B.A.N.A.N.A.S.

I was facing a major debate today. There is no doubt that September 11 is quite possibly the most important day in my lifetime. So I was wondering whether to blog about the fact that NBC ixnayed their coverage of a moment of silence for the victims of 9/11 in favor of a freaking interview with a KARDASHIAN...or if I should talk about the banana I ate at lunch.

Because I cannot possibly fathom why a major network would choose to show a fame-hungry whore over sharing a moment of silence for the true heroes of our country, I choose the banana.

I would like to say here that I spent the day remembering those people who rushed into the buildings to save those trying to escape. I thought about how, in my lifetime, there has never been a more heroic display of courage and humanity than what people showed on that day. I honor them, I remember them and I sincerely thank them. The Kardashians are the garbage pile upon which I toss my rotten banana peels. Even I don't watch their shows.  So yeah. Major Fail, NBC.

But the rest of the day was seriously bananas. Mostly because, well, I ate a banana. I HATE bananas. However, it was free fruit day in the cafeteria at work and I'm trying to eat better. What can I say? I'm a gal who is desperate to appear both economical AND healthy!

So I snatched up a banana. I sat outside, eating my salad and just staring at the banana next to my plate. It was mocking me, you guys. Which is SOOOO totally something that bananas do. When I scraped the last of my salad into my mouth, I just looked at the banana. So sure of itself. So confident in the fact that it is so disgusting but everyone needs it.

See, I've hated bananas since one gave me a stomachache when I was working at this magazine. I was busy being very important and doing that month's layout or something when the punch of a humble banana came back to haunt me. Right in my tummy. I had to leave work early because I felt sick. Was it the disgusting texture of bananas? Was it the late night of drinking microbrews beforehand? Was it the uncomfortably sweet/stringy taste of the banana? Who's to say? Whatever the reason, I got sick.

Since then, I've avoided bananas at all costs. Their gross, stringy, pukey texture makes me want to fight every banana that I see. But people tell me that I'm crazy and that there is, like, loads of potassium in bananas. Apparently, I'm 100 and need potassium.

Bananas taste like they've already been eaten and then spit back up. They have the unsure texture of what it would be like if someone ate the self confidence I have at parties where I don't know anyone: Sort of soft, sort of firm, totally trying too hard to be something. ANYthing.

But today, I got a stupid banana because they are "good for you." I peeled back the overly aromatic peel and stared at the gnarly thing in front of me. Do I need to chew it? What's with all these strings coming off of it? WHAT IS THIS?! I ate a bite, telling myself "There is SOOOOO much potassium in this devil fruit!" I moved it around my mouth like it was poison and swallowed it.

IT WAS DISGUSTING.I tried a few more bites before totally disassociating myself with the "fruit" altogether. I was sure now. Bananas are effing HORRIBLE.

I felt way too happy throwing that half-eaten banana away. I was all "You're effing gross and you taste like an old potato. Into the garbage you go!"

Then I felt bad for all the people who would LOVE to have a free banana. Even Kardashians eat bananas. Probably. Whatever. I hate them and they are probably Satan's favorite food. GROSS.

So, what I'm trying to say is that everything in this world is crazy.

The Big Screen Test

Yeah, yeah, yeah...go ahead. Complain about me totes phoning it in last night. I couldn't help it. I spent a long afternoon in the sun drinking beer, watching football (SKOL VIKINGS!) and only barely made it home in time to watch my newest badassest show, Breaking Amish. So yeah. I was tired and very unfocused on writing. But whatevs! Today is a new day!

Tonight, I had a great work outing with my fellow bloggers to the Twins game! Hooray! I ate a hot a dog, drank a beer, and then ate ice cream out of a mini Twins helmet. Also, there was some kind of baseball game going on, apparently.

So, there I was, scarfing down my helmet ice cream sittin' next to Rachel. We were chatting, staring up at the Jumbotron in between innings and mouthfuls of ice cream. All of a sudden, I'm all "Hey, who's that nerd sitting next to Rachel on the Jumbotron?"

It was me and Rachel. Lookin' like nerds on the giant screen in front of hundreds of people. We froze. As Rachel would lament later, "You just never know how you'll react to fame."

I have never wanted to be on the Jumbotron. I know that I will just freeze and laugh like a mental patient. Which is exactly what happened tonight. But I'm not the kind of person who seeks out the camera guy with some sign or weird choreographed dance.

In fact, I have gone out of my way to fly below the radar at sports games. Seating assignments at games are done purposely, to avoid any awkward Kiss Cam moments. I don't sing along to the sing-along songs. I barely muster up the courage to stand up during the wave. When most people hold up signs so Bert can circle them, I duck behind them and shove the rest of that hot dog in my face hole in privacy.


Oh, and ALSO? NO ONE EVER KNOWS WHERE TO LOOK WHEN THEY GET ON THE JUMBOTRON. People stare at themselves on the screen, and therefore away from the camera. I used to make fun of the n00bs who didn't look into the camera, but realized tonight that I am, in fact, one of those people who suddenly didn't understand how cameras worked. I stared at the screen, wondering how I could be up THERE when I was down HERE. I mean, first you have to get the attention of the person sitting next to you so you can both look up at the screen together. But then, unless you're cool, you just sit there, looking at yourself, wondering what you'll do next.


Anyway, tonight they found me. Maybe the camera guy just couldn't resist the way that I completely did not want to be on the screen, or maybe he has some depth perception issues, because the dudes behind us were way more entertaining.

Whatever it was, I hope it never happens again. I'm simply not ready for that level of fame.

Sunday Funday

I had a Sunday Funday for my sister-in-law today. Then Breaking Amish premiered. My mind is busy being blown. That is all.

Pregnant Pause (NOT ME)

Hey, Friends...STOP GROWING UP WITHOUT ME. Sorry. That's just a little sumthin' sumthin' I needed to get off my chest. My friends are very awesome, but they keep doing very mature and grownup things without me. I'm still TOTALLY into Demi Lovato and NOT having babies.

Uh, yeah. So I hung out with Lana and Valerie tonight. The conversation of baby names came up. It was NOT for my benefit, so don't get it twisted. Anyhoozle, we were talking about baby names because people my age are now starting to shoot humans out of their hoo-hahs. I was offering my opinion like it was going out of style.

"Lydia sounds like 'chlamydia'."

"Clarence?! Who names their baby CLARENCE?! Is he born as a 40-year-old man?"

"Ugh. I went to high school with a Krissy. She sucked. Don't use that."

I was a wealth of suuuuuper helpful naming tips. I, PHARON, was all "Don't name a baby something weird. They'll turn out weird and be, like, a serial killer." 

PHARON. 

Needless to say, my pals were taking my thoughts with an enormous grain of salt. I was all "Listen, I've heard some crazy names before. Padrin? Prinna? Perek? There is nothing crazier than a made-up name!"

Lana and Valerie protested "But Pharon, don't you LIKE those names?" I was all "Well, YEAH! I mean, you definitely can't COPY them. But they are soooooooooooo weird." Then they dropped a few bombs on me.

Did you know that there is a human girl person named A-a? That is a REAL NAME. It's pronounced "Adasha". An actual person has a very real dash in their name and we are expected to know how to say it.

I told them that I would name my child "#baby". It would be pronounced "Hashtagbaby". As Valerie pointed out, "It will ALWAYS be trending!" What's to stop a person from naming their kid "Beatr!ce"? (Isn't it OBVIOUS that her name is beatexclamationpointice?!) Then I also thought about naming an innocent little newborn N@talia. It's pronounced "Nattalia". That kid will punch me while I sleep.

Basically, we decided that probably the most important thing in the world is assigning a name to a human. You are essentially assigning that not-quite-human thing a personality. A nickname. A reason for kids to bully them. A profession as a stripper. An entire life that the kid can't even SEE yet. 

No pressure, pregnant friends. NO PRESSURE.

 

Dear Crabby

Wazzzzzuuuuuuuuuuuppppp! Aw, I miss that ad campaign. I'm going to bring that back. ANYways, let's get down to brass tacks, shall we?

Dear Crabby,
My friends dared me to streak at the next Twins game. I'm a pretty spontaneous dude, but I'm a little worried about, eh hem, exposing myself to all the possibly eligible chicks at the game. Will they judge me?
Thanks,
We're Going Streaking!

We're Going Streaking!
Yes, they will judge you. Not just because of your unimpressive goods, but because you are lame enough to streak a baseball game. That was pretty funny in, like, the 90s when the first person ever did it. Now it's just annoying because it slows down an already very long game. Don't do it. Seriously. No one will think it's funny unless one of the players beans you in the head with a ball. THEN it'll generate some laughs. But then you'll have to deal with medical bills, and that's no good. Otherwise, it's just a pathetic cry for attention. Also, the fact that you're thinking about this in advance means you are NOT spontaneous. Duh.

Dear Crabby,
My kids are FINALLY back in school and I've got nothing but time on my hands! Do you have any fun project ideas I can do this fall??
Muchas gracias!
All Play and No Work

Hey there, APNW,
Here's a fun project! GET A JOB! That, or stop BRAGGING about having "too much" free time! That's straight up rude. I'm sorry your fabulous life is leaving you with too much time and not enough to do. Bitterness aside, here are some project ideas: Learn to knit, learn a new language, watch every episode of Lost, build a Pac-man machine, redecorate your house every week, spy on your neighbors, develop a bread-only diet (and share it with me immediately), brew your own beer, read books, volunteer, research volunteer opportunities and then take a nap, map the Internet, get a degree from the University of Phoenix, recarpet your house, orrrrrr maybe you could start a blog.

Dear Crabby,
What did you think of the DNC and RNC? Which one do you think was better?
Just curious,
Politically Correct

Politically Correct,
Nunya. As in "nunya damn business." Politics, as far as I'm concerned, are more annoying to discuss than to listen to. So many idiots. So, I guess my answer is that both of the conventions fully satisfied each party they were designed to please. Ugh. I can't even think of anything even remotely interesting to say about politics because whatever I write will enrage some extremist fanatic who is insane. So instead, I'll just say that politics is not even remotely interesting to write about. Sars, yo. Just get on Facebook and then you can see all the annoying, unsolicited soapbox speeches you clearly are looking for. Probaly just so you can snap back with your own opinion. Ugh. SNOOZE.

And that does it! Another day, another life changed thanks to yours truly. So, you're WELCOME, everyone! If you've got 99 problems and need me to solve one, send an email to me at pharonsquare@gmail.com. Cool? COOL.

Hair we go!!

Hey, guys! Let's dye our hair tonight, okay? No time to make a salon appointment? NO PROBLEMO! I'll walk you all through the careful steps necessary to do it yourself in the comfort of your own home!

Start with a crippling sense of self-loathing and hair envy. I mean, you can use your own inspiration, but I started with spending weekend after weekend of staring at shiny, vibrant hair at weddings. Then go home, stare at yourself and your super dull hair in the mirror and decide that you'll do ANYTHING (under $20) to achieve your own luxurious locks.

On a whim, buy some hair color at Target. Don't ask anyone's opinion, and spend no longer than 35 seconds deciding on Dark Brown.

Now, it's important that you have proper hair-dyeing amenities. You'll have to rinse your hair in a bathtub, so SPACE is important. Because THIS is what I'm working with:

I called some pals to mooch some square footage off of them. But both Liz and Claire would rather do other things than watch me dye my hair. RUDE. So, I had to work with what I had.

Okay. So, now you're ready to get to work. Put on a $hitty t-shirt because you'll get dye ALLLLL over it, take off jewelry and then mix up the chemicals, making sure to splatter it all over your bathroom as a permanent reminder of this bad decision.

It's really awesome if you have long hair because there will NOT be enough dye in the bottle to color all your hair. It'll be SOOOO exciting to see what gets dyed and what doesn't! Oh, and if you steal shower caps from hotel rooms like I do?! SCORE. You have an easy-peasy way of keeping the brown dye off your back. So, once you use up all the dye on 84 percent of your hair, go ahead and wait.

Now, the 10 minutes it takes for the dye to seep into your hair is very important. You need that time to rethink your decision, text your fiance in a panic ("Just dyed my hair. Not sure I've thought this through.") and then really freak out about whether or not you should have done the Allergy Test, as recommended. Is my scalp itching? Am I going blind?! If you can talk yourself into thinking that it's NOT going to be that drastic of a change, that's great.

When the timer goes off, run to the bathroom and squeeze in between your sink and tub and start a-scrubbin' that stuff off of your noggin' under the tub faucet. The directions say to rinse until the water runs clear, so around the 5-minute mark of poop-brown water spilling down the drain, you can totally start crying a little bit. You can also take this opportunity to note the brown stains all over your forehead and hands and cry a little more.

Eventually, the water will run "clear-ish" and you can put in the conditioner, rinse and go ahead and tie up your newly-darkened hair in a towel to dry.

Now, your urge to unwrap and dry your hair quickly should be fought at all costs. You'll need another good 10 minutes to talk yourself into either thinking it's the color of your dreams or that it made no difference at all. When you're ready, go ahead and take the towel off.

What's that? Your hair is JET BLACK?! Try not to worry. It's still wet, right? Get to work drying it. Now, if you've followed these instructions, parts of your hair will NOT LIGHTEN UP as they dry.

It's about this time when you can toast up a bagel and pour a glass of wine because now you won't know WHAT to think about your 'do. You'll try and take picture of it, but no lighting in the world can truly portray the drastic change you see in the mirror.

Hooray! You've now dyed your hair like a true Square. Congrats! Also...sorry.

Once you pop...

I am nearly out of this year's wedding season. I've already been to two this month, and had to skip two others because they were on the same night. This weekend, Geo and I went to Rochester, MN to celebrate the wedding of our loverly pals Chad and Angie. Three days. One 2nd place win in an awesome Amazing Race around the city that the couple planned. Way too much fun.

But what I was ALSO really excited for this weekend was that all my bridesmaids were OFFICIALLY invited to be part of MY amazeballs wedding. See, remember when I wrote about etching glasses? The reason I was doing that, and the reason I didn't include pics, was that they were part of the surprise gift for my lady friends. Now that they all got them and opened them, I can share my crafty genius with you!

So, the idea was to "pop" the question to them all. I etched their names in champagne flutes and was going to include a bottle of bubbly, but the cost of MAKING and SHIPPING the things made champagne totally over-the-top. But the flutes were adorbs.

Then I made these confetti poppers. Prinna found the idea NOT on Pinterest and I loved it. (If you are inclined to try this at home, might I suggest using this lady's tutorial: Confetti Invitations.) See, what you do is buy poppers, set them off to get rid of the cheap confetti they come with, reload the spring thing, fill it with your own fun confetti, wrap a label on it and voila!

So, inside the popper, I also included a little chain of colored circles that read: "the time has come to...POP...the second question. Will you...be my...Bridesmaid/Maid of Honor?" Here's what they all looked like together...like pretty little (brides)maids all in a row.

Yup. So, there they all are. It took hours and 45 mazillion trips to Party City, but I think it was worth it. And while I was excited to see four ladies open them in person, I had to ship Padrin's and Madeline's to them. I was in a Google hangout with Padrin when she opened hers, and then Madeline and I were able to convince her boyfriend to video her opening hers. So I got to see everyone freak the eff out when glitter, confetti and tiny diamonds shot out into their own homes. Yay!

So it was totally awesome. And luckily for me, they all said Yes! w00000t! Now, on to the next wedding task!