck a particularly vulnerable cord with me.

To read the full article, click here. It's called "Mixed Weight Relationships: No One Prepared Us For The Biggest Conflict In Our Marriage" and it's all about a chick who is totally normal and her also-normal husband. Like many normal women, the chick struggles with gaining weight. Like many normal men, the dude does not have the same struggle and can't understand why his neurotic wife won't stop obsessing about food and her weight. It's an eye-opener and I found myself nodding in agreement with much of the article.

See, Geo and I have very opposite body types. I am almost a foot shorter than him. His limbs are all long and lanky while mine are short and compact. Not once, in all the years that we've been dating, has Geo lost or gained any noticeable amount of weight. I, on the other hand, swing wildly from weight class to weight class, depending on the season and whatever pant style is on trend. Geo eats more macaroni and cheese in one week than I eat in 2 years. He drinks Coke - not diet Coke - on a very regular basis. He skips breakfast. But he also enjoys working out, so somehow that cruel equation adds up no weight gained, no weight lost.

I, on the other hand, have to drastically change diet and workout routines whenever I want to lose one or two lbs. Did I put my jeans in the dryer last time I washed them? Better get off carbs for a year and train for a marathon before I can wear them again...

It's made me resentful, to be honest. I've gotten mad at Geo before when he's like "Where should we eat?" And I'm all "I don't know." And he's like "How 'bout pizza?" And I'm all "I can't eat pizza." And he's all "Do they have any salads that look good?"


So apparently, this dynamic can end up driving couples crazy. One constantly wants to lose weight while the other simply cannot understand why it seems to be so difficult. It has nothing to do with support - Geo supports me implicitly - it has more to do with understanding. There is no way I'll ever be able to understand how he can eat McDonald's for lunch and have cookie dough for dinner without gaining so much as water weight. He, on the other hand, cannot understand why I don't just go for a quick run before inhaling a full pizza and call it even. That'd be like me suggesting he do a few bicep curls before bed so he can wake up looking like the Hulk.

It's an unfortunate dynamic, to be sure. It's also just super unfair, too. With all the pressure that women have on us to look hot, be thin, eat like a man and never gain an ounce, it's no wonder some of us carry around that extra weight.

Anyway, I've been particularly sensitive about this topic lately because of how much work I'm putting in to looking my best come August. Because Geo doesn't have this same giant obstacle to overcome by then, I get a little touchy and impatient. Also, I'm just very hungry for carbs...

Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Falling Hard

As my Facebook friends will confirm, I fell today. Hard. On ice. I immediately picked myself up, dusted myself off and posted the non-event to Facebook as any self-centered person would do. See, it's ICY up in this piece. I placed one snow-boot-wearing foot on the sidewalk and BAM! Pharon Eats Pavement. I only now just got home and took my tights off to get a good look at the carnage. Hmm...all the damage must be subcutaneous (what?) because given the amount of pain I felt and the number of swear words I yelled at 7 a.m., the bruising should be way more life-ruining.

I started thinking about how clumsy I am. And yeah, I'm extremely clumsy. If there's a patch of ice, I'll find it. If there is uneven pavement, I'll trip over it in my Rollerblades. If there is a stairwell, I will slip and fall down it on my shins. These are all very real things that have already happened to me.

Probably the worst day of my life in terms of falling in public came when I worked at a Mexican restaurant in college. There was a bartender there that every girl just drooled over. Everyone wanted to impress him. I ran in to the restaurant on my day off to talk to my pal Taylor. I blah blah'd with her for a few minutes before The Bartender came in. I got nervous, talked really fast and then was all "Well, I better go!" So I started running out of the restaurant (so much for playing it cool, Pharon). As soon as I hit the tiling in the entry way, my feet decided to get in a serious fight with the ground and they broke up. I fell, ass-over-tea-kettle, while Bartender and Taylor looked on. As Taylor described it, "You were there, and then, you just weren't!" Luckily (?) I had fallen behind a half-wall, so I army-crawled out of the restaurant and limped all the way home.

So Cool.

Later that year, I slipped on some ice in the Ped Mall and fell (again!) in front of a captive audience. Somehow, I gracefully managed to land with my butt straight up in the air and my elbows placed directly into the icy cement.

Even later that year, I found myself in a pub with stairs. I was so busy yelling at someone over my shoulder that I failed to notice the staircase in front of me. I accidentally took one giant step down 8 stairs and managed to recover by simply skidding down the 50 steps on my shins. No one noticed a thing, but the next day, my shins looked like Rihanna's face. (Too soon? Whatever, she doesn't take it seriously, so neither will I.)

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I have a depth perception problem or balance issues. I simply can't stand on two feet for very long. During the last rain-then-freeze weather, I was happily walking in my rain boots before I tripped over a twig and nearly chipped my teeth on the sidewalk. Last year, I was running down the stairs too fast in my last apartment and fell so hard that I had to ice my ankle for days. Running for the bus a couple months ago, I hit an errant pebble and my heel collapsed underneath me as a I crumbled to the ground. I fell once while walking in my own bedroom and skinned my whole face up. I tripped while playing soccer in high school and managed to sell it hard enough to earn me a free kick. I FALL. A. LOT.

So I don't know why I was so surprised this morning when I re-met my old friend Pavement. It's like "my thing." Some people eat healthy, I eat cement. That cold, hard smack of humility hit me hard and honestly (and sadly), it just felt right.

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Bad Move

I used to think there was nothing worse than helping someone move. You have to lug around big, heavy boxes which may or may not contain fragile things and carry around these unfamiliar things and put them in unfamiliar rooms. There are multiple trips to and from places that aren't yours and at the end of it all, the only thing you have to show for it is a sore back. At least the other person has a spankin' new pad to enjoy. Sure moving sucks, but moving for SOMEONE ELSE is even worse. And I thought there was nothing more hateful than helping someone with THEIR sucky job.

But there is something worse than helping someone move: Helping someone move when you really don't want that person to move in the first place.

This weekend, I reluctantly agreed to help Claire move out of her house, which is like 10 blocks away from me. She's lived there for years and then just like a couple weeks ago, she's all "Hey, got a new job offer. I'm moving." And I was like "To where? St. Paul? Some other Minneapolis suburb that will make it only slightly less convenient for me to come and watch Revenge with you?"

She's like "No, South Carolina."

Exsqueeze me? Now I'm no geography whiz, but I do believe South Carolina is an entirely different state that is no where near Minneapolis. Or even the suburbs. I have been reeling since Claire's far too-casual announcement. Claire and I have been friends for more than 20 years. We lived next door to each other growing up, last year I lived WITH her, and after that, I could only manage to move 10 blocks away. Needless to say, we have been very close. And what, now she's leaving to South Carolina? What the frock?!

To add insult to my emotional injury, Claire asked me to HELP her move some stuff out of her house and into her mother's house a whole month before she goes all Sweet Tea and Nascar on me. I hesitated. I didn't want to enable this move. In fact, I was still completely in denial that it was even happening. If I didn't see her moving out of her house, it wouldn't happen.

But I knew it was my job, as a BFF, to help her move. I was like "Fine, I'll come over. Maybe we can just move Christmas decoration boxes or something." When I walked into her house, I nearly reached over and punched Claire in the face for such a brutal reality check. There were boxes packed up EVERYWHERE. Her closets? Empty. All the pictures on the wall? Packed up. Even the refrigerator magnets we made out of beer bottle caps were gone. It was terrible. She's renting out her house while she's gone and they are moving in this week, so a lot of the furniture is still there, but all the "Claire" was wrapped in newspaper and packed away. IT SUCKED.

This is a tough move for her, too, obvs. But really it's mostly tough on ME. Who will I hang out with on Saturday nights when I don't feel like showering? Who will I go to Michael's with in search of crafting ideas on a Sunday, or use for cable? MYSELF?! It's the worst, you guys! THE WORST!

But being the great human that I am, I spent a few hours with her moving her boxes, packing her clothes and Tetris-ing her Christmas decoration boxes into my car. And while I considered secretly moving boxes back INTO her house when she wasn't looking, Claire was being very grown up about the thing, so I decided to try that too. We moved a bunch of stuff and I didn't even cry until I got in my car to go home.

I mean, I guess the good news is that I still have a key to the place. Maybe the new people moving in will be cool with me coming over and letting myself in to watch Sons of Anarchy and dig through their closets for a cute dress to borrow. If not? Well, I may have to see if there are any places to rent 10 blocks away from her in South Carolina...

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Cold Hearted

Hey dummies! So, I had a really difficult First World Problem moment when I woke up in my 63 degree apartment today. I was like "I know I'm working from home today, but it feels so UNPROFESSIONAL to work in a Snuggie. What's a girl to do?" So I opted for two pairs of sweatpants and nice, crisp button-down sweatshirt as a compromise. But I sat in my tiny 6th floor apartment thinking "I'm no Albert Einstone, but I'm fairly certain that science dictates that heat should rise."

So what gives, Science?!

I worked today with my crazy mad bomber hat and gloves on. Not because I didn't have any options to head to the office or even the coffee shop across the street, but because I like to make sure I make myself as miserable as possible so that I can justify my inevitable complaining.

Apparently, my apartment building is heated with "gentle heat". Really? Yes, because Minnesota winters are so gentle. I fell into a snowbank/glacier this morning and hurt my knee bone while carrying a giant box to my car because all concrete turns into sheer ice in January here. GENTLY. Listen, I don't KNOW what "gentle heat" is, but I'm assuming that it actually just means "Someone will come by once in awhile and blow hot breath into your apartment," because my apartment is about as warm as my freezer and it smells like garlic and curry. Puke.

Anyway, part of the reasoning behind me choosing an apartment on the 6th floor was that, although it'd be an armpit in the summer, an apartment higher up with big huge windows should stay super cozy in the winter. Which, BTW, lasts for like 100 months here. I was all "I'm so smart and planning ahead!" (Bonus: NO MICE.)

So riddle me this, nerds. How is it that I have the COLDEST APARTMENT IN THE WORLD?! If heat rises and I'm up high, what happened to the heat?

I'll tell you what happened to the heat. Those a-holes on the first floor have captured it in bottles and empty yogurt cups as a power play against us Higher Ups. Typical.

In an attempt to heat up my apartment without heating up my bills, I have spent the last 2 hours listening to my shower on full blast HOT while the hot water constantly runs in the sink in my kitchen. Yeah, I don't pay for water, obvs. So far, it's just getting very humid up in here. But I'm almost certain I can start to consider taking off my second pair of fleece socks. From my hands. UGH.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Pharon the Boy

I am a man about town. Writing that makes it sound like I am some dude who loves the nightlife, but the meaning implies that I am a man who knows what's what. This is weird, mostly, because I am not a man. But I do know what's what.

But I'm having this horrific flashback to 6th grade when I walked into ConnecTime (which was a 20 minute period of time in the school day dedicated to nothing more than having a "class" that did not assign homework, but encouraged socialization). I walked into the room and was bombarded with Microsoft Paint pictures of a haphazardly drawn boy and the words "PHARON THE BOY" written (poorly) across each page. There were hundreds of copies of this craptastic picture, and I got the point.

The kids in my class thought I was more like a boy than a girl.

(Oddly enough, one of the boys who spearheaded this smear campaign was the boy I would end up dating for like a billion years in high school.)

Anyhooz, people thought I was a boy because I didn't take crap from no one and I probably still had a bowl cut. At first, I was mortified. I was all "I'm NOT a boy! I'm a GIRL!" But my ConnecTime teacher, who was also my band director (word up, Mr. Holm!) peeped me in on a fun fact. Girls could be silly and stupid at that age, but maybe I was not. So to my middle school brethren, I may as well be a boy.

I've lived with those images of PHARON THE BOY for my entire life. I have always felt more comfortable in a room of dudes than a room of ladies. I burp and tell off-color jokes. I forget to put on makeup 9 days out of 10 and know how to buy jock straps because I worked at a sporting goods store in high school. I guess I may as well have been born a boy.

But I'm not a boy. (Spoiler!) I'm a girl who just so happens to be super capable in a lot of weird ways. When I was little, my dad taught me to fend for myself. He taught me how shake someone's hand, how to do my own taxes and to stop acting like I didn't know how to fix something when I could TOTALLY figure out how to fix something. He was all "Come on, Pharon. Don't be silly." And despite his best efforts, I turned out totally silly, but with the wherewithal to know when to use it to my advantage.

Tonight, I hung out with my pal Liz looking for some much-needed support in this endless nightmare that is Planning a Wedding. First, she showed me how to decorate tables in a beautimous, girlish way and then she asked me for help changing a light bulb in her apartment. My friend Claire has asked me to help her move stuff. My parents have asked me to come over and help them build a secretary table. I'm generally known in my circle for being stronger, build-ier and more logical than I look. Like I said, I am a man about town.

However, this is proving to be a disadvantage sometimes. I mean, I know I CAN do things for myself, but I don't WANT to do things for myself all the time. I recently heard what I thought was a bird in my apartment and I cried until the (male) property manager came over and checked out the sitch for me. Did I want to go rooting around in the vents to look for a sparrow nest?! NO THANK YOU. COULD I have checked it out myself? DUH. YES!

My point is that I've been doing a lot of girlie things lately, like figuring out decor and flowers and hairstyles and all that stuff. It's been seriously exhausting. All that girlie stuff has worn. me. out. So when Liz was all "Hey, can you climb this ladder and help me with this light bulb?" I was all "Let me find my tool belt and low-hanging pants and I'll be on my way!"

Reminder: Register for a tool belt.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Probably why weddings are usually on Saturday nights

So, I had a lot of free time this weekend. Not only was today a company holiday which meant the day off, but I have found myself with much more time on my hands now that I'm not constantly eating bagels. Mmmm...delicious bagels...

Anyhooz, I had a conversation with my parents today about wedding stuff, and like what to do the night BEFORE the wedding, and my mom was all "I'm sure you and your friends are all used to staying up late and partying. But not all people do that."

I was all "Mom, I'm not 25 anymore. I don't do that."
She argued, "Oh, please. How many times have you been out this weekend? Two times? Four?"

I wanted to lie and agree with her, because the reality was so much less cool. I spent Saturday night at home reading a book I couldn't put down, while chatting with my friends Kelly and Madeline in Iowa and Illinois respectively via text. Sunday was my friend Lana's baby shower, which was super fun (but grownup) and afterwards should have made the perfect time for a fab Sunday Funday because of the Monday holiday, but instead? I spent another night reading (and FINISHING!) the book. Today, I cleaned, took care of wedding stuff, make something in a Crock Pot, did laundry and then yelled at the neighborhood kids to get off my lawn or else I'd make them fetch me a switch. Okay, not the last thing. But you get the idea.

So no, MOM, I am not a party animal. Sigh. But man, I WISH I was a party animal. I wish I had woken up on Sunday with crazy stories about what happened at 3 a.m. that very morning when so-and-so ran into that pole after leaving some awesome bar before getting late night pizza from Luce. Instead, I woke up on Sunday and thought, "I miss bagels." And then, "I could do some crafting today. I wonder if Michael's is open yet?"

Then I realized something. Weddings at this age are like Saturday nights were in college. Weddings are for people to get together, dress up, snap pictures all night and dance until the place closes down while drinking many different kinds of alcohol. In college? Pretty much what a Saturday night (or Tuesday afternoon) looked like. We'd get all gussied up, try and get free drinks and take crazy pics all night. The only thing different was instead of filet mignon, dinner consisted of mac n' cheese.

And yeah, there are vows in both cases, too. There are wedding vows that say "I do," while in college, the vows were more like "I won't," followed by "leave you alone" or "drink tequila" or "eat more than one grilled cheese in the ped mall."

So while I can understand my parent's frustration that I keep wanting to turn this wedding into a "party at a club," I feel like it's only natural. People don't go out gettin' crazy like (or as much as) we used to. (At least I don't. See above nights-spent-at-home-reading scenarios.) Now, people NEED weddings so they have a reason to change out of their work suits and sweatpants, let their hair down and not worry about deadlines and bosses.

My point is that, unless I want to keep throwing weddings every year, I think I need to start going out more.

Friday, January 18, 2013


Well everyone? I've done it. I've joined Weight Watchers because I love Jessica Simpson and her shoes SOOOOO much that I'm willing to do anything to be like her. Also I'm having two babies out of wedlock. Hooray!

No, fo reals. I've joined WW because I want to lose a bunch of weight before my wedding. (But I seriously am in lurve with JS shoes, BTW.) I would love nothing more than being the same weight as an obese baby on my wedding day. Hooray! Fat baby weight!

Needless to say, I'M HANGRY. That is not a typo. I'm hungry and angry because I'm hungry. I ate 100 pounds of raspberries today and I feel like I may as well have eaten 100 pounds of air. Stupid. But I am glad to be back on the track of normal people who don't eat a brick of cheese for dinner. I'm so mature!

I was doing amazingly well until approx 7 p.m. I had eaten nothing but air and grilled chicken. I was all "OMG, I probs lost 10 pounds in one day. That's amazing." But then, as humans are known to do, I got hungry. God forbid my body need sustenance! At first I was like, "Well, I better eat a pizza and 12 bagels." But then I was like "Fine, I'll have stupid effing vegetables." So I ate a buttload of vegetables. They were "great". But, you know, they're VEGETABLES so no one TRULY enjoys eating them. Unless they are crazy.

But, I did what parents made me do as a youngster and just shoveled them in my mouth hoping that they weren't as vile as I remembered. Ugh. They were exactly as stupid as I remembered. It's almost like they were GROWN to be UNSATISFYING! Vegetables are to food as Crocs are to footwear. They are there and people buy them, but there are zero things appealing about them. Sure they may be better for you than stilettos, but how fun is life if you have to spend every day in Crocs?!  

Answer: It is NOT fun.

I'm worried because there is simply nothing I enjoy less than thinking about food. I don't like planning for it, making it or cleaning up after it. It's stupid and all I want in life is to eat nothing but bagels. But this just in: Bagels are not exactly "good for you". Stupid.

So anyways, I'm going to be miserable for the next several months. If you work at a bakery and come anywhere near me, I will eat your skin just so I can get the sweet, sweet taste of bread and numminess. So, you know, head's up!

Tuesday, January 15, 2013

For the love of neighbors

So I was fast asleep last night, dreaming of clouds and marshmallows and rainbows when I awoke with a start. Something in my bones told me that all was not right in the world of the land of Pharon. I was in the middle of the world's most terrifying nightmare consisting of people stuck in ice screaming for help. I was basically nakie running out trying to save everyone, and just trying to get everyone away from the  invisible monster that was allegedly chasing us. But we couldn't escape the yelling.

And despite my best efforts, the screaming continued.

I rattled myself awake long enough to hear the blood-curdling screams coming from the apartment next door. I thought I had heard it in my dream, but no, it was real. I desperately reached for my phone to call 911 until I heard a less "I'm-being-stabbed" sound...


OMG. These weren't the sounds of a person being murdered. It was the sound of people trying to make a baby right across the hall from me. GROSS! They were the sounds of an insane person at 1:52 a.m., who refused to respect the rules of the quiet hours established in the building.

Seriously. This girl was stupid and loud and way over-the-top. In my head, I wrote following note that I would have TOTALLY posted to their door if had a printer on which to print it. (I didn't want to leave a handwritten note, because she could definitely hire a handwriting analysis person and trace it back to me, which is not desirable.)

Dear neighbor,
Congratulations on the spicy love life you share with whatever person showed up to your apartment tonight! (Bonus points if it's the guy I've seen you with once or twice!) While I totally admire your zest for love, might I suggest a few things?
1) I feel like you're being overdramatic. You've been screaming at the top of your lungs for one hour straight and waking up your neighbors. Call me old-fashioned, but it makes you sound like a desperate banshee...and, you know, like you're trying too hard. Hint: The entire building isn't impressed with your yelling so much as we are with your ability to stay up until 2 a.m. on a Monday night.
2) I'm worried about your gentleman caller's hearing. If I'm buried under my pillow and can still hear you yelping and screaming two walls and a stairwell away, I can't even imagine what your date must be dealing with. Have some respect, woman.
3) Did I mention that it's 1:41 a.m. on a Monday night? You have given me dirty looks for coming in later that 9 p.m. on Sunday nights. I no longer think you have any sense of right or wrong.
4) OMG. Seriously?! You made me want to call the police.
5) You're the worst neighbor I've ever had

Half of me hopes I never see them again - because GROSS! - while the other half hopes that I get the opportunity to yell at them. At 1:41 a.m.

Monday, January 14, 2013

Happpppy Birthday, MartCity!

So, I just wanted to hop on here and wish my mom an amazingly happy birthday!!! It was her special day today, and my sister, brothers, their spouses and kids, and I surprised my mom with a little Golden Girls-themed b-day partay. (We've figured out that she loves "Golden Girls" as much as I love "Friends", and both shows have equally annoying theme songs. Pretty sure that's a sign of a quality sitcom - "Full House," anyone?)

Anyway, my mom rules. Back when we had just gotten the Internet, my little brother set up what I believe was her AIM handle. She was like "Just fill it out for me and tell me when it's ready." She's so chill like that. So, my brother was like 12 or something and he set to work filling out her profile. Under City, he put "Edina, with my favorite child Perek." For hobbies, he put "Having Perek as my favorite child, buying Perek gifts and watching Perek succeed at everything." The whole thing was basically more of that. No REAL information. I mean, especially because her hobbies were ACTUALLY "Constantly being proud of Pharon" and "Being really interested in the stories Pharon tells me about so-and-so who secretly conferenced in so-and-so to find out if what's-his-name Like Likes her or not."

Yeah, so, that was my mom's first online profile. Then, it was time to give her a screen name. I can't remember if "Martha" was already taken, but somehow my mom got named MartCity.

I was like "Perek, Mom will be so mad."

But she wasn't mad, because she's awesome like that.

So anyway, just wanted to say Happy Birthday again to MartCity, the bombest mom ever. I love you and know that deep down, you know that I'm your favorite child. :)

Sunday, January 13, 2013

Alert the Media

You guys, I have kind of a big announcement to make. This comes after days of whining about it to anyone would listen/got stuck in the elevator with me. Needless to say, I did not come to this crazy decision on a whim. So, without further ado, I just want to let you all know that I will no longer be writing this blog...

Wait! You didn't let me finish!

I will no longer be writing this blog 5 days a week every single week. I mean, it's kind of a crazy amount of times to blog anyways! That's what, like 260 posts a year? What!? Whose big idea was THAT? (Oh, it was mine? Who left me in charge of THAT decision?!)

See, here's my thinking. For the past several weeks, I have put out a couple garbage posts. Rather than put out some lame-o post about how I am tired and don't want to write a post and then write a post the next day apologizing for said garbage post, I need to give myself a break and maybe not waste the Internet space. (There IS a finite amount of Internet, right? Yeah, I think I'm understanding that correctly.) You know what I mean?

So after more than 2 years of writing 5 times every stinkin' week, I'm officially cutting myself some slack with the ol' schedule. I'm sure I'll end up writing between 3 and 5 times on most weeks, but when I've literally got nothing on my mind and no brain power to drum up an insult to hurl towards Kim and Kanye's unborn baby, I'm just gonna skip it.

I'm also seriously affected by living alone and having Geo in Alabummer. Contrary to popular belief, I am not nearly as good of a time on my own as when I have the company of friends and a fiance to make fun of. The material has, admittedly, suffered a bit.

Anyway, I've made the decision to not be such a ballbuster when it comes to getting a post up 5 times a week at all costs (I need to save some up for wedding planning) . I love the feeling of writing a post that I am proud of and want to share and - more importantly - that OTHER people want to share. And quite frankly, that just doesn't happen every single night. So rather than waste your time and - more importantly - my time, I'd rather just do what I did for my Logic and Reasoning class in college and skip it.

I know many of you readers (who are by FAR my favorites) check in to the blog every day. But more often than not, even my so-called friends and family members go several days without reading. Jerks. So I'll apologize to my most devoted readers in advance for the nights that I just don't get something up. But I am planning that when there ARE posts, they will be of a much higher quality, with either more or less poop jokes, depending on the topic.

I don't know if you can tell or not, but I'm trying to convince myself more than anyone that this is the best move. I adore this blog am so embarrassingly proud of it that it will be hard to roll it back a bit. But I just kind of need to so that I stay focused on the quality over the quantity.

So what do you think, do you understand where I'm coming from? Do you hate me? Are you mad? Will you ever forgive me? Aren't' you impressed that I did the math to figure out roughly how many blogs I write a year?

Thursday, January 10, 2013

Grow up, already

Well...I'm immature. I know, I'm sure you guys knew this already, but clearly I'm the last to know everything. But yes. I am a child who still makes fart jokes. I'm watching Ryan Gosling on Conan and doodling hearts in a diary. Earlier this evening, I gave a very impassioned speech about the biological similarities between pooping and giving birth and am still not done laughing about it. The only thing I know about a 401(k) is that the "k" does not stand for Kardashian (apparently). I've got a long way to go in terms of growing up.

Never is this fact more clear than when I hang out with people who are grown ups and are chronologically my own age. For instance, I had Happy Hour tonight with my pals Valerie and Lana, and my maturity totes got pwnd.

I spent the first 20 minutes or so complaining about Facebook and Cougar Town, so we were off to a smashing start.

After our first glass of wine, Val commented to the server that she wanted a different type for the 2nd glass because there was sediment in her first. I was all "What is this, Prom in France!? Pound that!" But then I noticed what she was talking about at the bottom of her glass and went "OH. GNARLY. See, that's why I love PBR." mature.

When Valerie mentioned that she had flown to LA to see her boyf for the New Year, I wanted to be all "Wait, you were on a plane ALONE?! Weren't you TOTALLY freaked out!?" But I kept it together long enough to regale them both with stories about how I once flew alone and played Bejeweled the WHOLE TIME.

Meanwhile, Lana is like 100 months pregnant and couldn't look more stunning or be more put-together. Her clothes matched, her hair was done and from what I could tell, she had totally showered that day, which puts her LEAPS AND BOUNDS ahead of me. She never complained or made jokes about whether giving birth was like pooping or not, and she was just a normal, mature human being.

Oh! THEN! We went back to Lana's brand new house - WHICH SHE AND HER HUBBY OWN - and I felt about thissmall. Her house ruled so hard. It reminded me of the house I grew up in. I was all "OMG, you could totally hide in all these nooks and crannies!" And they were all "Pharon...get out of that cranny." The two of them chatted about load-bearing walls and lighting concepts while I tried my darndest to stay out of all the nooks. I was just a onesie away from being a troublesome toddler. Maybe it was good practice for Lana and her know, show them in advance which areas they'd need to childproof/Pharonproof.

I love these girls dearly. I think they are brilliant and interesting and fun and mature and successful and hilarious and awesome and I super love hanging out with them. However, I mentioned at one point tonight, as they discussed their mutual disinterest in carbs and sugar and TV, that I was confused as to how they could be friends with me, while I shoved another piece of bread and mozzarella in my mouth and looked up the episode guide for the Walking Dead. They laughed and reassured me that I was a good time, but deep down, I suspect that I'm some sort of community service project for them. Except then I told them about Reddit, and totally ruled everything.

Wednesday, January 9, 2013


Not to brag or anything, you guys, but I made SO. MANY. PLANS. today. I feel like the popularist girl in the world. Plans for Happy Hour made over Gchat? Birthday celebrations scheduled on email? Another Happy Hour planned via work phone? And BINGO plans confirmed via text!? Seriously. I'm multi-media'ing my way to a nervous breakdown.

All this would be awesome if I could just keep it all organized. At any given time, I have at least 2 separate calendars going, and one of them is inevitably out-of-date. I used to have a Kate Spade know, the analog kind!? Where you use a pen or other utensil to etch event information onto flimsy paper? I loved it. It was cute and easy. But because I'm not Amish, I had to switch to a digital calendar.

So, I downloaded a Kate Spade calendar app on my phone. I absolutely hate to admit this, but I hated the app. It was clumsy and hard to update. Plus, I didn't get to show it off to anyone which is like half the fun of Kate Spade stuff!

Now I have to balance an Outlook calendar at work, an adorable monthly shoe calendar at said work, Facebook birthday notifications, random scraps of paper taped to my wall, the phases of the moon and the calendar on my phone. Impossible!

Oh, and unless I add something to my phone as soon as I've made a plan, I will have no memory that I ever made the plans to begin with. God forbid I have to actually REMEMBER something, especially when it comes to details like time/place/person I'm meeting.

Anyhoozle, now I have my Google calendar, which is fine, but I keep forgetting things that I add to it more than a month in advance because you either have to look at a list of stuff or one month at a time. If I'm like "I know there's a wedding in June, but I can't remember whose it is, when it is or how far away it is from MY wedding (how dare they)." So I have to go through every stupid little dotted date in June and see what I can find. Half the time, the dot is for some stupid, but crucial, recurring event like "Pay car payment," or "Try and change out of sweatpants today."

Sometimes, though, I am just a delight. The other day, I was looking through it to schedule some vacay time this year, and I made myself laugh when I saw, on Aug. 10, "Wedding. No biggie." Hilarious. I also like to make a joke when someone asks me to do something on the 29th of every month, no matter how far away it is. I say "Oh, I can't...sorry. I have to pay my car payment that day." Tip your waiters, folks.

Anyway, clearly I forgot to schedule in some time to blog tonight, because this post is just lame. Oh well, sorry!

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

So sneaky

So I didn't make any New Year's Resolutions this year. As far as I can remember, I've never kept to one before, and why start off the year a failure?! But I DO have a few wedding resolutions that I simply CAN'T fail at because it would just ruin everything. So, one of my weddings resolutions (res-I DO-tions?) is to get in serious shape so that back fat doesn't eat my wedding dress. While Geo was here for the past month, I ate only garbage and fast food, and never went to the gym. Yeah, I set myself back like 10 pounds. Rude.

To get my butt back in gear, I did what I always do before starting something new. I went shoe shopping! Huzzah! I wanted to get new running shoes so that my feet will look adorable while I'm getting side aches and trying to catch my breath. (Note, however, that I have zero plans to actually RUN because I loathe running, but that's what we call athletic shoes up in this piece.)

Moving on...I went out in search of some cute, affordable shoes that make me look like I totally belong in a gym and am hiding muscles and tone underneath all this skin. I got to DSW and started my search.

I hate shopping for running shoes, typically. Not a stiletto in sight! And I simply could not care less about the difference between "aerobic shoes" "running shoes" "walking shoes" and "athletic shoe". They all do exactly the same things, as far as I'm concerned. Force me to be my own height and support my arches. I simply do not exercise enough for one shoe to be all that much better than any others. So, of course, I go strictly on looks.

The first shoes I liked were all black (or "murdered out," as Geo says) and I was like "Okay, so these will match EVERYTHING." I like 'em. Plus, I'd be able to be all "These shoes are NOT black. These shoes are blacknot," you know, like from Borat?! Priceless...

So yeah, I thought they were super cute. I sent a pic to Geo and said "What do you think? Do you like the all-black-everything sneaks? OR....."

And then I sent him a picture of THESE shoes:

Yeah, these were a bit different than the black ones. And by "different" I mean "opposite." I couldn't decide if I loved them or was scared of them, so I had to ask for Geo's opinion via text. Geo told me the black ones were ugly and to "go crazy." I'm pretty sure he thought that if I got crazier shoes, I'd be more inclined to work out in them and less likely to try and wear them to formal events. Silly rabbit.

I was on my way to check out with my Rainbow Brite sneaks when I saw a more sensible option. Nike, really well-fitting, super light (which I think is a good thing, but it could also be a very bad thing. Whatevs) and just the right amount of neon to be fun without having so much that they look like they were made by punk rockers from the 80s. I texted a pic to Geo and said, "Or these?"

He responded, "Nikes. Definitely get the Nikes. And stop texting me pictures of shoes after you explicitly told me you didn't want me to come shoe shopping with you because I'd just 'hold you back'." Okay, he didn't say that last part, but I know he was thinking it.

Anyway, I got the last pair and felt very satisfied with my purchase. New shoes for a new workout routine! I was so pumped. I have been so excited to wear them and got my first chance tonight when I decided to try and go to a random Zumba class with Claire. When she couldn't make it, though, I decided not to go either. Instead, I sat on my couch watching season 3 of Walking Dead and wearing my running shoes. Great news! They were soooooooo comfortable!

Monday, January 7, 2013


There is no post tonight. Sorry, but I'm too bummed about Geo going back to school that I have no room to be even remotely hilarious. I know, I know. I thought it was impossible, too.

As a quick side note, Geo told me his plane "bounced" down on the tarmac on his flight back to Alabama and I didn't even know which to be more freaked out about: The fact that he had a super rough landing in Alabama or the fact that he's in ALABAMA. Stupid. Both are terrifying.

Anyway, I miss him and I'm bummed, so I'm incredibly unfunny tonight, okay? Okay. People are all "Well, this is the last time! He'll be back for good in May, which is not that far away." Whatever. If I was like "You can't do anything cool until May, but don't worry. It's not that far away," you might have a different opinion on May.

So for now, let's just all agree that we all miss Geo, okay? Okay. Stupid Alabummer...

Sunday, January 6, 2013


Seeing as how this is Geo's last night before going back to Alabummer after one awesome month, I really have to get to work being a basket case tonight.

I have to start hiding his essential belongings (wallet, phone, keys) in the hopes of making him late for his flight tomorrow. Then I have to find someone to give him chicken pox or the flu or something, just in case he finds his keys hidden in the silverware drawer.

I made some awesome plans to spend 4 more hours registering today because I thought it would make it easier to toss his clothes into a suitcase. Yeah, that didn't work because we ended up actually having fun for 3 1/2 of those hours. The last half hour was...quiet and full of silent seething. Fun!!!

Anyhooz, I'm cutting this post short so I can get back to crying and criticizing Geo's pack in between heaving sobs. Nighty noodle!

Thursday, January 3, 2013

Nailed it!

Hey there, dummies! Okay, so like three weeks ago, I went and got my nails did. I got this gel polish gunk put on my nails that dried with LIGHT. Fancy! (And magical?) Anyway, the lady told me (after making fun of my small "baby nails") that the gel polish would stay on for like 10 days. No chipping. This was perfect, since I was getting my engagement pics taken a week later.

Like I said, that was like three weeks ago. Now the gel REFUSES TO COME OFF. I've cut my nails, filed them, used nail polish remover and briefly held them against a flame, but big sections of it still won't budge. The parts I HAVE managed to peel off have left behind an uneven, dry nail with which I can do nothing. It's so incredibly frustrating, and probably not worth the $45 I shelled out.

So, I won't be doing that again anytime soon. But I had a hankering to paint my nails tonight. Geo was gone tonight so I decided to shake myself up a cocktail, turn on an episode of "Four Weddings" and dig through my nail polish for a relaxing girl's night in. I immediately went through the same process I go through every time I decide to paint my nails and can't decide on the color.

Here's how I break them down. Now, this process varies based on season, how tan I am, which nails I'm painting, and whether I have a specific event coming up or not. This is the breakdown for: winter, pasty white, toes, no chance my feet will ever be seen at any event ever in the near future.

Cherry red: Cute, but too predictable and by the time I get around to taking it off my nails, the red has seeped through my soul. I mean nails.
Neon pink: Pharon...stay away from neon. It's winter.
Navy Sparkly Blue: OMG, love this color, but in the winter, it makes me look like I'm not getting any circulation in my feet
Black: Only appropriate for depressing Saturdays or formal events...and you know, when I'm in my goth phase
Purply-pink: The last time I had this on, even my 4-year-old niece was all "Aren't you a little old for that color?"
Stormy Grey: In winter!? Who am I, Virginia Woolf?!
Fuschia: No...fuschia in winter makes me feel like a hooker for some inexplicable reason
Mint green: In hindsight, this was not a good color choice for ANY occasion in ANY season
"Espresso": Espresso was not an accurate description of this reality, and according to every person who has seen this color on me, it should have been called "Wait, is that poop?"
Baby pink: With my skin tone, this color makes me look like I have no fingernails at all. Just shiny skin on one side of my fingers.
Deep orange: Again, not a good purchase for ANY time of year for me.
Gold: No. It's never as cool as I think it will be. I'm always like "Gold! Fancy..and fun!" And it ends up to be all "Gold? Streaky...and dull!"
Mix-and-match colors of the same hue: Love this trend, but I already had it on my nails and I need to shake things up.
Polish-less: What am I, a hippie?!

So anyway, I painted my nails clear and decided two things: One, I need more nail polish and Two, (oddly enough) I think I have too much nail polish.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Repeat after me...

So I tried to get Geo to transcribe a blog for me tonight because I was too lazy and sore after the kickingist-butt kickboxing class with Chandra ever. I didn't have the energy to pick up my computer and move my fingers, so I asked Geo to be a pal and type the blog for me while I freestyled off the top of my dome. It did not go well.

Pharon: Okay, write "Dear Blog"
Geo: Okay. "Dear Bliggity."
Pharon: No, not "bliggity," that's dumb.
Geo: Okay. "No, that's dumb."
Pharon: No, don't write THAT! Ugh annoying. Okay, anyways...write "Dear blog, I can't really write a lot tonight because I don't lead that exciting of a life to warrant an awesome post every night. Sometimes I just have no material and no energy." Geo, did you get that?
Geo: Yup. "Dear blog, I can't really write a lot tonight because I'm too busy pooping and it's just not that exciting enough to write about. Sometimes I just have no sense of humor."
Pharon: [Rolls eyes.] Exactly. Precisely right, you're a genius. Now write, "Geo is dumb and can't write or listen or follow instructions."
Geo: Okay. "Geo is hilarious and he has the best eyes and brains ever."
Pharon: That's really weird.
Geo: "Geo is so cool and Pharon is really weird."
Pharon: Okay, I get it. You're not transcribing anything for me.
Geo: Yes I am! I'm just making it BETTER.
Pharon: Give me that computer. [Reaches for computer.]
Geo: It's a miracle! She can move!!!

Yeah, so that didn't work out so well.

................................................or did it?!

Dear bliggity...

Nope, no, nay. Still doesn't work.

Tuesday, January 1, 2013

Regularly Scheduled Program

Ermahgerd. Tonight marks the end of a fabulous break from work and I head back to the grindstone bright and early tomorrow morning. Am I ready? Not even close. Vacay Pharon and Routine Pharon are two very different people, and making the switch back to RP is a process, to say the least.

VP wakes up whenever she darn well pleases. RP sets 2 alarm clocks at varying intervals and goes through a tedious 25-minute snooze-button-pushing dance that inevitably ends up with cursing and running late.

VP eats straight-up garbagio without the benefit of lunch hours and planned menus to rely on. RP eats salads for lunch and chicken breasts prepared in a variety of dishes for dinner. But, for example, this morning I had pizza for breakfast AND lunch. For dinner? Cheese and chocolate-covered espresso beans. Diet? What diet?

RP replies to emails in a timely manner, answers her phone and dutifully responds to Facebook messages. VP neglects all forms of communication and refuses to keep up on the news. Yes, I may have been the last person on the planet to learn that Kim Kardashian is getting fat pregnant. Did you text me this week and get annoyed at my lack of response? Sorry...VP is such a flake.

You'd think that because VP has more free time that she'd get more done in a typical day. This could not be further from the truth. RP can multitask like a mofo because RP understands the importance of time management and structure. Laundry gets done while nails are drying and dishes are soaking, all of which happens while RP is watching the "news," a.k.a. Friends reruns. Meanwhile, VP rarely gets up enough energy to monotask long enough to wash the conditioner out of her hair. When the most important task in a day is to take a pizza out of the oven, that feeling of urgency and accomplishment just ain't there.

So while it will be a little bit hard to get back to my routine, it is very necessary. For the entire day today, I laid on my bed and only got up to move to the couch so that Geo wouldn't think I just laid in bed all day while he went to play some golf simulator dealie. "What?! Of COURSE I didn't just lay in bed all day! Look, I'm all the way on the COUCH now! And I'm wearing slightly different pajamas (because I got cold and needed more fleece)! DUH!"

And now, as it is with TV shows (OMG! Revenge is coming back soon!!!!), we're back to some new stuff and regular programming. Will it always be good? Heck no. But as soon as RP is back to running the show, it'll at least be consistent. That's, you know, something I guess.