Sunday, March 31, 2013

Bow Down

Happy Easter, everyone! How was your weekend? Was chock full of chocolate, eggs and other types of food like mine? I HOPE SO. Anyway, my sister Padrin was in town with her fam for the holiday, and it was a great way for me to really focus on me. How does that work? I'll tell you.

My nephew Gus is in a very stylish point in his young life (he's like 9 I think. Between ages 5 and 16, they're all the same to me.) Anyway, he is in this bow tie phase and apparently has been rockin' one for weeks now, and he looks great. This weekend, however, he brought a real bow tie for Easter. Like, not a pre-tied one. 

There are two reasons this was awesome for me: 1) Geo, like Gus, has an excellent fashion sense. For our wedding, Geo ALSO wants to rock some real BTs and I like knowing that even the kids are still loving the classics. 2) I've ALWAYS wanted to know how to tie a BT. Hot women in movies always know how to tie a man's bow tie. It's never the train wrecks who straighten and fix a man's tie, it's always some chic put-together women. And if you've learned anything from this blog, it's that I'm constantly wanting to be that kind of woman but fail 99.99% of the time.  

So on Saturday night, we realize that no one in my fam knew how to tie a bow (except my good ol Daddio, but we didn't learn that until later). I STEPPED UP TO THE PLATE.

Gus gave me his tie and I tried several times to no avail. People were losing all faith that Gus would be the dapper dude at church  because I couldn't get it together. 

But a few YouTube videos later, I was tying that bow tie like a BOSS. I practiced a billion times on myself, and then tried it on Gus. (Lesson: There is nothing that 9-year-old boys like less than an aunt all up in their personal space grooming them.) I had hit a home run.

I was super psyched. I had learned a valuable, useful and pretty unique life skill in one night. Why can't all lessons be this easy? I had all these images of me being sought out at my wedding by guys who need their bow ties tied properly. "We KNOW Pharon is getting her hair done, but she's the only person in the world who can make us, a group of ragtag guys, look amazing. We NEED her!" Most people would hate having all that distraction on a wedding day, but I will take any opportunity to be popular. 

At Easter lunch today, I showed off my new talent to my aunts and grandma, all of whom were impressed. My grandma was like "Well, that looks absolutely perfect. So fast, too!" SCOREEEEEEEEEE. 

I wanted to show off to Geo, so I had Padrin take a video of me on Sat. night demonstrating to him the latest reason that I'm a pretty useful chick to be marrying. I sent it to him and he said "Very impressive." I'm assuming that he's sending my flowers and medal in the mail. 

Anyway, here's the vid. I'll accept accolades, applause, acclaim and appointments to come and tie your man's bow tie anytime. 

Friday, March 29, 2013

To Prinna

Do you ever just look at someone you've known forever and suddenly understand how truly amazing they are? It's like holding on to a rock for years and then looking down and seeing a diamond. One second you are all used to the shape of something and the next, it explodes into fireworks and other cool $hit.

Let me tell you, it's awesome.

Giant congrats to my sister Prinna and her three amazing performances at The Moth. "Well done" doesn't even begin to cover it.

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

ME-rror Fast

You know how much I love trends, right? And you know how obsessed I am with myself, yeah? Well when I heard about a trend involving no dietary changes and mirrors, I was IN. I didn't understand much about these so-called mirror fasts. I assumed they were speedy ways of looking at yourself in the mirror and being nothing but stoked about what you see. Get this....I, Pharon Square, Knower Of All, was wrong. WHAT?!

It was in this rando article that I can't even find again about how the media is being cruel to Krazy Kim Kardashian about her baby weight. I am NOT going to poke fun at the weight of one human building another human inside their body, and people who do are useless and need to find something else to talk about. Like I did with T Sweezie.

Anyhooz, the article continued on to talk about positive body-image role models. There was a long list of people who are beautiful and not crazy, and a bunch of the people on the list were bloggers who had participated in this mirror fast fascination. I was all "I'm a blogger! I should be doing that too!"

There are some major hiccups with this thing. A mirror fast basically is a FAST FROM MIRRORS. It has nothing to do with speed and everything to do with giving something up completely. You all know how I LOATHE that concept (I'm lookin' at you, Atkins). Basically, you are forbidden from ever looking in a mirror. You can't sit in front of one and pluck your eyebrows, gaze into your own eyes or pick apart every imperfect feature below the neck. You can't look at your reflection in a window and admire how good your hair looks, even though you haven't washed it for 5 days. You're ON a fast. From mirrors.

I briefly considered doing this. I was like "Oh how freeing it would be to not spend so much time worrying about my appearance! Rip off these shackles chaining me to society's view of physical perfection!"

The problem, I quickly realized, was that I'm pretty sure these fasts aren't for me. Taking mirrors away from me would be like taking a $20 from Warren Buffet. Probably no one would notice.

I counted the number of mirrors that I look in on an average day. There's the one I use in the bathroom to put my contacts in (that's kind of necessary), there's a tilted full-length mirror in my room so that I can make sure I am wearing matching clothes that do not have holes in them (and look super tall) and the one at my front door. You can only see like a cheek or an eyebrow in it because it's so small, but I use it to make sure I've wiped off last night's eye makeup and don't have poppy seeds from my bagel in my teeth before going into public.

The point is, I'm not falling in love with myself or beating myself up just because I'm looking at myself. In fact, some would argue that I should consult a mirror more often. I mean, sure, there are moments when I'm like "Gross, where did that back fat come from!?" But then there are other days when I'm like "Oh, hey! Look at that! My butt is lookin' goooood in these jeans! I'm never taking them off again!"

But mostly I decided not to give up mirrors because it sounds hard. You can't see your clothes, you can't see  your face, you can't see your super cool angry faces that you make during kickboxing, and you can't make yourself laugh by putting on a rainbow-colored wig, glitter heels and your awesome onesie/footie pajamas and dancing to I Love It in your bedroom. Who else will be able to appreciate that visual?

So, while I understand the point of a mirror fast and can think of a few people who could probably benefit significantly from it, it's just not for me. And that IS what it's all about, right? ME ME ME. Me....I am definitely not the kind of self-involved person who needs to stop obsessing over herself. Now, back to me.

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Not-So-Pretty Little Liar

Real world? Is that you out there?

Despite getting cable about a week ago, I have done nothing but purchase a season pass on iTunes for Season 3 of Pretty Little Liars and watch that obsessively. OBSESSIVELY. I can't talk to real people without associating them with Aria, Hanna, Emily or Spencer or wonder if the people closest to me are posing as A (watch the series, I promise it'll make sense). It's a problem.

You guys? This show has gotten me thinking. I feel like I should lie more. I feel like I should have some deep, dark secrets about past relationships or stints in insane asylums, but so far I've come up with zilch. One time I lied to my college roommates and told them that a friend and I had met and taken a shot with Ashton Kutcher (he went to U of Iowa, so it was totes plausible that he would return to a college town bar and mingle with the coeds). I told my first employer that I was stellar at logical reasoning and math. I've told friends I'm busy when I'm really just sitting at home watching Pretty Little Liars. Not exactly series-finale type stuff.

I don't think I'm a good liar. In fact, I'm downright bad at it. I offer too many details and beg people to believe me too much. I could never be one of those people who nonchalantly tosses my hair while concealing evidence or hiding a letter in my designer handbag. I'm too chatty. Too desperate to be liked. Too loving of gossip. No secrets here, folks.

Also, I'm never smart enough to stay one step ahead of anything. It's hard, and I think it involves math or physics of some sort. Not my bag, baby. (OMG, really? An Austin Powers reference? What is HAPPENING to me?!)

So yeah. that's my downfall. I'm bad at lying. I'm 100% sure that this is not the worst trait in a person. And right now I'd be lying if I said I had some clever way of ending this post or say that I've got an appointment to volunteer somewhere. Because I don't. I'm just going to end it because this TV ain't gonna watch itself.

I miss real life.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Concast: Part Deux

Talk about your all-time backfires...

I had grand plans to get on here and proudly state that I, Pharon Square, am now the proud owner of a cable box and high-speed Internet. I was gonna be all "La di da, I have cable! CABLE! SO MANY EPS OF FRIENDS RERUNS! See you never, SUCKAS!" But no. Something has happened and I am going to rip my brain out.

So, it started when some dude from the previously hated Comcast company showed up to hook up my spankin' new cable. He's all "Do you have a router?" And I was all "Um, there's an Airport over there, does that work?" And he shrugged and said "Um, maybe?" I was not confident.

Cut to 2 hours later after dude has used 112 tools, 7 cords and 1 freakishly silent bathroom break (you have no clue how small my apartment is) to hook up one box to one TV. It should have been pretty simple, right? I had forgotten how stupid cable companies are, though. It wasn't until hours after random dude left when I realized my Apple TV no longer works and I can't watch ANY episodes of Pretty Little Liars. Kill me. (Yes, I get the irony of hooking up cable only to turn it off in favor of watching Netflix, but I have to catch up on Season 2 before I can DVR season 3, DUH.)

As mentioned in my Facebook post, the Comcast dude also brought up gun control rights. He was all "Why limit access to high-capacity magazines? People who want them will still get them anyways." And I chimed back with "You make such a good point. Yeah, people will break laws anyways, so why have laws? Why doesn't everyone just promise to be cool about everything?" Then he said "What would you do if someone came in here with a gun?" And I got super freaked out and said "Well, I'm actually a ninja, so....yeah." Call the police.

Anyhooz, when I was growing up, we had a creek in our backyard. It was fun for ice skating and canoeing, but according to my parents, it was the one and only thing standing in between us and Nickelodeon. They told us (a.k.a. LIED TO US) that because of the creek, we could never have cable. Cables couldn't be put under water, so all of us who lived on the water would never know the joy of MTV or Hey, Dude. I came to terms with this at a young age, much like I came to terms with having no central air conditioning (I know. ROUGH LIFE.)

Then I learned that the Fosters down the road had cable (and central air). They also lived on the creek. My entire life was a lie.

I didn't have cable until I was, I don't know, how old was I 10 years ago? I got cable and assumed I'd see non-stop porn and swear words. And then I realized that all cable is is 70 percent reruns, 10 percent mediocre shows, 10 percent infomercials, 5 percent good shows, 3 percent amazeballs shows and 2 percent Kardashian and/or desperate housewives shows.

On the one hand, I'm super glad my parents did get me all looped up on cable when I was young. I liked playing with real people instead of watching shows about fake people. But on the other hand, I'm concerned that keeping me from cable is exactly why I'm so obsessed with it now.

At any rate, I live alone, work from home several days a week and now have cable. I'll see you guys never, okay?

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Something Stinks

I hesitated with the title of this blog. Based on my history and keen sense of humor, one would assume this post would be about doody. But it's not. It's about something much less funny and much more fragrant.

You guys? I HATE FLOWERS. I hate them. They are smelly and fragile and never the right color and there are just way too many kinds and they are dumb. Flowers? PSHT. Who needs flowers?

Oh, wait. I do. I need them because apparently weddings are just hoedowns in an abandoned sewer drain without them. I went to a florist today to pick out the uber-necessary blooms that will apparently make or break my nuptials. I know NOTHING about flowers. Zip. I know as much about flowers as Taylor Swift knows about being fun or interesting. (Hooray for a new celeb target! It feels a little cheap, I know, considering T.Sweezie is allegedly talented and not a convict, but Angelina has been in Transylvania or something and Kim Kardashian is busy baking a half-human, half-fame-whore in that pod she calls a belly, so I've gotta move on temporarily.)

Anyway, the only thing I knew about flowers is that I only liked one flower. One. And I liked it because it had black in it, which matches everything. I knew that one fact and that was all I was prepared for when I met with the florist. I announced confidently, "Me likey anenomes. I want all anenomes all the time and all I've ever looked at is anenomes, so this should be a very quick appointment."

Then the florist drops a reality bomb on me: Anenomes aren't a summer flower. Sorry. Would I like daisies?


Excuse me, but I just bought a cactus in IKEA recently. Something tells me those are not native to the Swedish meatball aisle in a Minneapolis store in December. Someone somewhere can grow me some anenomes. Should I check the Ektorp sofa aisle?

Yeah, so about 3 minutes into my appointment, everything I knew I liked about flowers was pooped on (Hey! Look at that! This post IS about doody!) and smashed in my face. Then I vaguely remember the woman repeating several words I've never heard before that are allegedly names of flowers. They meant nothing to me. All I heard was "These are not white flowers with black centers. These are not white flowers with black centers." Suddenly, I was expected to know what other colors I wanted in flowers, what size blooms, how many accent colors, and WTF a hydrangea should and should not be paired with. What is this, ALGEBRA?!

I know less about flowers than I did before I started pinning pictures of the exact same bouquet of flowers over and over and over. Actually, that's a lie. I know ONE thing I didn't know before: It's apparently a combination of rocket science and brain surgery to make flowers bloom out of season. Hmm, go figure. And here I thought flowers could just grow on trees. And on the ground. And everywhere else, including the  aisle next to cheap rugs and convertible wardrobes.

Yeah, the whole thing just stinks.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

Alabummer-FINAL EDITION!!!

Bonks. I'm the worst blogger ever, aren't I? I just up took a little break-skie with no warning or 'splanation? What kind of person DOES that!?

I'm sorry. I am. Geo made a quick trip into town this weekend and all my non-wedding priorities flew out the window. Blog? What's that? I hammered him with chore after chore in between actual chores and still felt like I hadn't done much when he flew back to 'bummer this afternoon.

But it was kind of a turning point, you guys. Today was the last time I would be tasked with bringing him to the airport only to send him back to the dirty South. It's the homestretch, y'all! He'll be back for good the next time he's back! Wooo! On the way to the airport, I casually mentioned to Geo how different this car trip was compared with the first time in 2011 when he packed up to leave. Spoiler: Much less crying. But there were other differences, too. Allow me to elaborate:

2011 Pharon: Steaming hot pile of mess. The air conditioning in Claire's spare room hadn't kicked up to full speed yet and between the sweating and crying, I was severely dehydrated.
2013 Pharon: Freezing cold pile of less of a mess. I've been shaking my fist and cursing Mother Nature for about 2 weeks now because of the deep freeze she's thrown us into indefinitely. It's frickin' cold. I wanted to go with Geo just for a little relief from the ice.

2011 Pharon: I was really convinced that if I could keep unpacking stuff from Geo's bags, he couldn't leave.
2013 Pharon: Geo kept telling me he was leaving stuff here because he doesn't need it for the next couple months. I explained that I didn't really have the space for it and tried to shove it back in his bag.

2011 Pharon: I cried for probably three days before Geo was supposed to pack up his car and leave.
2013 Pharon: Three days ago, I was complaining about how annoying it was that Geo and I had to share a car this weekend.

2011 Pharon: Before he left, Geo tried to stop my sobbing by engaging me in a game of Angry Birds as a distraction and a way to relax together, which kind of became a thing we'd do whenever he was getting ready to go back to 'bummer.
2013 Pharon: Geo had to pry the phone away from me because I was too busy playing Temple Run 2.

2011 Pharon: "Where is this our relationship going? What is going to happen next? Will we make it through this?"
2013 Pharon: "Wedding. Wedding. Wedding."

2011 Pharon: After Geo left the first time, I went crawling and sobbing back to my parents' house. I cried and cried. My mom and sister made me leave the house long enough to get a glass of wine and try to chillax. I cried some more in public and wore sunglasses indoors until 3 hours later when they could finally cheer me up.
2013 Pharon: After dropping Geo off, I went straight to the gym. (Not because I wanted to, BTW.) I cried, of course, because I always miss him, but part of me thinks the tears were more for the fact that I had to go to the gym.

The point is that a lot has changed since this post back in 2011. The biggest change, though? I wasn't so sure long-distance relationships could work back then. Today, I'm sure they can.

Wednesday, March 13, 2013


Okay, so last weekend, I was hanging out at my parents' house discussing the finer points of wedding favors when their phone rang. I looked at the number and my mom said "It's a telemarketer, don't answer it." Instead of discouraging me, this tidbit of information only piqued my curiosity. I answered the phone and sure enough, "Hi ma'am. I'm calling on behalf of adkgjkhgowpeugt and am wondering if you have a minute to discuss..."

My mom and sister stared at me when I just screamed out "AAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" at the top of my lungs and hung up the phone before the caller could finish his pitch.

They were all "Uh, what was that? Why did you scream?" And I said "Because I like to do and say super weird things when a-holes have the nerve to call me without my permission. It makes it more amusing to be telemarketed (it's a word) instead of simply being the most obnoxious thing in the world."

For example, a couple weeks ago, someone called me to inform me that I had been pre-approved for some credit thing. I screamed "OMG! That's amazing! It's like winning the lottery! FREE MONEY! FREE MONEY! Thank you thank you thank you!" The person started to rain on my parade and then I said "Hey jackwad, I'm not an idiot and you mispronounced 'congratulations.' Take my name off your list and get a real job." Not the harshest thing ever, but it was enough to make myself laugh.

But today, I think I topped myself. Ever since I made the life-ruining mistake of giving my email address and phone number to stupid David's Bridal, I've been getting crazy amounts of spam email and calls. Today, I googled a strange number that was calling me. I found this site of people who had gotten the same scammy calls and emails and they were like "David's Bridal has a disclaimer that they can sell contact information to third parties in the bridal industry." I did some more sleuthing and found an email address to unsubscribe from the avalanche of OTHER emails. I wasn't taking this most recent invasion of privacy lying down. (Laying down? Whatever.)

I drafted and sent the following email:

To Whom it May Concern,
I have recently been the victim of several harassing emails and phone calls that have apparently come from parties associated with David's Bridal. Months ago, in my bridal glow, I naively agreed to allow DB to share my contact information with others. But that, like my engagement, was a mistake. We have called off our wedding, and the ongoing phone calls and emails about wedding and honeymoon offers are too much to take. They are a constant reminder of lost love and my own personal failings, and they feel like a dagger through my heart. Therefore, please take pity on me and take my name, phone number and email addresses off of every single list you have added me to.

I was proud of myself. I feel like the email is being read by some paper-pusher who ends up second guessing their decision to work for such a hurtful and shady organization and quits after launching into a fiery tirade against The Man. Either that or I inadvertently added myself to yet another list.

Tuesday, March 12, 2013

No Stops

If there is one thing that my closest friends know about me, it's that I absolutely HATE making multiple stops. I don't want to stop here for pizza, there for gas, over yonder for gum and double-back for craft supplies. I'm a VERY efficient person and the thought of making an extra stop for something extraneous drives me entirely bonkers.

It's not that I don't like running errands. I do. Errands give me purpose. But I only enjoy doing so when it is done in the most efficient way possible. I don't like to waste time by taking round-about routes and running around simply because we haven't sat down to think about the proper way to get everything we need with the fewest amount of stops.

I hate multiple stops for SO MANY REASONS. Parking drives me nuts. Circling around town seems ridiculous. I hate starting and stopping my car. It's downright irresponsible to bop to and fro without a clear PLAN of where you're going. What a waste of time!

So tonight, Claire came back into town, and I jumped at the chance to hang out with her. She's got five days, and I wanted to take full advantage.

But this does not include multiple stops.

(You know that movie where that woman goes insane over wire coat hangers? Me either, but it's a thing. Anyways, that's how I feel about multiple stops. "NO MORE MULTIPLE STOPS!")

I ran to the gym for a half-hearted workout before speedracing over to Claire's. We chatted and then decided on going out for food. It should have been an easy chain of errands, but Claire made the mistake of letting me drive.

We picked up our food before I noticed the needle on my gas gauge falling precariously close to the E side of things. We had to run one more place and I absent-mindedly mentioned to Claire that my gas was low. She was all "Just stop for gas! There's a station like a block away!" and I was all "UGH! Extra stops!" So we proceeded to go to the grocery store and then back to Claire's at the quiet pace of an asthmatic snail in my car. I was desperate to avoid the inevitable "LOW GAS" light because all that meant to me was "EXTRA STOP." As the car crawled into Claire's driveway, she sighed and was like "Good lord. You could have just stopped for gas. It would have taken 5 minutes."

But, see, what Claire and a million other people don't understand is that making extra stops is like caving in to the relentless demands of others. I don't WANT to stop for gas or diet Coke or gold sequins when I don't have plans to do so, so if I have to, it should be on my own time and when it's convenient for me.

After a wonderfully fun time at Claire's house discussing very important things like Snooki's weight loss (GO GIRL!) I drove back to my place at approx 4 miles per hour. It was about 2 days later when I got home and texted Claire that I had gotten home, withOUT my gas light going on. I could smell the pride from miles away. No stops on the way home. Success.

Sunday, March 10, 2013

How To Survive A Wedding Fair...Again

Okay, today I went to The Wedding Fair for the SECOND time since my engagement. People thought I was crazy for going the first time, and those same people thought I was downright masochistic for going again. And for the second time, Kim came with me. We are two crazy peas in a pod. Love it.

So the first time we went to The Wedding Fair, Kim and I did everything wrong. But this time, we did it right and I figure that as a public service, I will tell you guys exactly how to hit up The Wedding Fair, or any ridiculous convention for that matter.

The first time we went, I made us a big fancy brunch, we drank champagne and headed out EARLY. We wanted to hit the fashion shows, after all. We wanted to do it all. Silly rabbits. This was ALL WRONG.

This time around, Kim and I just had coffee beforehand because the free food was where we'd make our $10 back from the cost of the tickets. And we didn't want champagne clouding our judgments. We left coats behind, made sure we packed pens and headed into the Convention Center with clear and direct goals: I needed to find photo booth deals, Kim was interested in photographers.

We couldn't have given two hoots about the fashion shows, and in fact looked forward to those chunks of time when crazy brides would flock into the fashion show rooms so we could plow through the exhibits with ease.

Besides the very first bag you get upon entry, we breezed right by all the other free bags full of crap that we'd just throw away at home. I am still finding Wedding Fair vendor bags tucked behind shelves and underneath my bed. They're like bed bugs.

We also realized that it was important to only register to win things we actually wanted. Otherwise, your hand cramps at crunch time. At a couple places, I shmoozed my way into a potential win, I'm sure of it. I was a hit at the tux stand, and there's no way that dude will ignore my tip to just "keep my entry on the top so it's easier to pick." Wink. I left my pride at home because I just want free stuff. I didn't hide that this time. I didn't feel bad about it. I made it an adorable and very likable quality that people would be fools not to reward.

Even though neither Kim nor I need caterers, we tested all the food without pretending like we were really considering the caterer. "You guys looking for a caterer?" With our mouths full we'd be like "Nope, sorry. Can I get another one of those pineapple meatballs?"

The way to do a bridal fair is to MEAN BUSINESS. No fartin' around trying to polite and wait your turn. You get in, fill out entry forms and get out. You only take brochures for places your are ACTUALLY interested in and not those crap laser-hair removal places. Ugh. Useless. Carnival Cruise Lines? NO THANKS. Handmade monogrammed bags? PASS. Getting free stuff you don't want is not worth the pounds of junk mail and brochures you also don't want.

So yeah. Eat everything. Charm the people who you really actually are interested in working with and save the champagne for the end of the day, when you'll definitely be needing a drink.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Lessons from Downton

After work tonight, I decided to lose myself in TV. I've been exhausted lately and am seriously missing out on making some close relationships with fake people. I started watching Downton Abbey and much to no one's surprise, I've gotten hooked. I've also come to two very important conclusions:

1) I need some butlers and maids. Even though my apartment is like 200 square feet and I have zero secret hallways, I really think I would benefit from having someone dress me, clean up after me and iron my newspapers.

2) I need to get an accent. Preferably English or Scottish, I think. You can say ANYTHING with the proper accent and it will be totally fine. "Please eat this dirty diaper for me, would you, mum?" Sure. "Oh, would you look at that? I seem to have run over your darling kitty cat. I'm ever so sorry." It's cool.

I don't exactly know how to go about getting an accent, but I really do think I need one. I have a pretty crass mouth, and rather than shape up and change what comes out of my mouth, I'd rather just dress it up a little with a more delicate tone of voice. That seems more reasonable, right?

It might also make me sound nicer when I accuse my staff of stealing the last bagel.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Claire-ly This Sucks

Well, she's doing it. She's ruining my life and I feel like she hasn't thought this through. Claire is leaving tomorrow for Suck Carolina and she wouldn't even let me cry tonight when we said "see you later." Hater.

I spent a great night with the girl who knew me and loved me as a bowl-cut-having girl. I spilled secrets and shared tales with the one person who has seen me through adolescence and still actually likes me.

I won't lie: I'm pretty sure I'm going to be an absolute mess without Claire. She's my go-to girl. My sounding board. My pal when no one else wants to be my pal. What am I going to do now?

Anyways, even though Claire will be back on Tuesday when we have a Friend Massage scheduled, the fact is that she is leaving and hurting my feelings right meow. Turns out, Claire moving to Suck Carolina is very similar to Claire Leaving For Several Weeks At A Time Before Inevitably Coming Back To Me. And yet? She will be gone on the Tuesday nights I need her most.


I'm not sure how this will all pan out. I will either go crazy without Claire or I will end up willing myself not to crazy without Claire. It all remains to be seen.

Monday, March 4, 2013

Goals vs. Reality

Okay, so if you're friends with me on Facebook (and you'd BETTER be...) you have likely seen that I have finally gotten around to posting the photos from the engagement photo shoot we did in December! Huzzah! So, okay, I posted them on FB and got loads of kind words and compliments, but I felt like a fraud getting all the praise. Professional makeup jobs and a top-notch photographer can make doody on a hot sidewalk look great. So, in order to keep it real, I just wanted to put what I was really thinking before/after the pics. 

The Goal: Before the pic, I was like "I really think I should have my mouth closed in a bunch of pictures. When I smile big, my top lip disappears and I look strange. And I don't want to look TOO excited to be here. All the famous people take pics with their lips closed and they look so demure."
The Reality: I don't look demure, I look like I'm just finishing a bagel. Which I very well may have been.

The Goal: I love this idea. Two people gazing into each other's eyes lovingly...
The Reality: Has Geo ever seen my face this close? I am pretty sure my nose is trying to poke Geo's eyes out, which is why he had to close them.

The Goal: I really love candid photos of us being us. Me making Geo laugh, hanging out together. What could go wrong? Natural is easy!!
The Reality: Geo looks very charming and natural when he laughs. I, on the other hand am trying very hard to suck in everything and stick my chin out so I don't have a double chin, thereby only enhancing the pointiest chin in the world. Even though I was very conscious of the photographer, I still can't must up the energy to SIT UP STRAIGHT.

The Goal: Yay! Casual conversation time! It'll be so simple and easy!
The Reality: "Suck it in, Pharon. Suck everything in while also willing your nose and chin to stop being sharp enough to slice through the time continuum."

The Goal: should I smile in this?. I have two options: Laugh maniacally or just try and be cool with the fact that Geo's kissing my face. IN PUBLIC. I'll give my closed-mouth-look one more shot because I feel like this picture won't work because I'm actually looking at the camera and REAAAALLY want to stick my tongue out. What do I do with my hands? What do I do with my hands?
The Reality: Um, hellllloooooo cheekbones! Loved this picture so hard I wanted to marry it. No complaints. Except that I said to Geo "This is my fave!" And he said "Really? I think it looks the least like you!" Probably because my profile features are not threatening to poke anything out on him. Yowza.

I'm not posting these pictures because I want accolades or comments or anything (SERIOUSLY). I'm posting them because I really want people to understand how self-conscious and mistaken I am while I'm taking pictures. I'm wrong 99% of the time and don't understand how I will look. This is why I just want to give extra props to the people who made me look like a normal person. It also made me super stoked to be marrying such a good looking, photogenic dude! Hubba hubba...

Sunday, March 3, 2013

Triple Word Score

It's not very often that I enjoy playing Scrabble. I mean, yes, I went through a very brief Words With Friends phase, but that's only because it's incredibly easy to cheat, and there's no one breathing down your neck while you try and make a word with A-A-A-E-Q-I-P because they've already got something like "RIBOFLAVIN" all lined up. In general though, I actually hate Scrabble. I hate the dumb letter tiles, the awkwardly-designed rack with the stupid curved bottom (or top? I can never figure it out) and the fact that there is a whole dumba$$ dictionary, JUST FOR SCRABBLE words.

I just hate Scrabble.

Now, it's not that I'm not good with words, 'cause I am. I'm good with words. Way good with words. Very good at making words. Making words is very good for me to be good at.

No, it's more to do with my lack of patience and my intense hatred for losing at even the least competitive of board games. As soon as someone whips out the Scrabble board, I either have to check out completely or decide to risk losing a few friends in the span of an hour or two. It ain't purdy.

But then something miraculous happened. This weekend, I played Scrabble all the way to the end without losing any friends. And it also happened to be one of the funnest nights of fun (see that wordplay?!) I've had in awhile.

It all started innocently. Claire and I were looking for something to do this weekend (she leaves on Thursday, which will suck very hard) and we happened upon our neighborhood Chatterbox. Don't know what that is? Well, it's a bar where you go and play super awesome, classic board games (Think: Boggle, Trouble, Trivial Pursuit, Connect 4, etc) or chillax in front of the original Nintendo for a few rounds of Mario. It's just the greatest place.

So, we sit down, order a beer and Claire gets up to go get us a board game. I say "Anything except Scrabble or Trivial Pursuit." She comes back with Scrabble and laughs right in my face. I'll miss this, big time.

I've probably never laughed that hard during a board game in EVER. We had so much fun, except for the fact that Claire is a Scrabble Nazi. At around the third round, she had to request the much-despised Scrabble dictionary. The waitress brings over 6 pieces of a dictionary that are all taped together with packing tape. (This is not the first time a friendly board game turned REAL.) She flips through the 1982 version of the dictionary and triumphantly announces "Pharon, see? It's NOT a real word!" Apparently "qi" is a word in Words With Friends, but not in Scrabble.


Every time the waitress came to check on us, Claire was flipping through the dictionary and making me take my tiles back. The waitress was all "Wow, you guys are hardcore." Whatever.

Anyhoozle, I'm pretty sure I lost. By like 3 points. But as we were looking at the board, Claire says "I let you get away with so many words. Zig? Toc? Da? Eg? WTF are those words?"

I said, "Those are real! ZIG zag! Tic TOC! Ta DA?! Eg...okay, I don't know what that one is, but you didn't challenge. Your fault. The other ones are real." She responded with something like "Just because you put another word around it doesn't make it a real word."

But what really matters is that I legitimately had an excellent time playing a game I super hate. Turns out, you just need the right person to play with.