Mom's the Word

Okay, this is very, very serious and it is of utmost importance. You have a mission, people. My brother and sister entered this contest for Dairy Queen. They made a commercial, and it was one of 24 chosen to compete in the final contest. You HAVE GOT TO GO VOTE for this video, so they can win...wait for it...a Mini Cooper! Seriously! So, Step One: Go to the video on YouTube. Step Two: Laugh your butts off. Step Three: Follow the link under the video to VOTE FOR THEIR SUBMISSION! (Or you can just click here). Step Four: Share it with all your friends on Facebook by allowing it to post on your wall. They only have one more week to rack up as many votes as possible. They legitimately have the best video, so they def deserve to win! Please go vote every day!!!!

So Mother's Day. I personally had a great Mother's Day, despite not being a mother. My parents and my brother and I met up with my aunts and cousins and grandma to have some brunch to celebrate. And the hostess walked up to each woman and, all cheery-like, asked "Are YOU a mother?!" She got to me and started to hand me the congratulatory carnation, and I said "Nope" and without missing a beat, she spun on her heels and moved on. Well, forgive me for wasting your time, lady... But brunch was lovely. It was fantastic to be together. And big ups to my 93 year-old grandma who got a cell phone from my dad as a gift and actually USED it! Yay! When we were leaving, Perek said to her "Just hit me up on my cell." She definitely lol'd.

The big news, though, was the fact that my dad - he did a GREAT job shopping this Mother's Day! - surprised my mom with a new red Mustang convertible.

The reason why this is so significant is because my mom currently drives this kind of car:

Yeah. So now she finally has a car that isn't the size of a garage for normal sized cars. Her reaction was priceless when my dad brought her outside to meet her new car. She laughed, she screamed, she demanded to know where her VAN was...old habits die hard I guess. (For the record, she's still going to have the van, though Lord only knows why...) So we piled in the new convertible and drove to brunch. It was like 45 degrees. Perek and I were in the back. It was cold. But we got a thumbs up from a dude on a motorcycle, so that made it all very much worth it.

My mom definitely deserved a super fun, all-out Mother's Day. She's a totally bomb mom. She's had five kids and looks better than she did twenty years ago (which is majorly awesome, considering her hubby is a plastic surgeon and she's officially had NO work done. Big time props for that!) She's always supportive, she's funny, she's kind, and overall is a genuine hero of mine. And remembering how nasty I was as a pre-teen (and teenager, and young adult, and adult), I am awed by her ability to not only look past my many indiscretions, but to help me learn from them and become a better person. I feel like the luckiest kid in the world.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom and to all the moms out there who have seen more poopy diapers than anyone really ever should, and who, despite many sleepless nights, still manage to get up and teach their kids to be good people. You are all heroes in my book! Not that I'm looking to follow your lead any time soon, but still. Thanks for all the good work you've done this and every year, Mom! Words can't express how extremely awesome you are. Now, here's my best attempt at some "motherly advice" to my own mother. "You better not let me catch you driving even ONE mile an hour over the speed limit in that hot rod, missy! And don't forget to get oil changes every 3,000 miles. Oh, and I'll probably need to borrow that car to cruise the lakes at some point this summer. Thanks!" I love you, Mom!

Happy Mother's Day!

Same ol', Same ol'

Just another boring day. Doctor's appointment, kickboxing, quick nap. Not much going on today. It IS my grandmaman's birthday today, though! Happy birthday, Grandmaman!!!

I feel like there's something else, though. Something kind of big. Hmmm. OH WAIT! I have another nephew! Finally the day you've all been waiting for! That's right, guys. Without further ado, I present to you: Alec David Christopher!

He is 7lb 15oz, and 21" long. Isn't he dreamy?! (My mom took the opportunity to remind me that, out of her five kids, I was her WORST BIRTH BY FAR! Rude! I was like 9 pounds and like face-up and her longest labor and just generally horrible to deal with...some things never change, amiright? Love you, Mom!) Okay, so MAAAAYBE he looks a lot like other babies, but might I draw your attention to his perfectly shaped noggin' and his cutie pie little nose, and those widdle widdle fingers and toesies?! Now, I've seen babies that look like monkeys when they're born. Or they're all hairy or bald or wrinkly or cone-headed or whatevs. But not Alec. He was perfect. (It's okay, you guys. You can just admit that he's pretty much one of the cutest babies ever.)

Need more proof? Okay, fine.

Yeah, so, he's adorable. I got to the hospital literally TWENTY minutes after he was born and I got pretty emotional when I held him for the first time. He was so handsome and quiet and thoughtful. I fell in love immediately. Also, I could be mistaken, but I'm pretty sure he tried to give me a high five. Such a playa...

Prinna and Chris are doing awesomely. And despite all the commotion around them (there were a total of NINE OTHER people in the hospital room with them), they were cool as cucumbers. I haven't felt that kind of life and energy in one room since we hosted a party for the season finale of Lost at our house. It was so rejuvenating.

Being the baller that I am, I still managed to make it to kickboxing tonight. But after all that lovey dovey happy sappy time, I just didn't have the drive to punch a bag tonight. I wanted to cradle it and make googly eyes at it. German Tony was less than thrilled with my performance tonight. Whatevs. After I explained that I met my new baby nephew for the first time today, he let up on me and asked me to bring him in as soon as he could fit into a boxing glove.

Indulge me, people and sit through one more picture. It's me with Alec and his proud big sisters (I'm sure there will be many, many more pictures to come, don't worry). But this is one of my favorite pics in the bunch:

I couldn't be happier for my sister and brother-in-law. I'm so grateful that I was able to be part of it. Yay for me and my family!

The Crush

Writer's Block, guys. Major, major writer's block. I've started and erased like 3 blogs. The first one was about hating Chris "Rock 'em Sock 'em" Brown. Yeah, like THAT'S news. Then came a blog about whether or not shampoo works like they say it does. I came to my own conclusion that it HAS to otherwise I've wasted a lot of money on "thickening" "smoothing" and "volumizing" nonsense. Still, not exactly page-turning stuff. Finally, the third one started (and quickly ended) with one line: "Can someone please explain the allure of bananas to me?"

I'm off tonight. I'm distracted by all kinds of things, and can't seem to pull together a few intriguing - or even mildly amusing - sentences. What can I say? I'm even watching Dancing with the Stars for the first time EVER trying to get inspired. But besides discovering a newfound girl-crush on Kirstie Alley (she's FUNNY you guys! Seriously! And she can actually do a decent quick-step for a bigger girl which is just icing on the cake she's not allowed to eat anymore), it's been wholly UNinspiring. Background noise.

Sounds like somebody's got a case of the Mondays. I've even decided to tune in to a new This American Life episode on Current TV. I'm obsessed with This American Life. I've listened to pretty much every podcast online. Never heard of it? Well, I urge you to check it out at thisamericanlife.org. Anyways, it's ALWAYS inspiring. Each episode could set me off writing for hours. And now that it's on TV? I was tickled. But for some reason, even Ira Glass leaves me less-than-enthused, which is almost disturbing because I have this really odd crush on him too. Okay, so he can't say his "L's" but he's so interesting and dapper and likable and intelligent and kind. Anyway, I listen to him every week on T.A.L. and when he laughs really hard at something, I'm all "Aw man, I wish I could make Ira laugh like that!" Is that weird? I don't care. He is MY Anderson Cooper (admit it - you like Anderson Cooper! Everyone has a little teeny crush on that silver fox).

Yeah, so I've got nothin'. I'm too excited to meet my nephew tomorrow (Prinna didn't go in to labor, but she's going to be induced in the morning) to think about much else. I've already got a crush on a little baby I've never even met yet. Weird? Probably. Whatevs.

Uh, riiiiiiight. So basically, we've all learned tonight that I have a crushes on Kirstie Alley, Ira Glass, and an unborn baby. All totally normal things. Ugh. Writer's block really makes me admit to things I'd rather not say outloud. Sorry. I'm weird and I'm missing a filter somewhere. (As if to prove my point, I just asked Prinna to get on Skype because she's pretty sure she's having contractions and I want to see it. Seriously? Ugh...I'm awkward.)

Help Wanted

Remember on Thursday when I said "Hopefully I'll have some crazy cute pics to show on Sunday night! And, for your sake, I hope they're of an adorable baby and not me with a green balloon leprechaun hat on"?? Well, without further ado, here you go!

Yeah. No baby. My sister is still preggers. Prinna, my mom, and I walked around shopping at the Mall of America for about 6 hours on Saturday, hoping to walk the baby out of Prinna, but nothin'. I, on the other hand, seem to have given birth to an awesome new green Calvin Klein spring coat, a springy red dress, and like a zillion new shirts and some pants, though (crazy deals at Gap, BTW - just don't go there hoping to NOT do any math. "Buy One Get One" left Prinna and me scratching our heads because there were STILL all these weirdo stipulations and crazy percentages to figure out).

Today was my sister-in-law Leah's birthday. We all had a lovely bday dinner for her at my parents house. Prinna was there with her girls, and I took the opportunity to help Prinna go into labor (she's tried going bowling, acupressure on her feet, and bouncing up and down on a yoga ball, so my tactics were limited.) I tried blackmailing the baby to come out by threatening to dress him up in dresses all the time, I laced Prinna's cracker/cheese combo with a huge heap of spicy red pepper jelly hoping her heartburn would shoot through her and light a fire under that baby. I had my nieces Annabelle and Eve try and talk to the baby and ask him nicely to come on outta there and play with them. NO. BABY.

So, I tried another tactic on my way home from my parents. I swung by Target and loaded up on "prizes" for the baby (and his soon-to-be big sisters) should he decide to make his move. Now I'll sit just back and wait for a phone call.

Still waiting...

In the meantime, I had an impromptu Skype date with my friend Madeline on Friday night. We decided we both need a major vacay - all this planning and waiting for my sister to have a baby is really taking it out of me. Madeline helpfully suggested that we get outta town and go somewhere to drink margaritas by the boatload. So my new project is to find an all-inclusive paradise that is supah cheap. So far, no luck. I'm not giving up, though. I WILL find a place where room service is a given, a place that has either a pool or ocean in which to frolic, no kids, no obnoxious Spring Breakers drinking alcohol for the first time, and, ideally, with swim-up bars. Okay, so maybe I'm a little picky, but whatevs. I'm just a girl who knows what I want. Do you know of a place where we can have all that? Anyone? Bueller?

Help me help you, people. If I get to take a nice little vacation, I'll be all rejuvenated with great vacation stories to tell you. I was thisclose to posting a blog about the cavernous pot holes in Minneapolis, so to save you all from that post, I urge you to help a sister out. (Note: This is not to say I WON'T post the pot hole blog...I'm not that desperate. YET.)

So you guys get to work on planning my vacation, and I'll get back to kickstarting Prinna's labor. We've got a lot of work to do, people, so let's get to it!

What to Expect When Your Sister's Expecting

ZOMG. Okay, so a couple days ago, I asked my super-preggo sister Prinna if I could come over to her house and help her with any final projects before she adds a whole other person to her brood. She’s all “Definitely! Come over on Thursday!” I was all “Super! See you then!”

It is Thursday. And now I’m scared. I’m scared because I’m pretty sure Prinna is going to have her baby WHILE I’m at her house cleaning her refrigerator or something. Here’s how I imagine it’ll go down:

Prinna: Gack! My water just broke!
Pharon: Nasty! [runs maniacally around the house screaming for the Purell]
Prinna: Calm down, Crazy.
Pharon: Boil some water! Get some clean sheets! Someone call the police! Where are your scissors?
Prinna: ............
Pharon: ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod [continues circling room at increasingly high speeds]
Prinna: Riiiiiiight. Yeah, I’m just going to drive mySELF to the hospital, thankyouverymuch.

Needless to say, I’m not exactly “cool under pressure”. Nope. I’m more like a bottle rocket. Set me off, and just watch my tear around a room screaming until I tire myself out. I mean, I’m FINE with the whole prep stage. You know, the organizing, ironing, cleaning, dusting, folding, prepping the wine rack for my sister’s grand return to it, etc. But the second she starts “heee heeee hoooooo”ing, I’m outta there.

She started having contractions as my mom and I were kind of mulling around, getting ready to leave. We stayed around for the next 9 minutes until her second one. She said "This could go on for days, and they're not even that painful yet." So I took that as my cue to hit the road. I did take my opportunity to feel Prinna's ginormous stomach during one of the contractions. It felt like her belly was full of cement. I said "I just don't see how it could hurt that bad." My mom and Prinna laughed their heads off. I said, "What, so it's like bad cramps or something?" And Prinna said "Yeah, it's cramps, but they make you feel like you're going insane. At one point when I was in labor with Annabelle, the epidural guy came in, grabbed my face, and got like 1 inch from my face. He kind of yelled at me 'I'm going to help you. My name is Doctor Something-Or-Other. I have your epidural.' You can't even process anything around you. THAT'S how bad it hurts." I decided it's probably about as bad as any hangover I've ever had. Nah, it can't be THAT bad.

Anyway, so far we are still in the pre-labor stage ("we"? Really? I have no part in this other than to show up and spoil that baby rotten as soon as I see him). Prinna and I both decided that she is GOING TO HAVE THIS BABY TONIGHT. I'm way more freaked out than she is. Prinna was googling "kids football ceiling fans" while she was timing her contractions. I just sat there holding my breath and wondering what I would do if a placenta fell on the floor. My conclusion? Puke and then start crying. But Prinna and my mom were both cool as cucumbers, so I took their lead and decided to start breathing in and out again. I got in my car to come home, and started re-planning my weekend around the inevitable arrival of a new baby.

Hopefully I'll have some crazy cute pics to show on Sunday night! And, for your sake, I hope they're of an adorable baby and not me with a green balloon leprechaun hat on. Maybe both? Let's hope so! Have a great weekend, everyone!

Of Mice and Women

In T-minus 1 hour, Val and Lana will be coming over to enjoy some food, wine, and Kinect. So, I gotta make this a quickie. Luckily, the topic I want to cover is an easy one. My sister Prinna posted the following on her Facebook this afternoon: "Mouse in the house...mouse in the HOUSE...mouse in THE HOUSE...mouse IN THE HOUSE...MOUSE IN THE HOUSE!!!!!"

Her 5 year-old daughter Annabelle saw the devilish creature scamper across the floor, and according to Prinna, was screaming bloody murder for over 15 minutes. I'm with you, Annabelle! I'd be screaming too! In fact, I have discovered the kind of scream inside me that only comes when confronted with pure terror. A bunch of years ago, I came face-to-face with a mouse for the first time, in my first Minneapolis apartment. I screamed like I was being hit by a truck and then took off to spend the night at Claire's house. After that, I employed friends and family members to come to my apartment and check my snap traps and then dispose of the inevitable dead, furry body. I Hate Mice.

When the boys lived here, we had a little mouse "problem" during our first winter. I spotted the first one scurry from the kitchen to what used to be Mitch's room. I convinced myself it was my eyes playing mean ol' tricks on me. A few days later, when I was (mercifully) out of the house, the guys saw a mouse and decided to take care of business. Perek and Geo cornered the little bugger behind a heavy Tupperware container, full of old clothes Perek was going to donate to Goodwill. Slowly, they tilted up one corner of the Tupperware, and when the stupid mouse made a dash for the new space that was created, Perek and Geo smashed the mouse under the Tupperware. Mission: Accomplished.

Then we put out sticky traps. I was enjoying a lovely, calm morning by myself and stood in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to brew. I hear this teeny little "weeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! weeeeeeee!!" and I look around. I saw a mouse - Alive! - stuck to one of the traps and it was screaming. I screamed right back at it and booked it back upstairs to the safety of my bedroom. I stayed up there for 8 hours until Mitch got home and threw the mouse away.

Then came the exterminator. He lined our house in poison and explained that when a mouse comes in, the poison gets on his little paws, and when he licks the poison, his body starts dehydrating. Then the mice, ideally, venture back outside for water and then die. Our mice were stupid and/or lazy though. The first time I found a mouse, he only made it as far as our kitchen rug. But he was still alive. Geo came to the rescue. He had to put it out of his misery, so he reached for my favorite weapon - he knocked the mouse out with an empty wine bottle. Weeks later, as I fell into a false sense of security, I found another mouse, recently deceased, in our living room. At first I thought it was a joke. I texted the boys "Did you guys leave a fake mouse on the floor?" They had not. It was real. And so was the scream that came out of my mouth. I spent another day hidden out in my room until the guys could come home and rescue me.

Suffice it to say, I understood my niece's terror. Annabelle had a couple gems in the wake of the experience. She explained "I just can't get this FEELING out of my head!" and "Mommy, whenever my knee touches something that isn't my body, I think it's a mouse!" Yes, Annabelle, I know exactly what you're talking about.

Finally, my sister was able to coax Annabelle out of the bedroom (the upstairs bedroom) by explaining - wrongly - that mice can't climb stairs, so they were safe on the top floor. Annabelle finally emerged and walked to the top of the stairs. There, on the stair, halfway up to the top floor, was another mouse. Now, not only did Annabelle learn that her mommy is a liar, but she probably will never go down the stairs again without thinking of that mouse. Prinna and her two daughters finally made a mad dash for the safety of my parents house. I think, though, that Prinna first had to bribe her 2 year-old, Eve, to run downstairs and get their shoes and coats. Upon hearing that, I told Prinna "Screw the shoes and coats and just haul a$$ outta there!"

At this moment, I'm sure there are zillions of mice in and around my house. As long as I don't see them, though, I remain blissfully ignorant of their existence.

Happy weekend everyone!!

Notes on a Weekend

I'm totally distracted, yo. Sorry. I'm watching the Oscars, and I'm super pumped about it. A couple notes to the producers of the Oscars. 1) If I cared about old movies that won a certain award in 1980, I would google it and watch THAT years awards show. I have a feeling the show wouldn't constantly go over in time if they stopped "taking a look back". Booooring! 2) Let's 86 the pre-awards show interviews. Ryan Seacrest makes me squirm when he tries to make small talk with the likes of bland ol' Gwenyth Paltrow. Let's just ask 'em what they're wearing, judge them from our couches, and be done with it. I don't care about whether or not motherhood changed someone's outlook on making movies.

Moving on...I finally did my taxes, just like a real, live grown up! Got me some money too. Thanks, Government! Here are a couple notes to the writers of tax forms: Me no understandy many of your wordy things. I've been doing my own taxes for as long as I've been paying them. Back when I picked up my first 1040EZ form, my dad made me learn how to do my own. It's a good lesson, I guess. I don't own anything, or go to school, or anything crazy like that, so my taxes are still pretty simple. But I wish whoever is writing these tax questions was a little more straight forward. It took a couple readings before I understood to answer "No, I didn't win the lottery or a game show this year". Sheesh. I'd like to thank Google and the handy little "HELP" icons on the taxact.com website for helping me get through my taxes every year.

On Saturday I got a little crazy. It was my aunt Karen's 70th birthday. To celebrate, I joined some of the other women in my family and went to learn how to belly dance. It was great, and so much fun. We went to this rec center place and there was a ton of food, a henna artist, a bunch of my aunt's friends and fellow belly dancing enthusiasts, jingly jangly skirty things that we wore over our jeans, and a belly dancing instructor. Note on belly dancing: It is MUCH harder than it looks. At one point, both my cousin and I had side aches. I sweated. I made the jingly jangly skirt shake and ring, so I thought I was getting the hang of it. Then I saw myself in the mirror. My body was just NOT doing the same thing as the instructor's. I looked like a crazy person. Note to self: Never EVER do any belly dancing in public.

Later on Saturday, Kim brought her Kinect over and we spent the night playing Dance Central - which, annoyingly, I had to actually BUY because Blockbuster is the worst place ever. "Well, you can't RENT games here, but we can MAIL it to you." After hearing that, I told the guy "Um, that's probably the least convenient solution ever, since, you know, you guys are a rental place." Anyway, I digress. Luckily, there were no belly dancing moves involved. But Note to everyone: Dance Central is the bombest game ever. Kim was hesitant at first and wasn't sure she'd get into it, but we had an excellent time dancing our butts off all night long. Sure, it could have had a lot to do with the rum and diet Coke's we were pounding all night, but I doubt it.

Finally, today I picked up Geo from the airport and listened patiently as he regaled me with tales from his trip to exotic Alabama. Okay, so it was 70 degrees there while it snowed all freakin' weekend here, big whoop! And yeah, I guess the malls sound really cool there. But whatever. After listening to a long story about what "ROLL TIDE" means, I was relieved when Geo finally suggested going out for a good ol' Minnesota food staple: Juicy Lucy burgers. Zummy zummy zummy. Note to my body: Sorry about all the dark liquor and caffeine on Saturday night, followed almost immediately by shoveling down a delicious, greasy burger with salty French fries. But it just couldn't be helped.

Notes on the entire weekend: Solid performance. One suggestion, though. You were far too short. Let's work on that.

Chef Boyarduhhhhs

Ooof, I've failed again. I brought my laundry over to my parents house AGAIN to get a little caught up in the "clean clothes" arena. I've straight up decided that I can't NOT do it though. It's so easy. It's so mouse-less. Plus, I like the way my parent's laundry room smells. So fresh, so clean, so lacking of moldy onions (our neighbors keep a bucket o' onions in the basement. It's like they're TRYING to to raise stinky-breathed mice).

I went over there tonight to pick up a form I'll need to file my taxes, but they haven't sent it yet. [Blogger Edit: I'm NOT waiting for the actual tax form, as many of you assumed, because it's 2011 and I do my taxes online.] Allow me to quote the infamous Stephanie Tanner here: HOW RUDE! It's FEBRUARY, people! Some of us who use the whole taxy thingy as our own little savings account need to FILE taxes so we can GET OUR MONEY BACK. I pride myself on filing my taxes every January. But noooooo, not this year. Now I have to wait until God-knows-when for one stupid form. Foiled again, American Tax System.

Anyway, so I hung out and had dinner with my sister Prinna and one of her daughters, Eve (in case you were wondering, yes, Eve is the best child in the world. Better than any child you ever were, or have, or could imagine. Sorry to break the news to you.) We decided to try and make dinner. Prinna and I have the same level of cooking skills (read: none) so making dinner together was, uh, interesting. Me: "Uh oh. The recipe calls for 1 1/2 pounds of broccoli. The bag says 12 oz. Is that the same?" Prinna: "I dunno. Probably. Also, are onions the same as garlic?" Me: "What do I look like? Betty Crocker?" When Prinna suggested going "off-recipe" and adding red pepper flakes to our broccoli, I was really scared. But we both shrieked when we read the notes on the recipe and it said you could, in fact, ADD RED PEPPER FLAKES for more spice! Prinna had gone all rogue, and it turns out, she was right. Touche, Julia Child.

I like making dinner with Prinna. She's funny, she's smart, and she appreciates a good ol' fashioned swear word every now and then. But more importantly, we both suck at cooking, and neither one of us cares. I'm frequently with people who either LIKE cooking or KNOW HOW TO DO IT. People who stare into a food cupboard and make up a meal in their head. People who know when something is missing, or something's too salty. People who know what "broil" means. It's frustrating. I hate being so willfully ignorant about cooking. I'm psycho about timers, I measure every single ingredient, and I will follow a recipe down to the letter even if it means ruining the meal. That chicken looks done? Well, the recipe says it shouldn't be done for 15 more minutes, so I'm going to leave it on. Wait, what's that burning smell? Crap, what's the number for Pizza Luce?

On nights like tonight, when I'm making food with someone who is my equal, I have way more fun. No pressure. No expectations. No superior knowledge that garlic and onions are not interchangeable. It's refreshing. When we were finally done making the food, we sat down and ate. Technically, it could have been a subpar meal, but we'd never know it. It was delicious. I guess two heads ARE better than one. Especially when the combined culinary knowledge of the two heads equals about one teenager taking Home Ec.

I'm pretty sure I'll never be good at cooking. I don't really care. I know how to make pasta and bagels and roasted broccoli, and that's like 90% of my diet, so I'm set. Plus, as soon as I can find person who can write a decent recipe for idiots like me, I'll be just fine. I'm also kind of assuming that food will start to be made available in pill form sometime in the near future, so what good will cooking be then? Answer: No Good.

Happy Anniversary of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre!

Well, well, well. Here it is Valentine's Day, and this girl's got plans. Even though I've been dating someone on Valentine's Day for a number of years, I've never had the desire to really DO anything that exciting for it. Sure, a girl loves eating chocolate, but I hardly need an actual HOLIDAY to indulge. But this year, I forced this celebrated day of love into mine and Geo's schedules. Sweet, sweet, love.

I came home from work today to this, though:

Awwww! What an awesome boyfriend I have!

So, Geo and I are going to dinner. When I started nagging him about it last week, I don't think Geo was exactly stoked about it, but it turns out he's not as opposed to it as most guys. He recommended a dinner spot that would have cost more than my car insurance bill, so I could at least tell he didn't hate me for wanting to go out. We settled on a happy medium of good food/not going into debt for a meal. I even went out this weekend and bought a dress - an actual DRESS! - that I didn't even try on, so I can only guess that it will look fabulous. I also spent all day Sunday hunting for a Valentine's Day present (yes, it was very last minute, lay off me).  I ended up waaaay outside my comfort zone. I was the only chick to enter Golfsmith on a Sunday, and walked out after getting LOTS of help picking out white golf club grips. Nothing says "romance" like the purchase of a gift that will ensure we spend at least a few hours apart every week.

This fine day is also my anniversary of being friends with Kim. About ten years ago, Kim and I got together for the first time and threw an Anti-Valentine's Day party. We drew black hearts all over the place, bought V-Day decorations and ceremoniously cut them up, blacked out Cupid's teeth, and just celebrated hating this wretched day with friends. It was crazy fun. It was more fun hating the day than celebrating it.

It hasn't always been like that, though. I LOVED Valentine's Day when I was a kid. My mom would plan a nice dinner for all of us rugrats, and after soccer practice or band rehearsal, we'd all finally enjoy a great dinner together. We'd get to the table and my mom had always set the table with heart-shaped box of chocolates on each of our plates, and a little gift too. I think it was the only time of year I looked forward to getting new pajamas. And then we'd eat, and show each other our gifts and trade chocolates. I always LOVED that. I guess that's why I've always associated Valentine's Day with family, moreso than romance. Thus, the historical lack of forced romantic plans.

Even when Geo and I had our first Valentine's Day together, it couldn't have been more appropriately romance-less. Perek's girlfriend was out of town for the weekend, so Perek was flying solo.  Geo and Perek went and bought lobsters for each of us. Giant, live lobsters. Perek set his lobster on the ground and we watched it crawl around our kitchen. Hilarious. Then they killed the lobsters and they were deeeelicious. Geo and I brought our food upstairs to the office and enjoyed a "romantic" dinner there while Perek was downstairs. We opened our lobsters with wrenches. Yes, as in: actual monkey wrenches. Then we all regrouped and spent the rest of the night watching TV and playing a drinking game that consisted of tossing cards into a bowl across the room. Be Mine indeed.

So I don't know why I suddenly got the urge to be all sugary and sweet and romantic. It kind of came out of nowhere. Maybe it's the Spring-like weather outside, but I'm in the mood for some love. Or at least a fancy schmancy dinner while I play dress-up in a new dress.  And maybe it's the fact that I've been really trying to up my game this year when it comes to feminizing myself.  All the make-up and brushing of my hair must have shook something loose in my brain:  High Maintenance Girl Behavior.  Careful what you wish for, men...

On that note, I hope you have a wonderful Valentine's Day. And whether you're cutting up Cupids, or eating lobster with your friends, or sitting on the same side of a restaurant table with your lover (that's really annoying to everyone around you, by the way) exchanging "I love you's", or not doing anything at all, I hope you guys have a loverly Valentine's Day!

XOXOXOXO dudes!

I'm Not a Businessman, I'm a BUSINESS, MAN!

I talked to my friend Madeline today (Yay! She has a new blog! Check it out: Reckless Reading) and we came up with a business plan. We're going to make something and then we're going to sell that something. I'm not going to say what it is, because I don't want you thieves to steal our idea. Also, we're stealing the idea from someone else, and I'm not prepared to deal with any legal ramifications just yet. But the point is, we've got a plan and we're going to do it and then we're going to make a zillion dollars. I will say that it involves a lot of crafting, and everyone knows I'm crafty.

Anyway, mere minutes after figuring this out with Madeline, I got an email from my dad. It was a link to an article about 10 people who made a million dollars by the time they were 25 - like, say, Mark Zuckerberg. Well, Dad, I hate to break it to you, but despite my youthful glow and my affinity for using adolescent slang, I am not 25. I missed that Millionaire Mark, and by quite a ways. But my dad, God love him, is insistent that at least one of his kids becomes an overnight millionaire. None of us is sure exactly why, but in my case, I'm sure it has everything to do my English degree and lack of a savings account.

Around Christmas, my dad wanted us kids to make a viral video. There wasn't really a concrete IDEA or CONCEPT, but he just wanted us to put our minds together and come up with the next "hide ya kids, hide ya wife" video and cash in. Needless to say, we didn't do it. We're not exactly "viral" material. Plus, can you even MAKE MONEY on those videos? I kind of doubt it. But to my dad's credit, seriously how hard could it be to make a video like this: Annoying Orange.

See, here's where my dad and I go our separate ways. First of all, he's hopelessly optimistic in the abilities of his kids, whereas I'm surprised if I remember to brush my teeth at night. My dad sees something good and thinks "Why couldn't we do that?" whereas I think "This could be cooler if I had a vodka tonic". My dad DOES things. I, on the other hand, need someone to tell me exactly what to do, and then I do it and the results are average. Sure I have my creative moments, but my talents are solely in writing snarky comments about celebrities and my sub-par grooming habits.

Example: I had a poster I stole from my dad found in college, of the iconic Farrah Fawcett. I love that poster. I wanted to hang it up, but I didn't have a frame. So I cut the cardboard out of a huge moving box and Scotch taped mounted the poster on top of the cardboard. Voila! Acceptable. My DAD, on the other hand is quite the opposite. My mom saw a big piece of geometric art in a Pottery Barn catalog. She loved it, and she wanted it. My dad was all "Uh, it's like $450,000,000,000. And it looks like something I could make." My mom called his bluff. So what did he do? He went out and bought paint and supplies and recreated the whole damn thing. It was an incredibly accurate reproduction - like, freaky good. See? He can DO those kinds of things. He recreates works of art, I mount posters onto cracked cardboard with tape.

I have yet to start a business, or film a wildly viral video, or start Facebook. I do take the opportunity whenever possible, to remind my dad that I write a blog like, every night! Still he sends me these emails, with encouragement like "Go check out what this person did on $20 and a dream" and then say something like "Why couldn't WE do something like this?" And I'm all "But Dad, my blog...it's like, sooooooooo important!" and he's all, "I just don't get how you're going to make a million dollars with it, though."

Despite my less-than-desirable skill set when it comes to businessing (it's a word), my dad continues to have an unshakable faith in me that I can start (or help start) the next Google. I mean I can't do math, I lose interest in things quickly, and my knowledge of economics and other abstract concepts is, uh, nil. But I CAN come up with punny product names. If anything, I've got a shot at NAMING the next million dollar idea. Maybe that's what I need to do. That'll be my business. You come in with your fancy idea or product, and I'll tap my chin, lean back in my chair, and say something genius. You have an innovative knife sharpener? Blade Runner. Boom. Give me a million dollars. (Okay, so that's a horrible example, but I'm not going print my best ideas on here! I'm savin' 'em up to cash in at the patent office!)

Well, luckily Madeline is a vicious go-getter who has no patience for slacking, so the above mentioned business we're going to start is sure to be a success. I mean, IF we start it. Sorry, Madeline, but I kind of have a history of flaking once an idea has lost its luster. Just ask my dad.

Good as Gold

Did anyone know that Christian Bale wasn’t American? I did not. I just listened to his acceptance speech on the Golden Globes, and I was all “Who is that strange bearded man with that British accent? Oh, wowza. It’s Batman.” Anyway, I’m decompressing, getting my awards show fix, after just the loveliest weekend. Friday night lasted until about 4 a.m. I haven’t been up that late in too long. I went for game night at Claire’s house after work, and then I wrongly assumed I’d be going home to a quiet, boring night home. Instead, I spent 5 hours playing Xbox Kinect with Geo, his friend Guam, and Perek. Three boys + 1 girl + lots of beer + Xbox Kinect Dance Games = waaaaaaay too much fun. So much fun, in fact, that I’ve adjusted my financial plan for the immediate future. I will be selling my Wii, with which I’ve had many great times, and buying the Kinect. And the dance games. If you’ve ever played them, you’ll know why. And when I bust out a Double Dig ‘Em at the next wedding I attend, you’ll DEFINITELY understand.

So then on Saturday, I saw Black Swan with Geo. Holy crazy movie, Batman! It was an awesome movie, but I definitely had to cover my eyes a number of times. I hate feet, and I did not expect a movie about crazy ballerinas to focus so heavily on disfigured foot images. Gaaaa-ross. But, it’s a great movie. Def go see it. Then we got home and actually watched Saturday Night Live for the first time in, oh I don’t know, how long has it been since Adam Sandler was on? I was just really relieved to know I was not alone, when after checking Facebook all night, I saw an awful lot of rad people talking about SNL. Maybe it’s the cool thing to stay in on Saturday night now. If so, I’m definitely an early adopter. But, if not, then it was totally a fluke and it’ll never again.

Golden Globes Update: Yay! Gemma (Katey Sagal) from Sons of Anarchy just won for Best Supporting Actress in a TV Show - Drama. Yay! Love that show. It’s sadly underrated, and truly an incredible show. Watch it, if you aren’t already.

And today the Farkle Family went bowling. I don’t exactly know WHY we went bowling, we’re more the sit-around-and-drink-wine-and-make-fun-of-each-other types, but it was my mom’s birthday, and we were feeling a little sassy. Quick side note: As I was getting ready, I commented quietly to myself that I needed a haircut. Geo piped in and said “Yeah, and you need to paint your nails.” Ladies, don’t ever complain about a guy NOT noticing something about you. It’s when they start noticing little things like that that you feel like punching them.

Anyway, bowling was fun. My parents, Prinna and her family, Peter and his wife Nicole (who, by the way just announced she’s pregnant! Yay! Congrats Peter and Nicole!), Perek and his wife Leah, and Geo and I all went and tossed some big balls around. I ALWAYS forget that I’m really bad at bowling. I keep, like, just ASSUMING I’m good and I get there and bowl a 42. I nearly got beat by my 5 year-old niece. Plus, my thumb really hurts now. God, life is hard sometimes.

Golden Globes Update: Um, Justin Bieber? Really? He’s presenting an award and, uh, looks GOOD. Dapper, almost. His usually gross hair looks, well, GOOD. He actually looks like a boy I’d have a crush on in 6th grade and maybe kiss his poster at night, and not some shlub plucked out of an Aeropostale store. Fine, okay, I get the appeal.

Needless to say, my so-called “diet” went straight out the window this weekend, though. Friday night, my “dinner” was 3 slices of pizza at 3 a.m. and lunch/dinner today was a pepper jack cheeseburger (with jalapenos, obvs) and fries. Oh, and a very healthy-sized slice of red velvet cake. Watching all these women on the Golden Globes right now (oh, and the freaky-skinny Natalie Portman in Black Swan) is making me seriously consider introducing a little bulimia in my life.

I hate the end of weekends. It’s like, okay, “I hope you had your fun, missy, because it’s over.” It’s so much pressure, sometimes. And how sad is it that I’m starting to rate my weekends based on number of naps achieved?! I’m getting old. I joked to Geo that our house felt so cold because I’m old and my skin is getting thin. He laughed, and again suggested I get to work taking care of my nails.

Golden Globes Final Update: Could I love Natalie Portman any more? No. I could not. I adore her. I want to be her. She’s not the best public speaker, but I love her, and I’m super glad I saw her award-winning movie this weekend, disfigured feet and all. Lovely. She’s great. Please don’t go crazy or get cheated on in epic proportions. You’re fabulous.

Okay, in closing, here’s my little Golden Globes-ish speech for this weekend. I want to thank my mom for having a birthday, my family for making bowling even more fun than making fun of people who go bowling, Geo for keeping me grounded and focused when it comes to maintaining my personal hygiene, Xbox Kinect for bringing friends together and reminding me that I’m very good at dancing when everyone around me is drunk, and finally, thanks to Hollywood for making me realize all my dreams could come true with diamonds and a well-balanced diet of burgers and bulimia.

Oh, Brother

You guys have no idea how close I am to calling Stacy in for this one. I. Am. Pooped. For the past couple nights, I have not slept well at all, and I just polished off a big burger, fries and scoop of vanilla sundae at dinner. I'm basically comatose. But, we must press on, folks. We must.

After one of the world's longest hump days at work, I went and had some din-din with my family at Hazeltine. What's the occasion, you ask? Tonight officially kicks of the "Month of Too Many Birthdays" in my family. We've got, at my last count, 6 birthdays in a month. Tonight was Perek's birthday (HBD, Bro!) so we kicked off the Birthday Season in style.

We were all sitting there, digesting the nummy food, when Perek pointed towards the melting ice cream in front of him. "What did we used to call that?" he asked. I got this big grin on my face and said "Mmm. Snake Soup." He and I would build forts and sit in there with big bowls of ice cream, and stir it and stir it until the ice cream totally melted. We'd add "goat's eyeballs" and "tongue of newt" and then slurp it up. Gross. Plus, hello Dummies? We didn't even put SNAKE in Snake Soup. Idiots.

Anyway, that particular memory prompted me to recall many other joyous and possibly life-scarring memories about him and me growing up.

* We used to have one of those arcade basketball games in our basement - you know, the ones with two baskets, and you shoot baskets for like 45 seconds or something. Anyway, Perek was like 12, and was in the basement shootin' hoops. Alone. I crept down the stairs, snuck around the corner, jumped out behind him and screamed "BOOOOOOOO!" He screamed bloody murder, collapsed to the ground, cried, and basically hyperventilated for a minute. I haven't laughed that hard in a very long time.

* My sisters taught Perek the wrong colors growing up. We also gave him erroneous pronunciations of words like Japan.

* He used to not eat food if anyone "breathed on it". Once we discovered that, we'd blow all over his food and laugh and laugh and laugh while he'd cry and refuse to eat.

* The most well-known quote in my family was "They're just jealous." My mom would say that to Perek anytime we'd pick on him, which was daily. When we made fun of him for having a near-life-size poster of himself playing soccer in his own room, my mom hugged him to her and said "Oh Perek, they're just jealous". And that twerp would fake cry and stick his tongue out at us.

* Kids in the 80's were so much tougher than kids today. Perek and I would put on our "sleepers" - those awesomely frictiony footie pajamas - and shoot down our staircase on our butts. We'd skid down the stairs (which were only carpeted in the middle of each step) at light speed. And besides the wall, the only things keeping us "safe" were the precariously sharp wrought-iron banisters lining one side. The sliding was very fun. The smashing into the banister was NOT fun.

* Do you guys remember the music in the Sega game Sonic? AWESOME. We'd play the game and every once in awhile, something in the wordless music just made us blurt out a line and we'd write songs based on that first, impetuous line. The lines made no sense together, but somehow the words came to us like they just FIT. When we were at Geo's cabin a few months ago, Perek and flipped on Sonic to see if we could remember any words. The ones we remembered were gems such as "Must have been some magic.....must have been some magic in that old silk hat they found", "duh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh nuh, we'll take the freeway up!" and "ba ba da ba ba da ba What are we gonna dooooo?" What? Horrible lyrics. I hope I can remember them forever though.

It was never dull growing up in a house with so many kids, but Perek was the ONLY one I could, like, preside over because he is the only one younger than me. And I would like to think I took that responsibility seriously. Okay, so YES, he's younger than me and he's married and a home owner way before I am, but that doesn't matter. I will always be the one who reminds him, in public, that he didn't wear jeans until he was 15 AND I was the one who urged him to get his first "cool kid haircut". Yeah, you're welcome, bro ham. Happy Birthday, Perek!

The Red and Green Blues

Well, I hope you guys had a magical, surprising, loving, joyful Christmas like I did. But does anyone else get the post-Christmas blues? I just got home from spending like 2 1/2 days with my ginormous family, and here I’m back at my house just, like, taskless. For over a month, I spent so much time thinking of gifts (for 15 people), researching gifts, buying gifts, returning gifts, finding an outfit suitable of being both festive and elastic-y to cushion all the holiday foods, and now it’s just…over. I hauled all my gifts home tonight, and I dug through them to enjoy some of them immediately. Just trying to stretch out the feeling, I guess. I’ve got my new boots on from Geo, I’m guzzling sipping the holiday wine my brother-in-law Ben made (zummy! It’s one of my favorite wines!) from a Kate Spade mug Prinna gave me, taking random pictures of nothing with my new camera from my parents, and I just kind of keep going through everything. I just got them yesterday, and it’s like they’re already keepsakes.

Sometimes it’s hard to take it all in when it’s happening, you know? I remember hearing somewhere that if you spend too much time trying to, like, take pictures or videos of an event, you won’t remember it as well as just living it, you know? So I really tried to focus during Christmas. I wanted to make sure I saw everyone open their gifts from me, but there’s always a LOT going on. It’s like trying to watch one snowflake fall in a snow globe.

It was a stupid great Christmas this year, though. Added Bonus: I think I burned approximately 16 bazillion calories yesterday from playing Just Dance for Wii NONSTOP. I have GOT to buy that game. My parents got it for Christmas, and it is quite possibly the greatest game ever. At one point, there were 7 of us all dancing to Toxic. Seriously, it was too fun. I was actually sore today. Besides that, my parents house was just full of people, kids, noise, Christmas tree-scented candles, and wrapping paper stuck to everything. It was pure bliss.

Then today, people packed up their stuff, put it all in their cars, and drove it all away. Ever since I was little, my parents have preferred that we simply stack our stuff up and NOT put it away for a few days so they can actually SEE everything. It’s the only time they want a messy house. I now totally understand that. I was so busy opening my awesome gifts that I didn’t see Prinna’s awesome gifts. And Peter and Perek both had to swoop theirs away before I saw most of their stuff too.

But now all my gifts are set out on my dining room table. I just keep going over there and looking at different things. I’m going through holiday-cheer withdrawal. I want to just curl up under a tree skirt, pop in some Manheim Steamroller, and huff a combination of peppermint, cinnamon and egg nog. I’ve gone crazy with Christmas nostalgia. If I were the creative type, I’d make a scrapbook of my Christmas 2010 memories. I would dry my tears with candy cane wrapping paper, and compulsively fondle the glittery tree ornaments and tinsel. I’ve seriously considered replacing all the light bulbs in our house with strands of colorful Christmas lights.

Does this happen to anyone else? Do you guys get bummed after the Christmas party has come and gone? Or am I alone here? What do you guys do when a big day has…ended? You know how you plan and plan and plan and look forward to, say, a vacation, and then you get home and go back to work and life is all normal again? It sucks, yo. I’m still craving online shopping and gift wrapping. I want to wrap everything back up and make everyone do it all over again. One thing’s for sure, though. I’m going out and getting Just Dance and will try and dance away my blues.

Sweet Tooth

If I ever see sugar again, it will be too soon. Like, way way way too soon. I spent over 7 hours baking cookies today with Prinna and my mom. We always start all gung-ho crazy, and about halfway through, we really start hurtin'. Quality suffered. We slowed down. But eventually we finished, and we're pretty proud of the results. Without further ado, here's a photo journal of what we accomplished today.









Then I got a little crazy. I spent an obscene amount of time making "couples" with the gingerbread men. Prinna was about to toss me and my "couples" out the window, because while I dawdled away placing each little piece of sprinkle hair on one-by-one, there were literally hundreds more to decorate. But, behold! The adorable results!

Geo and Me


Prinna and Chris


My mom and dad - look! He has a little stethoscope on, and my mom has reading glasses on her head!

So, I think we did a pretty kick-butt job. We divvied out all the cookies and we each took home a thief's ransom in sugar. I almost dumped mine off our balcony though. I couldn't look at them anymore. Plus, I don't need anymore sugar - I'm sweet enough as it is. ZING! But, I kept them and I'm sure my roommates will have no trouble eating them. Meanwhile, this is the carnage that remained after all the cookies were packaged up.

Emoticon

What day is this? With my sleeping in, enjoying a leisurely breakfast with friends, and movie-watching today, I would have guessed it was a Saturday. So far, I’m definitely loving this whole staycation thing. I should do it more often. No stressful traveling, no packing, no dealing with crappy strangers. I’m home and I’m loving it.

I spent a lot of time today being sentimental, though. Emoting, if you will. Today would have been my niece Sophia’s fourth birthday, but she passed away from SIDS a few years ago. But every year on her birthday I think about her, and kind of count my blessings. I turn into a daylong Hallmark card. I definitely don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. Typically, I’m a cold, unfeeling, robot with little interest in being mushy.

I watched Marley and Me yesterday and didn’t cry. Not one single tear. I prefer killing the mice in my house to catching them and releasing them. I find it hard to sympathize with people with food allergies. I don’t let cars in front of me in traffic. I don’t trust people who volunteer too much, I don’t like to eat or shop locally, I won’t Start Seeing Motorcycles, and I think bad thoughts about people who stand too close to me at the bus stop. Also, I will never be a “mommy” to a pet.

But today, I’m a bundle of actual emotions - emotions that aren’t used to describe patients in a mental ward. I put on my softest pajama pants and spent a lot of time writing about the people I love. It felt pretty good. Despite the fact that this day is definitely a tough one, I couldn’t help but look up in the sky at the stars tonight and think about how lucky I am. I didn’t even shake my fist at the wintry blast stinging my face, or laugh at the bicyclist who nearly fell over because he was trying to BIKE through the SNOW.

I probably shouldn’t ball up all the good, mushy feelings for so long. I could give myself an ulcer. And if I’m not careful, I’m doomed to become a bonafide Grinch. It really shouldn’t be a rarity that I take the time to really appreciate the people I have in my life, and tell them I love them every once in awhile. I mean, it’s not like it makes me a bad person to be nice to others more often.

So today I’m mushy. I’m a marshmallow filled with clouds blowing bubbles. My Facebook status encouraged everyone to hug the people they love today. In the midst of all my cynicism and smack talking, I’m just going to use this day to prove that not only am I human, but we are ALL capable of these very real emotions and should embrace them. Don’t be afraid to pop in Armageddon and have a good cry, or be nice to a bad waitress, or admit you're wrong and apologize to someone, or just give your mangy dog a big, slobbery kiss. In the meantime, I’m going to sincerely wish you guys a great night. Tomorrow, though, it’ll be back to our regularly scheduled insults and unabashed cynicism.

Blogger Note: I haven’t gotten a chance to make it through all your Lifetime Movie Story Submissions yet. Turns out, people are pretty busy around the holidays, including yours truly. So you still have time to craft the perfect story. I’ll be declaring the winner in the new year! Get pumped, people…

Wicked! Grindahs and Cowfee? No suh!

All I wanted to eat for dinner tonight was comfort food. It’s cold, it’s dark out, it’s the perfect night for a childhood favorite: a Peanut Butter and Mayonnaise sandwich. Please try and control your gag reflexes. It’s delicious, people. I suggest you try it. Unfortunately, I opted for a healthier option without so much, uh how do I say this? Oh, FAT. But the dinner debacle left me wanting the comfort of a home-cooked peanut butter sandwich. Lamely enough, even if I WERE to go home to my parents and sit waiting for my sandwich and pint glass of milk, I’d be waiting for days. My mom is out of town. How could she LEAVE me like that?! Geez! Rude, I know. Well, she went back out East to visit some of her sisters. They grew up in Rhode Island, and so they are probably just sitting around, talking about pahking cahs and ahrange scissahs and pockabooks.

Hearing my mom tell stories about growing up in Rhode Island is both hilarious and a little sad sometimes. One of the gems my whole family loves is that my mom didn’t have a pillow until she married my dad. Zing! We think it’s funny, my mom thinks it’s totally normal. My mom has six sisters and one brother. Catholics…. They all talk the same, laugh the same, and are like 8 mini clones of each other. They’re all still pretty tight, which is impressive. Every year, they have a Christmas Ornament Exchange where they slap some seashells and glitter on stuff and hand them out to each other to hang on their respective trees. Usually, the East Coasters have to mail a box of ornaments to my mom, but this year my mom brought HER party to THE party. So that’s where my mom is. THAT’S why I shall have no PB&M tonight.

Like I was saying, though, my mom has some awesome childhood stories. She always prefaces stories with, “Now, you have to remember it was a different time.” And then we’ll be watching a random movie, and she’ll sigh and say something like “I had a dresser like that growing up. My sisters and I all shared it. We each had our very own drawer.” Then my siblings and I will laugh and laugh. And she has her very own version of “Walking to school in 3-foot snow, uphill both ways.” When I complain about only having 3 pairs of red strappy sandals, she’ll say “I only had one pair of shoes growing up. Then I’d hand them down to Caroline when they got too small.” I know it’s supposed to make me be less materialistic, but instead it reminds me that I need a good pair of walkin’ shoes.

So her East coast side of the family comes to visit us here every once in awhile. And growing up, my whole family used to drive cross-country to their beach house in Rhode Island. All day every day, one aunt or another would come buzzing into the beach house with huge ideas of fashion shows and carnivals to entertain us kids. They’d dress up like Big Bird and Cookie Monster. They’d sing songs and tell us stories while we dug through boxes of costume jewels having a mosaic-making contest. They created these alternate universes for us to get lost in. They’re all fabulous and fun and awesome. And my grandmaman had this wicked old-school convertible that she’d drive us around in it to get Awful Awfuls. (They’re delicious delicious.)

Lest you forget, though, my mom is totally awesome. And now that everyone is aware that my mom and her siblings are high-functioning, well-adjusted, and responsible members of society, I won’t feel so bad about telling you for a treat, my mom would eat bread with butter that was slapped into a sugar bowl, or that in the Catholic school my mom attended, they tried to force my mom to be right-handed - apparently the devil himself is left handed. Or the fact that all around the neighborhood, kids would graffiti “FOT” in huge letters. It meant Fart. Who tags a wall with “FART?!” And misspells it?! Rhode Islanders, that’s who.

And despite all that, or maybe BECAUSE of all that, my mom still went back to Rhode Island to see her family. I’m sure my kids are going to think I was living in destitution as a child because I didn’t have a cell phone until high school. Or that I prefer eating PB&Ms instead of sushi or macaroni in a pill or whatever. Crappy kids…

Well, enjoy the weekend everyone! Hope all yoh cayahs disappeah…

Happy Stanksgiving!

Oh Thanksgiving…a day to give thanks by shoving your face with turkey and gravy and potatoes and pie then taking a nice long nap on the floor. Just like the pilgrims did. I’m sure we’ve all got lots of things to be thankful for. Family, friends, and the love we share. But I feel kind of bad, you guys. I mean, lots of things get overlooked on this fine, festive holiday. Pilgrims and Native Americans didn’t know what they were missing when they sat around in a cornfield and gave thanks for buffalo or polio blankets or whatever. So, here’s just a quick list of things I’m thankful for that got overlooked at the First Thanksgiving.

* TMZ for all the news I need to know
* Automatic car starters in Minnesota winters
* Texting
* My new subscription to Vogue that JUST came in the mail (Eeeee!!!)
* Shoes. Lovely, lovely shoes.
* The ability to Pay at the Pump
* People with British accents
* Spanx
* Kate Spade
* Google desktop, so I can see Facebook, Twitter, Email, People magazine, the weather, and my horoscope all on one page
* Trader Joe’s and their wonderfully drinkable 3-buck Chuck wine
* My Crest Spinbrush toothbrush, ‘cause sometimes I don’t have the energy to do that whole “up-and-down” thing
* Blogs

Yeah, those are all great things that stupid Pilgrims never knew anything about. Okay, so they had turkey and new friends who they would eventually trick and steal from, but I’ll never know how they did it without checking in with Foursquare or eviting people to the shindig.

Alright, if we could bring down the house lights and get a little serious up in this piece for a second, I just wanted to say that there’s some real stuff I’m thankful for.

* My sister Prinna. She literally INSISTED that I start blogging all those many moons ago. She showed me how to design my page, helped me come up with the name, and designed the header. All for little ol’ me. She’s like the bombest person ever, and I’m very thankful for her.
* My mom who reads every blog SECONDS after I post one, and then writes me little emails when she really likes a particular entry. She is the ideal fan, and I love her.
* My dedicated, and sometimes wonderfully vocal, group of readers. Especially: My grandmaman, Padrin, Aunt Sarah, Cindi, Geo, all the boys who admit to reading a girlie blog (and liking it!), Liz, Ally, Madeline, and Kim for actually SHARING the blog on Facebook which spreads the blog like it’s the flu. You all rule.

Yes. I love writing this blog. I’m very THANKFUL to have it and that you guys read it. I’m thankful that my parents put me through college to write, only to end up reading about how much I love my couch and my thoughts on Lindsay Lohan. Classic.

Enough with the wishy-washy. I’m going back to my vodka tonic and deciding which sweatpants go best with cranberry stains. Have a fabulous Thanksgiving, everyone!

Potty Humor

I spent an hour cleaning our bathroom tonight. Like CLEANING clean. Scrubbing, disinfecting, sweeping, drinking wine, wiping, vacuuming, drinking wine…but now our bathroom smells like bleach and an apple-scented candle. Kind of gross, but clean. Wonderfully clean. I talked to my mom after achieving this feat, and I told her about going through an entire roll of paper towels and not knowing how to change the vacuum bag. She said “Pharon, all I did when you guys were kids was clean. All day everyday”. Touche, Mother. I totally inherited my mom's talent in the quick pick-up, but failed to really digest the CLEANING part.

When I was young, the seven worst words a kid in my family could hear were “KIDS!! Meet me in the front hallway!” To this day it send shivers down my spine. That phrase, yelled by my mom, was the death of a good time. The killer of buzzes, the hater of fun. When my mom yelled that, the five of us kids knew: It was time to clean. Corralling the five kids in the front hallway meant a little tour of our house, cleaning room by room. We’d go from hallway, to the off-limits fancy living room where Perek spilled pen ink all over one of the couches, to the dining room, to the family room where our dog Pele had chewed through an entire chair, and ending in the horrifying nightmare that was the kitchen. If my mom was feeling particularly masochistic, we’d top off the tour with the front hall closet. That’s where we’d throw everything we had just cleaned up in the Family Room.

Five kids are messy. We’d leave our crap everywhere. You could follow the progress of someone’s day by following the trail of toys and socks all around the house. My poor mom, though. Our dining room table, with a gorgeous dark-wood dining room table, was constantly covered with stacks and stacks of kids clothes, sorted by kid. Every other day. One by one, we’d gather our stacks of clothes and go throw them on the floors of our rooms as my mom yelled “And don’t throw those clean clothes on your floor!” Miserable, rotten kids…

When we’d get to the kitchen, Perek would always get what we called “work bladder”. We’d be standing before the stacks of dishes and failed science projects, about to tackle the towers of dishes abandoned by us mid-meal, and Perek would declare, “I have to go to the bathroom”. Forty-five minutes later, as the Soft Scrub was finally being washed from the sinks, Perek would emerge from his room and say, “Oh, it’s already done?” Lazy, good-for-nothing kids…

But by FAR the worst cleaning was before a big family gathering. My mom wouldn’t stand for the hidden socks in the silverware drawer, or the tricky way we’d hide garbage under the couch cushions anymore. No. We actually had to CLEAN. I have this distinct memory of dusting the TV with a t-shirt I found under the kitchen table. That counts, right?

Which is why I found myself scrubbing the bejesus out of the bathroom tonight. It wasn’t even dirty. But that whole “Pre-Holiday” clean panic has set in. Geo’s family is coming to our house for Thanksgiving, and while I highly doubt they will be eating anywhere around my make-up case, I still find it totally necessary to wipe every bottle and organize every hair binder.

Now I’m intoxicated by the nostalgic scent of Soft Scrub, and a little buzzed from the wine I drank. And maybe it’s the combination of those two things, but I have the sudden urge to tuck some garbage under the couch cushion. Just don’t tell my mom…

Biological Snooze Button

Newsflash! Kids can be horrible! I don’t know what’s happening these days, but I’ve really gotten fed up with how rude children can be. Lately, whatever biological clock that may exist in me has had the Snooze button pressed. Seriously. Kids are brutal these days, and I can’t handle it yet.

I was at my parent’s house last night, hanging with two of my perfect nieces, Annabelle and Eve. I love them desperately and feel very protective of them. So, Annabelle is 5 and in pre-school. She is, quite possibly, the girliest girls ever to wear a tutu to the grocery store. Her favorite color may as well be Glitter. And that Girly Girlness is a great trait on her. It suits her. Anyway, she came home from school and told my mom this story. Apparently, some snot-nosed punk of a kid told Annabelle that she “was a boy, because she had a boys backpack”. Eksqueeze me? That definitely touched a nerve with me. I too was called a boy by a bunch of bullies. The kicker? I WAS a tomboy, and it SHOULDN’T have even BEEN an insult, but it was. Anyway, so this girl sneers that Annabelle is a boy. Who does this girl think she is? Annabelle knows the difference between a Kate Spade bag and “regular” bag. Suck on THAT, random-person’s-daughter-who-I-don’t-know.

So, I heard this story and was heartbroken over it. I asked Annabelle what her backpack looked like. Instead of her usual pink-and-purple-feather backpack, she had used a different backpack for a day that was “red with black writing on it”. She explained this to me while standing on a chair to be eye-to-eye with me. I told her, “Annabelle, when I was little I LOVED the colors red and black and white. I wanted to splatter-paint my room those colors. My favorite sweater was red, black, and white, and I wore it for 3 years.” Then that adorable little girl cupped my cheek and half-whispered, “Do you think that your sweater will fit me??” I have been googling “Black, red, white scottie dog sweater” all day to no avail. I would SEW that sweater for that girl if it meant that she didn’t have to take some other kid’s crap about a backpack.

I asked Annabelle what she said back to the girl, and she said, “I just tried to tell her it WAS NOT a boy backpack!” I couldn’t believe how furious I was about that girl. It also doesn’t help that I live down the block from an elementary school where kids frequently scream at each other “SHUT UP! YOH A BASTUUHD!” They can’t even say their “R”s but they can call each other bastards? Where are they LEARNING this?! Are kids not disciplined anymore? If I had EVER said something like that when I was young, you can bet I’d be holed up in the bathroom digging Dial Soap out of my teeth. That’s how it should work, people.

Okay, back to my point. Annabelle seems, as of now, pretty unfazed by this after hearing about my awesome sweater. But geez, it’s not long until she’ll be in middle or high school and dealing with those kinds of bullies that constantly harass and terrorize other kids. Is this bratty little pre-schooler, like, Bully Zero? Is that where it starts?

See? That’s my point. I’m waaaaay too, um, volatile to raise another human being right now. I’d freak out and be like “Oh yeah? She doesn’t like your backpack? Tell her that her disgusting split ends are giving you a headache and then smack her.” Yeah. I just don’t understand how to correctly deal with child politics. I don’t get how one human can totally insult another to her face and not have to deal with any consequences. I don’t walk up to a stranger and tell them they need a nose job or something and then bounce on out to recess worry-free. If I did say something like that, I’d run away screaming, afraid she’d come after me with a rusty knife or something.

Well, call me crazy, but I think kids should be nice to each other. I think they should be kind and lovely and innocent. And if they are rude and condescending to each other? Bar of soap. In the mouth. Case closed.

Kids Say the Darndest Things…While Holding a Knife

Don’t you guys miss the good ol’ days, when we were kids? Things were so much simpler then. “Problem solving” consisted of using your words, taking a time out, or wielding a butcher knife and chasing your brother around the house. Yeah. Good times, people. Wait, what’s that? You DIDN’T chase family members around the house with a knife? Huh. I can’t believe I’m the only one…in that case, I should probably elaborate.

I’ve been seeing a lot of my siblings lately (all four of them). And last night, I got into a disagreement with my brother. There was some name-calling via text messages, and just some general animosity that yanked me back to my bowl-cut-having, windsuit-wearing days when I was a witness to, and cause of, many many fights that left bruises on your arm, not ego. I’m going to say this, by the way: If you have siblings and NEVER fought with them, I don’t know how to talk to you. Or believe that you’re even a real person. And before I go dredging up old, YET HILARIOUS, childhood memories, I’d like it on record that I actually love my brothers and sisters. And not even because I have to. I genuinely love them. They are all bright, productive members of society now.

Okay, so I chased my brother Peter with a knife when I was like 9 years old. He was getting in my face while I was, I don’t know, cooking? Butchering some meat? Whatever. I was 9 and using a knife. He did something to set me off, I got enraged and chased him, holding the knife like I would hold my Barbie’s hair brush on a very bad hair day. He escaped. My mom found out what I’d done and, well, I did NOT escape. Whatever the problem was with Peter and me at the time, my mom solved it immediately.

Then there was the incident with the aluminum bat. I don’t remember this accurately, so I’ll just say: Someone hit someone else with a bat for some reason.

Remember when I told you how hot our house used to get? Well, needless to say, fans were a hot commodity (no pun intended). We each had one, but some of us (read: ME) wanted a lion’s share of wind blowing on our face. So, I stole Perek’s fan one day when I was about 15. He came in my room, unplugged it while I was laying on my bed basking in the windy goodness, and brought it back to his room. He jerry rigged a system of locking the fan to itself in his room, but I was determined to crack the code. I shoved Perek around, ransacked his room, hungry for high-speed air circulation. During that rampage, Peter came to Perek’s rescue. He stood across the room as I was JUST about to free the fan, and threw a combination lock at me. It hurt. Perhaps he had a few years of pent up anger regarding that whole knife-chase thingy. Whatever. Perek kept his fan.

There was also some psychological warfare going on. Because I was young, I don’t remember Padrin and Prinna fighting a lot. Sure they argued, but I don’t remember Padrin chasing Prinna around with any sort of weapon ever. I do remember, because the evidence existed for a long time after it happened, one day when Padrin put on her thinking cap. In their shared closet, Padrin had written, in permanent marker, “I HATE PADRIN” and then blamed it on Prinna. I wonder if it’s still written in that closet…

See? The commonality between all these situations is none of us like sat down and chatted about our feelings and had a great big family hug over a bowl of marshmallows or whatever, while a soft tune played in the background, teaching us all an important lesson. We were kids. Real, live kids. In the 80’s. That’s just how problems were solved. I’d never condone physical fighting these days. I just wouldn’t. But there’s something so wonderfully innocent about it when it comes to me and my own brothers and sisters. And I’m pretty nostalgic about it now, as it relates to the current situation in which I find myself and my brother. I’m sure he’d like to pin me to the ground and dangle spit in my face while doing a typewriter on my collar bone (for old time’s sake), but that just doesn’t work as adults. Or does it??

Have a great weekend everyone!!