What's in a name? ONLY EVERYTHING!

Okay, so I've heard both supportive and non-supportive (read: "You're Crazy") reactions about something, so I thought I'd throw it out to wide beyond - a.k.a. the Interwebs - and see what YOU guys think. You're the only ones I care about anyways.

This weekend, I met a friend of Claire's. She is suuuuuuuper sweet and fun and I loved her immediately. But she laid out a big fat Story Topper that left me bummed. I was all "La la la, I'm the most uniquely named chick in the world! I've never met a Pharon ever in my life, and I love it!"

Friend was all "Oh, my sister has a friend named Farrin." I was like "Yeah, but I'm a GIRL named Pharon." Wait for it... She's all "Yeah, so is my sister's friend."

RUUUUUUUUUUUUDE.

Never in my life have I met a chick named Pharon. Oh sure, I've HEARD that they exist, but so do narwhals. I've just never seen one and I'm okay with that. This was actually the SECOND person who was all "I know a girl named Pharon" in like 3 months. The first person was arguably a stranger, so I let it go. But now there's a chance I will MEET said Pharon/Farrin. I am crushed.

In college, my friend Freda and I were at The Vine Bar in Iowa City. We were sitting there, drinking responsibly of course, and all of a sudden we hear, "PHARON, YOU ARE SUCH A &*%#&^(%@!!" Freda and I immediately spin around, ready for a fight. No one, in the HISTORY OF TIME, has ever said "Pharon" without referring to me. Turns out, on this particular night, the "Pharon" who was a &*%#&^(%@!! was actually a dude whose LAST name was Pharon.

Phew!

That was close. "Let's just hope you never marry him", Freda said. Hilarious.

So this is why I was crushed to learn about a chick with my name. I thought I was a unicorn. A big, glittery, powerful thing that shoots rainbows out of my butt. Is this not true anymore?

Geo Some people say that I'm being a baby. He was all "Who CARES, right?" Wrong. I said "Geo, when people say my name, they are ALWAYS talking TO ME. Do you know how POWERFUL that makes me!?" He called me crazy. A crazy baby, I believe. So now I don't know what to think. I've broken barriers - like Joan of Arc, probably. I've battled against potential bosses who interviewed me and were shocked, and disappointed, that I was not a dude. I've surprised people by not being Egyptian. I've been able to foster my creativity by constantly having to make up stories about the origin of my name. It's been WORK.

I bet Farren hasn't had to do that. "Farrin" or "Farren" make sense. Phoenetic, feminine sense. "Pharon" is a mystery wrapped in a riddle wrapped in an enigma. Just like me.

Anyway, I wanted to get that off my chest because I've been in shock for about 4 days. Geo thinks I'm a crazy baby, and Claire was all "Dude, I totally get it." So, who's right?! What say you?

Packing Heat

So I really wanted to have something stellar to follow up that awesome post about the nicest compliment I've ever received, but I just really don't think stories exist to top that. Anything I write tonight will be a sad letdown for everyone, which is fine because today was kind of uneventful.

Remember how I shopped and shopped and shopped on Saturday? Well after work tonight, I shopped and shopped and shopped again. What is my problem!? This time, though, my mom and sister Prinna lent a helping hand. I almost don't want to admit this, but I will because I'm also freakishly proud of it: I have four new pairs of shoes for my trip this weekend. FOUR PAIRS.

So yeah, I got that going for me, which is nice. Four pairs of shoes. That's all I'll need, right? I really hope so because I can't figure out what else I need. Geo is almost no help in deciding what to pack. I was all "What do I need to bring?" Geo was all "I dunno, stuff for hanging out, going to dinner, whatever..."

Here is what Geo - and probably all men everywhere - fails to understand. THAT IS NOT HELPFUL. Where are we eating dinner? Are we going to fancy dinners or Taco Bell? Will we be eating outdoors or in? How much can I wear my sweatpants?

Then I asked Geo what we'd be doing during the hot, sweltering days and he said "Whatever we want!" #seriouslynothelpful

Here's what I would want to do: Drink margaritas, pass out by the pool, cry in the shower because of my sunburn, then drink margaritas in a hot tub while someone feeds me Bagel Bites. Now, if that was the case, I'd know EXACTLY what to pack (bikini, terrycloth robe, four pairs of shoes). But I have a feeling none of that will happen.

Since we'll be there with his super awesome parents and his sister, there is an additional level of panic-packing. I'm not just hanging out with total strangers. And usually I love me some low cut tanks and saggy workout shorts. But my mom helpfully pointed out that I shouldn't "look like garbage if we end up going somewhere nice." So we picked out a bunch of super nice, cute clothes and for a minute I felt great.

Then I realized I have nothing to pack that ISN'T super cute and nice and white. #spoiledpeopleproblems. I was all "I don't know how many t-shirts I should pack! How many shapeless, super comfy muscle-tees can I fit in my suitcase? Do I even have any cotton shorts to lounge around in? Do I bring jeans? Wolf sweatshirts?

Did I mention I'm not planning on checking any luggage? Riiiiiiiiiight...

Anyway, that's where I'm at right now. Any tips for a HORRIBLE packer who has NO IDEA what to expect in a place where the days are 100 degrees and the nights are 60 degrees?

Crack is NOT whack

I was trying to pick out my favorite part of this weekend. I figured it out, and it's not what you'd think.

So first, I spent Friday night with some very dear friends who I haven't seen in too long. My friends Amy and Sarah rule. I met up with them for tater tots and laughs before we were supposed to head out to see a Prince tribute band. Eeee! Sounds great, right?! But due to unforeseen drama, I ended up back home, before midnight, NOT partying like it's 1999. Still super fun. Not quite my favorite part.

During the lovely Spring day on Saturday, I shopped. All day. I bought loads of crap for my trip to Palm Springs next week. So. Many. Clothes. And Saturday night was Claire's birthday party. It was caaaarazy fun. I even put on a dress for the occasion. Still not the best part.

Today I had brunch with my great friend Ally. It was also her birthday. So, we had brunch and then decided to spend the similarly beautiful day meandering around Uptown and drinking beers. It was great, and that's when the best part of my weekend happened.

As we were leaving the trashiest bar in the whole state, we saw this serious crackhead dude sitting on this stoop. He was openly enjoying some illegal substances, and was obviously talking to himself. But as I passed him, he managed to say "Hey. We should hang out sometime. Can I call you?" I was all "Aw, I'm flattered, Crackhead, but I've got a man...surprisingly enough." He muttered something under his breath and I said "I'm sorry?? What was that?" And he says....

"I bet you'd look bangin' in a bikini."

I nearly fell over. It took all my energy to stop from saying "OMG, thank you so much! I've been working really hard, and I've been really self conscious because I'm going to the desert with my boyfriend and his family next week and I've basically been eating nothing but leafy greens and water in an attempt to lose weight because I don't want to make everyone puke when I put a bikini on, so I think it's really awesome that you'd SAY something like that!"

Instead, I said "Um. Thanks. Enjoy that crack, kind sir."

Well, okay, I didn't say EXACTLY that, but I can't remember what I said because my heart was so full of confidence and self esteem that I like blacked out. I bragged about the crackhead compliment all afternoon. Ally and Tim - who I was with at the time - nearly wet their pants laughing at how flattered I was. It was suggested at one point that the guy wasn't even able to open both of his eyes at the same time, but I don't care. I was over the moon that some stranger told me that I wasn't offensively obese, and in fact he would very much enjoy seeing my pasty white stomach.

So despite the fact that I spent so much time with wonderful friends and shopping for 2 pairs of wonderful new shoes, the best part of the weekend was when One-Eyed Willy took a break from his drug habit to tell me that I am finally bikini-ready.

It's Pharon Square! And I Helped!!

It's night 2 of babysitting my sister's kids. I was too drained to come up with a topic for tonight, so I let my my nieces help. Wait, I'm sorry..."Help".

(There IS a video below. If you can't see it on your phone or iPad, track down a regular computer to watch, because it's goooooood)

So...yeah...that's...umm...that's just lovely. Thank you, Annabelle and Eve for your sound advice! Thanks also to my uber-adorable nephew Alec who is 11 months old and stayed asleep this whole time. Have a great weekend, everyone!

P.S. Heaps of thanks to my sister Prinna who let me exploit her kids and then made the video to prove it!

The theoretical practicality of pixelated flip books (Or: Why I like cartoons)

You know what I enjoy? Animated situation comedies. Fine, I love cartoons. Sue me. Pretty much everyone makes fun of me for choosing reruns of The Simpsons over the news on an embarrassingly regular basis. Whatevs! I guess I never grew out of my childhood fascination for giant eyes and perfectly drawn ponytails. Tonight I was babysitting and, much to my horror, I learned that my nieces prefer real-life Disney tween stars to leggy rock stars with magic earrings or pizza-eating turtles. Weird.

I never had cable growing up, so I didn't have Nickelodeon or those other fancy channels (#spoiledbratproblems) so we'd always watch The Smurfs, Chip n' Dale Rescue Rangers, My Little Pony and other network-approved cartoons. They were 22 minutes of surreal characters teaching me real-life lessons. A PONY who won't SHARE?! The horror!

Now, though, as a grown woman who has a real job and owns a car and can book my own flights, I prefer a little bit more of a sophisticated genre. That means cartoons with absolutely no lesson whatsoever. I'm smart enough to know I should share and help out a friend in need, thankyouverymuch. That's why I love me some Family Guy, Simpsons, Futurama and occasionally some Aqua Teen Hunger Force. These totally valid forms of entertainment teach me nothing except how to appreciate obscure societal references. The characters never change, the plots are far out and funny, and mouths can be slapped on any ol' drawing and become a snarky sidekick. (See: Meatwad.)

[You have likely noticed that I do not fall for the hoax that is Japanimation. No thank you. I don't like creepy Pokemon creatures or wise old ninjas who fly through the air for 30 seconds before battling some chick with comically large eyes and inappropriately short skirts.]

Anyway, there's no real point to this post. Mostly, I just was sad to find that instead of watching SpongeBob SquarePants, my nieces wanted to watch a show about some unrealistically rich tweens who live on a Hollywood movie lot or some such nonsense. Talk about FAKE! At least in cartoons I KNOW nothing is real because NO ONE IS REAL ON THE SHOW. Who knows? Maybe my nieces think that it's, like, totally normal for kids to not have parents and have giant walk-in closets that have rotating shoe shelves and flattering overhead lights.

Yeah, okay, kids. Good luck with that. Meanwhile, I'll be searching Craigslist for a talking dog or a robot that smokes cigars. I'll probably find my things first.

puke

Heeeeey there, friends. Have you missed me? I apologize for the unannounced break, but I'll be honest with you. This blogger was in NO SHAPE to be funny or interesting. I was - how shall I put this delicately? - extremely and violently ill. I lost 3 pounds, though, so that was just tops.

See, I had a wonderful weekend throwing a baby shower for my sister-in-law who is due with a bouncing baby girl next month. We had pink tulle, pink lemonade rimmed with pink sugar, pink rock candy, pink EVERYTHING. It was super fun.

But when I got home, all that pink, uh came back up. At first, I cursed my sister Padrin because she had made all the nomnom food, but quickly realized that it was not her fault. (Although, oddly enough, she was the only other person who was sick.) Anyways, despite the hilarity of such a pretty shade of upchuck, I was miserable.

I feel like I was drunk on throwing up. I called Geo in tears, begging him to come home and watch over me as I prayed to the porcelain gods, and then spent 20 minutes scrubbing my bathroom hoping to wash away whatever was making me sick. Sane, right?! Alas, no amount of scrubbing helped.

Approximately an hour into my involuntary bulimia, my roommate Andrew called upstairs "Hey, Pharon? You okay?" I responded, in my best Darth Vader voice, "I'm FINE. DON'T COME UP HERE!" And he's all "Well, it's obvious that you're sick, can I get you anything??"

"OH. MY. GOD. Can you guys HEAR me down there?!"

Yes, yes they could. Claire and Andrew were eating a lovely dinner, soundtracked by my ralphing. I was MORTIFIED. There is nothing worse than audibly alerting others to your violent nausea. It's embarrassing. At least in college, everyone was puking at some point. There were even friends there to hold your hair while you said things like "Why won't the bartender give me goldschlager? Why does he hate me? My hair hurts. Let's go dance on the bar..." Whatevs, I digress.

Anyway, about 3 hours into my battle with concentrated evil, I thought "Hey Trooper, buck up. Think about how much weight you'll lose!" And that seemed to calmed me down for a while. Also, by this point Andrew and Claire were fast asleep so I was left to puke in peace.

But I made it through, guys. I pulled through like a CHAMP. Yes, I cried and begged for my mommy. And YES, I may have wrapped my blankie around my shoulders and moaned while sitting on the bathroom floor. And so WHAT if I sat reading The Hunger Games during the infrequent lulls and wished for Katniss' life? The point is, I made it. And I'm skinnier better than ever!

So, sorry about the brief break, dudes, but as you can see, I was pretty busy.

pwnd

So last night, I had my book club. It was fun, as usual, but something very disturbing happened. Two of the girls in my club are engaged. While I couldn't be more excited for them, I was seriously caught off guard when each of them showed me their beautiful rings.

They were EXACTLY the ones I thought I had always wanted.

Seeing two replicas of my dream ring rocked me to my core. How could OTHER PEOPLE have the same thing I thought I wanted? RUDE, right?! Well, I've changed my ring preferences, so as not to be a copycat, and pinned pictures accordingly.

To prevent further confusion, I would hereby like to make a list of things that I thought of first (at least to my knowledge) and therefore OWN. I don't care if other people also do/think/hate/like the same things, I am officially claiming the following things as original actions/thoughts/hates/likes because I came to them in my own crazy mind. Consider this my patent application...

* Hating Angelina Jolie
* Loving Nelly Furtado
* Adult braids
* The color green
* Kate Spade - no one will ever love her/her products like I do...NO ONE
* A baby boy name (I'd be crazy to publicize it)
* A baby girl name (Again...not telling)
* Laughing Cow cheese
* The show Happy Endings
* Feminist Ryan Gosling sites
* Pillows made out of fur
* Futurama
* Scarves with words on them
* Liking bald men (a la that Gwen Stefani in her music video with Moby)
* Being a square white chick who totally gets Lil Wayne
* Ke$ha
* Re-appreciating Britney Spears (a.k.a. never NOT appreciating Britney)
* Dance Central
* Charlie Hunnam
* Game of Thrones
* Bagels
* Jem and the Holograms
* The Amish
* Seeing right through the "gluten free" fad
* Coors Light (I'll share this claim with my dear and wonderful friends Madeline and Kelly)
* Fur
* Hating jeggings
* The color grey
* Kickboxing
* Using l33t speak...ironically
* British car shows

That's all I can think of right now. All these things/ideas/preferences hereby belong to me. Get it? Got it? GOOD.