Monday, November 25, 2013

Man (or Woman) In the Mirror

Geo and I headed out tonight to throw bowling balls with our pals Chad and Angie. In between my stunning attempts to perfect my grandma-throw style of bowling, we managed to work in some surprisingly insightful conversation. It started, much like all my conversations, as a weak attempt at a joke. I said something along the lines of Geo practicing his bowling technique in front of the mirror.

Me: Geo probably stares at himself in the mirror practicing bowling.
Chad: Ha!
Geo: I used to practice Frisbee in front of the mirror...
Me: Hahaha, what a nerd. You're so vain.
Chad: Yeah, like "Oh yeah, look at how amazing my form looks."
Geo: Definitely!
Chad: I feel like that's the difference between men and women. Women look in a mirror and see a bunch of stuff they hate and men look in the mirror and are like "I look amazing."
Geo: For SURE. Like, you're standing there and thinking "I'm pretttttttty sure my muscles are bigger today and I haven't even DONE anything! I look GREAT."

And it's super true. Men look at a mirror like it's smeared in Vaseline and compliments. They see fuzzy versions of themselves that make them 100% confident (overly confident, some would argue). Women look in the mirror like it's a high school bully and pick themselves apart. What gives? (PSA: Bullies are the worst.)

I do lots of things in front of the mirror. I make faces. I stick out my gut. I will occasionally dance in front of it to see what would happen if I twerked without pants on. (Not pretty.) I'll stand there for several minutes examining my face wondering where it all went wrong. I'll pull sections of my hair to the front of the mirror to see if there's a gray hair. I'll stare at my eyebrows for 20 minutes, trying to figure out why they are so different. I'll jut my hip out in 10 different pairs of pants to see which ones make my hips look fattest and then set those pants on fire. I'll be brushing my teeth and find myself wondering if my pores are too big or my lips are too thin or my shoulders are uneven.

Geo will glance in the mirror for 25 seconds, confirm that his clothes are on in the right place, and then go about his day with confidence that he looks perfect.

How does this happen? How do men get nothing but confidence from a mirror when women get nothing but complexes? How come men don't look in the mirror and think "I look nothing like Ryan Gosling. I am nothing but hot garbage."? Also, do men even KNOW that they have pores? Probably not, because I've never heard of ANY man even mention them before.

I wonder if it all stems from that stupid fairy tale with that insulting mirror. I can't remember which one it is, but it's the one where some mean ol' hag is all like "Mirror on the wall, who's the prettiest one of all?" And the rude-ass mirror is like "Not you, lady. It's some milky-skinned blonde chick with a 10" waistline." RUDE! The mirror should have lied and been like "You're beautiful. I mean, there's some weird blonde girl, but she's just pretty in a different way. You are a strong, proactive woman who knows what she wants. Own it, girl!" See, people think that the witch lady WITH the mirror is the villain in that story. But reality, all the evilness comes from the mirror.

I'm trying to think about a comparative story about men and mirrors, but all I can think of is that Michael Jackson song, and that lady was crazy. The point is that little boys are not taught that their mirror is judging them...girls are.

So, my point is that mirrors are the worst and men are the worst. And also fairy tales are the worst. But seriously, these giant pores on my earlobes are THE. WORST.

Monday, November 18, 2013

TRUly hilarious

Okay, this is going to be a quick one. I'm in the middle of an epic show-a-thon but I want you all to enjoy this with me. Watch Impractical Jokers on Tru TV. It's hilarious. I have laughed HARD for 48 of the last 60 minutes and I can't even stand how hilarious this is. Four guys who have been friends since grade school make each other do hilarious, embarrassing  stuff and there's never been anything funnier.

That is all. Watch it and then help me plan some awesome pranks to play on other people. And then we can figure out a way for me to be friends with these guys. Sound good?


Thursday, November 14, 2013

Eating white

It is no secret that I have been having a steamy, toasted love affair with bagels for the past, oh I don't know, lifetime or so.

But what you may not realize is that there is so much more to this story. I, in fact, just love every white food you put in front of me. Milk, cheese, pasta, ranch dressing, potatoes, white corn tortillas, white name it, and I'll eat it. If it's white.

People say that white food is not good for you. Well what's so great about green food? Sure it's probably got more nutritional value and vitamins and is probably not made out of sugar and delicious, delicious carbs, but it could also be moldy and no one would ever know. Now if BREAD is moldy? Yeah, you'd know it. Oh, and pasta can't poison you if you cook it incorrectly. And cheese only gets better as it gets stinkier.

Anyway, I gave myself a little challenge today. Which turned out to be not a challenge. I wanted to see if I could eat only white food. I succeeded. Egg whites and toast for breakfast. Laughing Cow cheese for a snack. Pasta with olive oil for lunch. More pasta for dinner. (I did find myself preparing a salad to accompany the pasta, but no no. No green for me today. Not even hidden under a pile of ranch.) And I feel amazing. Lethargic and slightly scurvy-ish, but amazing.

It's obviously not a good idea to spend all day eating just one type of food, no matter how perfect it is. I know that I need fruits, veggies, protein and apparently just about ANYthing that didn't start as warm, delicious dough. But I just can't help myself. I just love it all.

Anyway, I've been eating a lot of white food lately because Geo also likes white food but I've gotta be honest. I need a serious break. Not a CLEAN break, but a break. When Geo went to the grocery store tonight, sure I asked him to get Bagel Thins, but then I added apples and green beans to the list as well. Balance!

Okay, so I love white food and white food loves me so much that it likes to stay with me on my hips and butt. Nice and close. But I'm renewing my efforts to throw some reds, greens, yellows and maybe even some browns (ew) into the mix. Then again, Geo just reminded me that the color white contains all the colors everywhere. Therefore, by eating white foods, I already AM eating all colors of food. Yeah! Science, you've finally worked in my favor. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to chug a glass of skim milk before bed.

Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Wait, wait

Geo and I went to dinner tonight. He sold this Mr. Pizza place to me by comparing it to my favorite 'za establishment in Minneapolis, Pizza Luce. Well, it wasn't Luce, but it was good. And it was pretty fun, too. But during my third bite of my first piece of pizza, the waitress ran over (she was literally RUNNING) and begged "Anything else I can get you?" Before I finished chewing and while Geo was setting down his glass of wine, she goes "Okay, I'll get you the check."

I get crazy-annoyed by servers when I can tell the have an ulterior motive. We were clearly the last table in her section, though the place didn't close for another hour and a half, but sister had places to be. She wanted us OUT and I wanted to eat my damn Luce-like slice. We raced through the rest of the meal and got out of there out of panic and guilt. (Also, I think Geo wanted to get back home to play Battlefield.)

I would like to think myself an expert on servers. I know what is good and, more importantly, what is bad. I know this because I was the worst server on the planet. THE PLANET. I waitressed for like a year before the manager (who was also my bff) told me I had to git. It was harsh, but absolutely warranted and necessary.

As much as I love talking to people, I hate DOING things for people, which made me a HORRIBLE server. Oh, I forgot your diet Pepsi? Sorry, but I'm not sorry. I'll get it for you after I've scarfed down some queso in the kitchen. You are at my mercy, customer.

It's not that I didn't like being a server, I just didn't GET it. I didn't get how to balance conversation with service. I either checked in too much or not enough. I got defensive when I'd be informed of a mistake I'd made. Rather than just being all "Whoops, sorry. I'm on it," I'd try and blame it on the customer. "Oh, I forgot your guac? No, you just never asked for it. Not my fault. You're wrong. I'm right."

Yeah, I was bad. My tables hated me and my co-workers were often covering up my mistakes, so they probably hated me too. In fact, I remember vividly the ONLY TIME I got a 20 percent tip. I got a table of a guy and two girls. I charmed my way through delivering drinks and then forgot to bring the appetizer. When I brought them their cold quesadilla, I braced myself for the "Um, this is cold" lecture that I was all too used to.

Instead, one of the girls at the table asked me out on a date. I was so flattered that I brought them salsa even before they had to remind me I had forgotten it. Even after I explained that I prefer hairy-chested men who love video games, she forgave me and I finally got my first ever 20 percent tip. It had nothing to do with being a good server, but it was a legit tip.

All of this is proof that I am the queen of what NOT to do as a server, and giving out a check while people are basically taking their first bite of their food is one of those things that even I know to avoid. And I once served someone a Coke that I had taken a sip out of to make sure it wasn't diet. It was. And I still served it. Because I'm the worst. But at least I never pre-billed anyone.

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Blurred Lines

After getting married, things have changed for your all-time favorite blogger (me). Not, like, relationship-wise. Nope, Geo and I are pretty much the same as we were BEFORE the ol' ball and chains were clamped on. No, the changes are more like "Time to sign up for wife-y stuff"-wise. Betty Draper-style stuff. You know what I mean? No? Let me explain.

I found myself looking up egg bake recipes tonight. And Googling how to make cute Christmas ornaments with only a bobbin, some pie crust and a hair pin. Making plans to start a book club. Wondering if Miley Cyrus might, in fact, be a bad influence on a child. Gross stuff like that.

For many posts recently, I realize that I have been talking about this whole growing-up thing. I have fought it, denied it and laughed at it, but I'm worried that my recent behavior has made it seem like I'm embracing it. Am I? Could that be true? Is this real life?

As I mentioned, I have started engaging in some troubling behavior as of late. I have voluntarily taken part in traditions that I previously shunned because I was too busy, too single and too...desperate to not conform. Now they seem, I dunno, fun, maybe! And I have decided that it might NOT be a bad idea to have a go-to egg dish to bring to a potluck. Before recently, that sounded cliche and predictable. Now it just planning ahead.

Who knows what is happening to me. I've read about 2 1/2 sentences on Stockholm Syndrome, and maybe that's what I have. Maybe I've been spending so much time around sane, normal, married people who DON'T fall asleep with their foot in a Lean Cuisine dish on the couch and maybe I've started to see their point.

Maybe it's affected my blogging too. I'll clear out my inbox now (at, FYI) for the inevitable hate mail here, but I'm thinking that getting married has made me...boring. Less fun. Less ridiculous. Less likely to spar with roommates or end up at some ridiculous bar with drinks named after American Apparel executives or whatever. More likely to listen to NPR. On purpose.

It's been a tough pill to swallow. I wanted to write a whole post about those dumb Miller Lite punch-top cans that I'm pretty sure I hate, but I haven't even gotten a chance to actually test drive the ridiculous product because grownups DON'T order Miller Lite, and if they do, they don't need some dumb punch-top to show them how to shotgun it. How will I complain about something I haven't even tried? (LOL. I complain about stuff I've never tried all the time...hybrid cars, Pilates, breastfeeding...)

Anyway, I have no plans to turn this blog into some rendition of the Happy Homemaker Starts Her Third House Fire With a Hot Glue Gun And/Or A Stove, so I'm going to have to regroup a bit. I think this might involve me trying some of the new, ridiculous things that married folks making a budget, trying to sleep without my blankie (yeah, right), assigning chores and exploring new depths of sober Scrabble. I'm scared. So, yeah. Stay tuned.

Monday, November 4, 2013

I left the house without showering today...and you can too!

Getting ready in the morning makes me angry. Every day that I have to get up and get ready is a day that I have to remind myself not to punch myself in my clean, made-up face. I hate everything about it.

I know that we all don't have the luxury of working from home in a town where there is zero chance of running into anyone from high school or whatever, but the fact remains: If you have the time/energy/self respect to shower EVERY SINGLE DAY and shave your legs, put on makeup, dry your hair and put on unstained shirts day after day after day, I feel like we are probably not friends in real life. Those people exhaust me.

So it should come as no surprise that I skip at LEAST one of those things every day. Today, however, was a "Let's Just Skip All of That" kind of day. I woke up, drove Geo to work in my pajamas got home and just started working. But everything came to a crashing halt when Target called to remind me to pick up a prescription.

"Leave the house?! During the day?! I am not prepared for this."

But because I am such a pro at polishing this turd [gestures to self], I pulled it together and left the house in 5 1/2 minutes looking totally...not disgusting. I feel like everyone could benefit from my expertise at leaving the house in this state of hot garbage.

Hair: It's almost winter, so break out those cute winter hats! That's an easy enough solution for amateurs, but there are other options as well. Girls with long hair like me have a challenge when it comes to hiding evidence of skipping the ol' wash down. If you can braid, go ahead and pry your hair into three separate sections and twist 'em together for a chic, messy braid held together by last night's sleep. If you can't braid, brush that rat's nest out and slick it up into a one will be able to tell the dirtiness from the bed head. Plus, people might actually think you are a ballerina. BONUS. (Try and walk with your toes pointed outwards to really sell it.)

Makeup: I tell myself I'm naturally beautiful and have the confidence to step foot outside without a stitch of makeup. Call it confidence, call it blissful ignorance, I don't care. But in the event that you don't possess this same kind of misguided bravery, here is all you need to know. Put on mascara and bright lipstick. That's it. Are you half-way ready for a gala? Have you not figured out tinted moisturizer yet? Is your bathroom lighting really bad or are your lips just naturally blazing red? That's what people will be wondering. Not "Is that girl just covering up the fact that she hasn't washed her face for two days?"

Wardrobe: This can be tricky. But I have found if you put a jean jacket over virtually any outfit, you will at least look like you TRIED. (I even saw a chick wearing a WOLF SWEATSHIRT under a jean jacket on a fashion blog this month...thank you hipsters!) A jean jacket can be thrown on over just about any shirt, but there may be limitations when it comes to pants. It might not work with sweatpants or flannel pants with a hole in the crotch and knee, but it will definitely work with yoga pants, black pajama pants, leggings, and any other type of leg wear that girls laze around in. Any of these things with a white shirt (turned inside out if it's dirty) and jean jacket will make you look normal.

Odor: This can also be tricky, as I don't have b.o. That is a proven FACT. But I imagine you can't just leave the house smelling like you've been sitting around sweating and eating bagels all day. I suppose you could freshen up by tucking a Bounce dryer sheet in your cleavage. You'll smell linen fresh and avoid static cling.

Voila! You're all ready to leave the house without going anywhere near a shower. Now your only problem will be what to do with all those hours I've just saved you...