Vitalized!

Okay, so a few months ago, Geo and I each took a Scantron test that promised to tell us whether or not we'd be a good couple, according to a bunch of researchers. It's a process that a lot of people go through who are getting married in a church, I guess.

Yeah, so that was months ago. Since then, I've had 11 nervous breakdowns, I've called the wedding off about 3 times, I've tried exercising and the number of times I've cried on the phone with Geo is probably well over 50. So you can imagine how nervous I was to go to a meeting at the church and meet with a pastor to discuss...dun dun duuuuuuuuuuuun!...the results of the Scantron test Geo and I took. We conferenced in Geo via Skype and I braced myself.

I was ready to hear that I was overbearing. Ready to hear that I overreact, take things too personally, can't deal with criticism, try to micromanage emotions, am never satisfied, am irrational, and on and on. I was seriously nervous.

Instead, I heard that Geo and I are in a pretty amazing relationship. Not like I didn't know that already, but it helps when God basically confirms it. I've been apart from Geo so long and have been dealing with so many details with the wedding, that I had essentially forgotten how it felt to just be a normal, perfect couple. We communicate well. We like each other. We like each other's friends. We like each other's family.  We trust each other. We have the same values.

According to the test, we are "vitalized". Meaning: Frickin' awesome together.

On the one hand, it made me miss Geo more than I've missed him in a long time. A dude that cool? Ah man, I wish I could hang out with him! On the other hand, we're cool with it because we also respect each other's ability to be independent. Yeah. WE'RE THAT COOL.

It got me wondering, though. There I was, waiting for some bad news about how ill-equipped we are for marriage, and glad to be totally pleased with the results. But what if there really WAS bad news? What if the test was all "Um, YIKES." And then the pastor stamps a big ol' DIVORCE INEVITABLE on our paperwork as he runs through our answers to the test and asks us over and over if we've actually even met each other. There have GOT to be some people who are NOT vitalized. Some who are in the "Is this just for a green card? Witness protection? Dare? Vegas?" category.

Well, all I know is that Geo and I are peaches and cream. Guaranteed never to fight or get mad or disagree. Right? I mean, that IS how these test results work, right? Vitalized!

196 Days

Day 196

Hello, out there, world. Are you still there? I'm still here, stranded in desolate, barren Minnesota. It has been nearly 200 days between the first snowfall of this season and today, and I fear I shall not last much longer in this godforsaken wasteland. It is April 18th and yet another winter storm has ravaged the state, leaving me with little hope of ever being warm again.

I have fought as hard as I can to keep my wits about me, despite the fact that the weather gods have been relentless in their efforts to suffocate my soul under heavy piles of snow. Finding water has proven to be quite  simple, but there have been no signs of wildlife. I worry that it is only a matter of time before grass dies for good and flowers refuse to grow. If there ever is even a thaw.

This hibernation period has lasted much longer than I expected, and my supplies are nearly depleted. I have ventured out to restock, but was so overwhelmed by how complicated everything was and how long everything took that I failed to retrieve many of the essentials.

My mental facilities are beginning to fail me. I have resorted to engaging in several acts of superstition purely out of desperation. I purchased ice cream in an attempt to reset the elements and fool them into warming up. I pulled in my Merry Christmas doormat that I have kept in front of my door as a funny way of touting traditions and to make my neighbors think I'm weird. But I finally took it inside just in case that is the one thing keeping Spring from knocking on my door. So far, my efforts have been - like the ice-covered trees - fruitless.

Today the snow came down first as a dewy mist, then soon after it changed to sleet and then finally it changed back to snow. That was 12 hours ago. And I was just about to start sawing through my arm to escape this hellhole when the howling wind outside subsided just long enough for me to regain some composure and turn my space heater on.

If anyone is reading this, there must surely still be life out there. There must be people, thriving in the lush greenery of nature, wearing cute shoes with no socks, grilling out, needing sunglasses to keep the bright sun away. I must keep hope that the sun has not burned out and that some day I too shall feel the warmth on my skin again and be able leave the house without gloves, snow boots and an umbrella. It must change. It simply must.

I shall do my best to keep sending messages from this deserted tundra. It is the only thing keeping me connected to the outside world. That is, if there IS still an outside world...

Boston

I'm not the kind of girl who knows what to say in awkward situations. I don't have a charming ease about me or a quiet understanding or an inspirational word of support. I truly wish I was better at that, especially in light of recent events. I've been watching the Boston Marathon nightmare and wish I had something to say, like Patton Oswalt did on Facebook. Something real and moving, something wise and reassuring.

But I am not Patton Oswalt, or any other person who has managed to say something even remotely hopeful. Far from it. I am a bumbling, nervous girl who would rather make an awkward joke than to try and take a stab at sounding mature about serious topics. I think that's okay, I mean we are not all poets or inspirational leaders. Some of us are just Pharons.

So I'm not gonna sit here and try and come up with something important to say. It would be a waste of your time, and (more importantly) my time. (See how I do? With the awkward joking?)

I'll just leave you with this. I went to Boston when I was young. My aunt Cindi lives in Massachusetts with her family, and I remember we went back-to-school shopping in the Big City while we were taking our yearly trip out Rhode Island to visit my mom's family. It was at some point during that trip when I decided that I wanted to move to Boston after college. I loved it and decided I belonged there, even though something called "rent" was crazy-high (whatever that meant). But I was probably 13 when I decided that. I try and remember what I loved so much about it and what had made such a significant impression on me to carry that plan with me for like a decade.

And the only thing I can remember - and I remember it clear as day - was the Gap store. It was a flagship store in Boston and it was like 100 levels. I thought it was the most amazing thing I had ever seen. And honestly? That Gap store was one of the best landmarks I ever remember seeing in my young life.

So I guess all there is to say is that Boston, you even make the Gap seem magical. And for that, and so much more, you should be proud.

That's Cold, Bro

If you live in Minnesota, I don't need to tell you how miserable the weather has been lately. If you live outside of Minnesota? Clear out the spare room because I'm moving in. The absolute dreariness of this nightmare of a spring has been positively wrist-slitting. When it's not cold, it's raining. If it's not raining, it's snowing. I hate it here. And my big bay window that was supposed to be a great way to enjoy natural light and regular doses of vitamin D is actually more like a gaping wound exposing the pus-filled, disgusting mess that persists like a fungus.

I hate it here right now.

So you can imagine how wonderful it was when my friend Ally came into town for the weekend! It's like she had a rainbow coming out of her butt, given how much she brightened my day. She lives in Mexico now so she was all tan and happy and doesn't have that same "I might stab you" look that so many people in Minnesota have right now. Plus, she's pregnant so that glow she had goin' on was the real deal. But then I got bummed again because I only got that little bright and fun respite for one day.

Anyways, I never thought I was one of those people who got down because of the weather. I mean, I complain about it but I never got, like, depressed. But this winter has been different. The lack of warmth and sunlight has made me a dry, crackly, rigid mess. And with no end in sight, I don't know what to do except try and never look or go outside.

It's why I've been pretty bad at blogging lately. It's why I've been incapable of making a decision about flowers for the wedding. It's why I spend evenings curled up in blankets on the couch, gradually working myself into an angry, stressed out frenzy about any given thing instead of going out and being social. I'm like a hermit who just sits in my small apartment, freaking out about the wedding and not speaking to another soul all day.

So, not only am I depressed, but my hair is perpetually in a laid-in ponytail, I wear sweatpants AND sweatshirts at the same time, and skin is all wrinkly from laying on the sheets of my bed all night every night. My refrigerator only has applesauce, some old lemons and a sample packet of Famous Dave's BBQ sauce in it because I can't be bothered to grocery shop or put together a real meal. I actually watched golf this weekend, too. Ugh. I'm one Xbox headset away from being a middle-aged bachelor.

So yeah, I think my only option is to move to Mexico. See you soon, Ally!

B-rettes

I've been lucky enough to be friends with a lot of ladies who have gotten married recently or are about to take the ol' plunge any day now. So what do people do when they are about to get married?

They celebrate being single.

There have been a lot of discussions about bachelorette parties lately. I have like 4 weddings this summer, not to mention the Biggest Event of the Season (a.k.a My Wedding. My fiance may also be there.) So, one of the things that girls talk about is bachelorette partays. I recently discovered that I am seriously in the minority when it comes to b-rette celebrations.

A lot of my pals didn't get married right out of college, and the idea is that we should be more mature. And many of them are. Drunken trips to see exotic dancers were replaced with slightly buzzed evenings of sisterhood and bonding; shots of Rumpleminz were replaced with sips of Chardonnay. It's what mature people do.

My problem, however, is that I'm not mature. I'm not. No matter how many times I do my own laundry or pay bills on time or drink wine out of actual glasses and not the bottle, something about me screams "I REFUSE TO GROW UP."

I've been worried that I'm a freak lately. I have felt like the middle-aged women shopping at Forever 21. I want a cheesy, raunchy, silly, dance-filled night where I spill grape apes on myself and don't have to mind my manners. At my b-rette party, I want to do the kind of things that would be super embarrassing for Geo to witness. Slip on my too-high shoes. Give tequila another try. Ask strangers if I can eat their leftover pizza or give someone $5 to dance on the bar (or win $5 for dancing on the bar). Stuff like that. I'm well aware that I'm probably too old for that stuff. I don't care. I miss the good ol' days when a gal got to let down her hair and be crazy for a night. No judgement. That's all.

The guys in my circle are not helping my plight. They spend bachelor parties playing poker and making elaborate plans to play Halo on multiple screens and other things I couldn't possibly have less interest in. Snooze.

So, here I am again. On the outs with cultural norms. But, like my obsession with confetti, I know that I'm in the right here.

Then today I read this article: In Defense of Wild Bachelorette Parties. Huzzah! Someone else who understands how great it would feel to just let loose and not be The Girl Planning a Wedding for a night! I have to be so grown-up calling vendors, signing contracts, balancing a budget and dieting/exercising to fit into a dress. You guys? That's a lot of responsibility! And with the pressure of planning a wedding, not to mention the weight of the eternal vow I'm making, this girl needs some brainless crayziness.

I have a feeling that once I get married, the world will no longer revolve around me, you know, like it does now. For one night, I just really want to not have to worry about what I eat, what shoes I'm wearing, whether or not my shirt is too low-cut, why I want to dance instead of playing video trivia and which Michael Buble song will rule my night. I want to be Pharon. Not Pharon Planning A Wedding. And let me tell you, Pharon was/is a crazy fun girl who loves to dance to Britney Spears and dirty rap.

Anyways, I'm glad that some unknown stranger feels the very same way I do about b-rette parties. It makes me feel more accepted. Less freaky. More like I want to invite that girl to my own b-rette party. And, you know, if Channing Tatum shows up on a stage somewhere, ALL THE BETTER.

Worked Up

I'm definitely not one of those people who likes to talk about going to the gym. "I'm going to the gym" is the verbal equivalent of the tofu. No one wants to hear about it because it's a very boring topic. (Hear that, gym rats?) So, this is not a story about me going to the gym. However, it DID happen at the gym, so I may as well get it out of the way by saying I was at the gym on purpose.

Oh, also? You guys need to know that I'm a very angry person when walk into the Y. I'm all "Don't talk to me. I hate being here. Let's get this god-forsaken chore over with. Seriously. Everyone else is annoying here." I want to get in and get out with absolutely no hassle.

This is why it's pretty great that I happen to work out at a gym that is like 80 paces away from a retirement community. Everyone there during the day is like 80. They mind their own business, don't try to show me up by sprinting on the treadmill, and didn't steal my water bottle when I left it on the treadmill overnight. I like them. They couldn't care less about me. It works.

So anyway, today there I was, anger-sweating my way through another tedious workout. I got to the part where I hole up in a corner of the workout room to pretend to do abs, but really just kind of roll around on those giant balls. I had my ear buds in, and I was listening to some of the fantastically explicit rap that is the only reason I get through a workout. I was halfway through one of the raunchiest songs I downloaded while hiding under my bed, fearful that my parents would somehow show up and ground me. I was really into it, shaking my way through a plank when someone tapped me on my shoulder.

I lifted my head and collapsed on the floor to see who had the nerve to approach Angry Pharon at the gym. Surely, I thought, it would be some jerkface with a creepy loose tank top who wanted to tell me that my form was wrong or some nonsense. Instead, I saw this very lovely, older gentleman with a big smile. I smiled back and pressed pause on my music. I pulled out an earbud and asked "Yes?"

He said "That's some loud music you got there."

I almost slipped into my adolescent rebellious phase and snapped "SO WHAT?!" But instead I said "Uh, maybe. Sorry."

He said "Seems to really get you pumped up though! What is it?"

Could I explain to this sweet man that my ears were being pounded with enough f-bombs, racial slurs and sexual innuendo to make his mustache fall off? The name of the song itself has a word in it that I won't even say when I'm singing along by myself in the car.

Instead, I said "Oh, I don't know. It's just on the radio." Crap. Does he know that I don't have radio on my phone? I kept fumbling, "Um, I mean. I don't know the name of the song. Just a lot of noise, I guess. Haha." He looked a little deflated and said "Well, have fun!"

I felt pretty bad about lying to the guy, but I knew I'd feel worse if I had told him the truth. But then I decided that I was angry that he made me lie, so I left the gym feeling as angry as when I'd walked in, so it all came full circle.

The Dirty Deets

Okay, so there I was, standing in the floor cleaning aisle at Target. I know my floors are dirty. I mean, not like VISIBLY dirty, I don't think, but I know they are dirty. I mean, I've never washed them and my lease is almost up, so my guess is that they are not the cleanest. And sometimes I'll drop a noodle on the floor and still eat it, so really I need to clean them.

I got my lease renewal reminder in the mail this weekend. I have lived in this tiny oasis for about 10 months now and it made me realize a few things. 1) I still have boxes unpacked under my bed. 2) I still am not quite sure how my heating and air conditioning works. 3) I've never ever washed the wood floors that drew me in to this place in the first place.

I've SWEPT my floors. Like obsessively. They get super dusty because I also never dust, so I'll spend a lot of time sweeping balls of dust from underneath my sofa and behind my book case. And shockingly, there's a lot of dust built up in and around my oven/stove area so I get that spot as well. But washing the floors is something that Claire used to do in her house, and something that no one used to do in the house I lived in before that. (Hmm, I had mice in that house, but not in Claire's. Coincidence?) I guess I never got used to doing it.

But yeah, so there I was in the floor cleaning aisle at Target. I had some delicious Greek frozen yogurt in my basket, so time was of the essence. Um, there were too many choices. I consulted my apartment move-in packet before heading out to the store, and they recommended some fancy-shmancy brand name stuff I'd never heard of. All I wanted was a mop that was self-powered and self-cleaning. How was I supposed to know that I needed to find some special solution that works on whatever fake wood is passing as hardwood in my apartment? (Note: The wood is NOT "hard" wood...I dropped my keys on the floor once and they made a dent. Quality.)

Anyways, I found a suitable stick with wet pads on the end of it with which to clean my floor and wondered it this was the mop to bring home with me. Could it handle me? Would it tattle to the tabloids about the dirt it finds under my craft cart? The two women (sorry, I know it's stereotypical, but I can't change the facts) who came barreling into the aisle while I was looking came and went in the blink of an eye and I knew I was over thinking it. I plucked a stick dealie from the display with confidence. Then I looked and the stick dealie was 30-frickin-bucks! WHAT?! It was nothing but a rod that you'd stick wet pads to! I could make that with a curtain rod and the roll of paper towels that fell in the kitchen sink earlier this week.

Then another chick came and went and I decided I was SUPER over thinking it. So I grabbed a less impressive stick thing that was green for $15 and hauled a$$ out of the floor cleaning aisle and back into the welcoming arms of the bread aisle.

The stick thing is still propped up against the wall in my hallway. I knock it over every single time I either walk to/from the kitchen and every time I open or close my front door. So, about 53 times a day, I pick up the crappy, unused green stick, prop it back up and then be all "Ugh, why did I BUY that thing?"

So,whatever. I haven't cleaned my floors yet and my noodles are getting dirtier and dirtier. Oh well, it's still only 35 degrees in Minnesota, so I feel totally justified in putting off my Spring Cleaning until my lease expires and the dirty floor becomes some other shmuck's problem.