Columbus-ted

Happy Columbus Day, everyone! I'm sure you, like me, love this day more than Christmas. All the wonderment and tradition? Huzzah! How did you celebrate this most funnest of fun days? I built 3 replica water-ready ships out of Popsicle sticks and an impressive amount of toothpicks. Then I sat in a polio-infested blanket outside and floated the ships in the puddles. When I got done playing in the water, I docked the ships on the curb - formerly known as Curboslavia, but I renamed it America - and started burning down everything and replacing tepees with tasteful Old English-style cottages. Then I sewed a flag, made a list of rules everyone will forget about in 500 years, turned futbol into soccer, and invented Coca Cola. America!

I don't know about you guys, but I feel bad for America these days. We're getting a super bad rep these days as greedy, fame-hungry, self-indulgent kids from Jersey Shore. (I may be getting my references mixed up, but whatevs.) We've got people marching on Wall Street, while Kim Kardashian tweets constantly about her stupid multi billion dollar wedding. A "Super Congress" bickering constantly while a Super Population of people remain Super Unemployed. A Super Shame.

And it all started with a man and his three ships. I'm sure Christopher Columbus is pretty stoked that there wasn't a "media" or Twitter 519 years ago. Imagine the Twitter twends like #theblanketshavesmallpoxinthem or #Columbuswasntborn here, #birther, or #dontdrinkthefirewater. Facebook groups would be dedicated to either hailing or hating the explorer, and South Park would probably air an episode dedicated to satirizing the sexual deviance of Mr. Columbus. I don't even WANT to know what Fox News would have to say about it. But luckily for him, and for us I guess, none of those things happened.

But I give props to the man who missed his mark so greatly. I can appreciate a person with as poor sense of direction as I have. He led a whole mess of people to a completely different country, and everyone was all "Yay! You did it, bro!" Usually when I get lost, people are all "How do you NOT have a GPS? You are an idiot. Now we're going to be late for Happy Hour. Way to go, dummy!" Sexists.

So Happy Columbus Day, everyone! I'm going to get back to my scale models of the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria. Next up, we're going to "discover" Jamaica and I'm going to make myself a fruity cocktail.

From Apples to Zombies

Here's what I did this weekend.

ZOMBIE PUB CRAWL!

Zombie Boy Scouts! It was, overall, a great time. Kim and I got a weeeeeeeeeeee bit overwhelmed at one point and ended up ditching the rest of our group in St. Paul to head back to Sanityville (a.k.a. Minneapolis). And we got back home before midnight. As far as zombies go, we were pretty tame.

Because I had taken it kind of easy last night, and got home early, I was bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning when my whole family went to an apple orchard. We spent the day together, as we do every year on this date because it was just 4 years ago that we lost my beautiful niece Sophia to SIDS. So, we spend the day together, having fun and enjoying time with family.

We were wandering through the apple orchard, picking apples, and I hear this big, juicy crunnnnch behind me. Prinna had taken a big ol' bite of her first apple. I was all "You can't EAT those! You haven't washed it! And I don't think they're free!" She looked at me like I was still dressed as a zombie or something. She slowly replies "Pharon, um, it's an APPLE ORCHARD. That's what you do here. And you don't NEED to wash them. Just rub them on your pants or something." I guess my outdoor skills were a little rusty.

I ended up eating, like, 4 delicious, fresh-picked apples this afternoon as we strolled through the sunshine, dodging bugs and side-stepping crushed apples. When we got back to the main building, though, I decided my apples were too small so I tucked the bag between a couple shelves, and proceeded to get a $15 bag of apples instead. Hey, you can take the girl out of the city...

So, I got a taste of both the nightlife and the outdoors this weekend, and both were long overdue. Thanks to everyone for such a great weekend!

Zzzzzz...ombie Bar Crawl

Well hello, dudes and dudettes. Looks like we are thisclose to the weekend again. You can't hate that. I won't beat around the bush with you guys. This week has taken it out of me, and I'm, well, pooped. Tomorrow is Friday, which is almost Saturday (thank you Rebecca Black), so tomorrow is basically the pre-party for Saturday. And you know what's on Saturday? Zombie Pub Crawl.

I think it's important to tell you guys that very soon, I will be famous. I will, in fact, be in the Guinness Book of World Records. I will tell my grandchildren that I was a part of the World's Largest Collection of Zombies. That is, of course, unless a zombie apocalypse takes over the world in the meantime. We are anticipating over 4,000 "zombies" to start roaming the streets of Minneapolis/St. Paul, so you better watch out citizens.

What this all means is that you better be ready for some awesome pics on Sunday night. Unless, hey! Are YOU coming to the ZPC too? Oh, my faithful Squares, TELL me you are going out for that! I would lurve to meet up with you! Brains!

I hate to do this, but all the zombie-prep has this girl cashed for the night and I'm a sleepy gal. Let's meet up on Sunday night to share all the deets of our awesome weekends, shall we? WE SHALL! I'll see you all on the other side of the Zombie Apocalypse! Brains!

Dear Crabby

It hardly seems appropriate to do anything before properly addressing the passing of Steve Jobs today. The man knew how to create, invent, design, and sell a lifestyle that people across the world craved and relied on. His impact on the current social and technological environment is second-to-none, and I'm legit sad about this. Like, teary-eyed sad. He was the best thing to happen to apples, apps, and tech-nerds. He will surely be missed, but not forgotten.

I have no transition for this, but it's time for Dear Crabby! Let's get down to brass tacks.

Dear Crabby,

I have a 10 year-old daughter. She's smart and friendly, she loves animals, and she is crazy-good at painting. I love everything about her. Almost everything. She dresses, um, like a cracked out runaway who has daddy issues. (Note: Her father is WONDERFUL. No issues there. Seriously.) We'll go shopping and, even though I don't buy her the cropped t-shirts and short mini skirts bedazzled on the butt with words like SASSY, I find them in her room. I don't know where she gets them, and I don't understand where she thinks she's going to wear them. She has like 4 friends, and they all live on our block. I'm very concerned with her fashion sense. Will she grow out of this? Am I missing something? Help!

Thanks Crabby!
-Kids Wear the Sluttiest Things

Oh dear, KWTST,

Kids are the worst. Especially daughters. I was a terror. I wanted boyfriends and dates and attention and all that stuff. Some things never change. One thing that did change, though, was my fashion sense. My mom would NEVER let me try on/own/borrow anything she deemed inappropriate, much like it sounds like you refuse to do. Props to that, BTW. But she did allow me to explore my own style. She would let me peruse a store on my own, pull the things I liked, and praised the things she approved of and looked good. She didn't understand why I had to have the weird suspenders and catholic girl-style skirt, but she'd let me get it because I loved it. That, AND I totally worked it. But mostly it was because it was my style. Here's what you need to do. Get rid of whatever trashy mags you have. Don't turn on MTV. Don't foster her skewed view of what's "appropriate". I'm not saying you should try to ignore or skew reality - because in reality, girls are getting skankier and skankier at younger ages - but I'd say keep more Vogue and InStyle magazines around. They showcase FASHION, not promiscuity. Teach her about quality and classic shapes. Above all, never stop reminding her how smart and caring and wonderful she is. Just keep your eye out. She may be exploring her own style with those skank clothes, but as long as she keeps in her room, I wouldn't worry too much. Until she's like 13. Then put her on lockdown forever. You know, just in case.

Dear Crabby,

WHAT IS UP! I just wanna know one thing. What's a good pickup line to use on a guy at the bar? We've got a girls night out planned this weekend, and I'm one of the only single chicks left! I wanna get out there and meet some MEN! What works for you???

Thanks!
Needs a Picker Upper

Picker Upper, I have a secret to tell you. Pick-up lines don't work. The best one I have ever heard was when a guy came up to me at asked "Hey, are you as surprised as I am that I haven't thrown up yet?" 1) It was HILARIOUS. 2) It begged me to ask "Whaaaa? Why?" and 3) It wasn't smarmy. Besides that, PICK UP LINES DON'T WORK. Having said that, the best pickup line I can think of to use on a dude is either "Hey, what's up?" or "What's the score of [insert whatever game is on]?" Or I guess there's always "Hey, can you see my bra through this shirt?" It all depends on the kind of guy you're looking for. Oh, and there are two more that Claire used to use when we'd go out. She'd go up to a guy and we'd just try and guess his name. Or she'd bring a highlighter in her bag, and randomly walk past a guy and draw a line on his arm or hand or face and say "Looks like you're the highlight of the night!" Both are adorable. Good luck and let us know if any of these work out for you!

Dear Crabby,

I want to get a pet. I'm responsible, I have a flexible job and I'm like really nice to animals. I am poor and have a small apartment though. What can I do?!

Thanks!
Pet Getter

Hey Pet Getter,
Animals are a lot of work. My roommate fosters puppies, and no matter how adorable they are, they all poop and smell bad in the same way. But yes, they are A LOT OF WORK. I barely do any of it, and it's starting to wear me out regardless. Plus they're expensive and needy. So here are the pets I think you (and, subsequently, I) would be fit for: Hamster, Guinea Pig, Snake, Frog, Teacup Piglet (my dream pet!), rock, fish, or a bird. Any of those sound fun? Good luck!

Okay, that's a wrap! Did I miss anything? You know the routine: slap YOUR advice in the comments and then bop on over to your email and ask for my super-awesome advice at pharonsquare@gmail.com. I shall solve all your woes and fix all your boo-boos.

Feet Deets

Where do I begin? Where do I even begin? It. Has. Been. A. Day. Humiliation, torture, terrifying abuse of my comfort zone, pain, and needles. What happened, you ask? I hardly know where to start, so I'll start at the lowest point.

It was a dark and non-stormy night. A beautiful girl was snoozing away soundly in her bed. That girl, dear readers, was me. Suddenly, I awaken to a blinding pain. In my pinky toe. I try various self-remedies, including but not limited to, wrapping my foot in my kickboxing wrist wrap, ice, elevating, heat, loud cursing, quiet sobbing, and pleading to name a few. When the clock struck 2:30 a.m., I decided I wanted my mommy and daddy. I figured there was NO WAY I could qualify "pinky toe pain" as a reason to wake them up in the middle of the night with a phone call (no matter how excruciating the pain truly was). So I sent an email to my mom, who sometimes gets up in the middle of night, telling her that if she's up, call me. It all looked very calm, very non-childish. Little did she know, I was writhing in pain on my bed, slamming pillows against the wall and willing the cosmos to wake my parents up to check their email.

I'd nod off for 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there, but I kept waking up the same. In sheer, blinding pain. I check WebMD at around 4:30 a.m. (never a good idea), decide on my malady, and wonder what I'll look like with only four toes.

Mercifully, morning came and I could finally shower and pull myself together to get my butt to Urgent Care. I thought I was in the clear.

I get to Urgent Care, describe my pain level as a 9, explain my 4 a.m. WebMD'ing theories, and wait for the medical marvel that will surely cure me.

What was the cure, you ask? THERE WAS NONE. First, the doctor poked and pulled at my toe. (Side note: You DO know how much I hate people touching my feet, don't you?!) Then she removed my awesome, glittery toenail polish while I sat there, crawling out of my skin. She didn't know what exactly was wrong. So - I should warn you to stop reading if you are squeamish or are a small baby - they BURN A LITTLE HOLE THROUGH MY NAIL. Turns out, there is a reason we have nails. The skin underneath them are very, uh, DELICATE. So natch, it hurt and I screamed. Then we discover that the hole burning apparently didn't help (SHOCKER). She asks if I've hurt my toe lately (no), or if I've gotten a pedicure lately. I say - and I quote - "No, I hate pedicures. But isn't that what happened to Paula Abdul!? If so, I have a new found understanding of her admiration for pain killers!" She didn't react. Whatever, I know I'm right, Doc.

The doctor prescribes some antibiotics, recommends a podiatrist, and is just about to send me on my hobbling way before checking my chart one more time. "Hmm. Looks like you're also due for a Tetanus shot. I'll send in a nurse to give you one."

GEE. THANKS. As if I'm not in enough pain.

The poor guy comes in, sees me all teary-eyed, and explains that it won't hurt - you big baby I could almost hear him add. I tell him I haven't slept all night, and spent the past 10 hours in bone-quaking pain. "It's okay. You'll hardly notice this!"

He was right. Sort of. The shot itself was nothin'. No biggie. Barely even felt it. Until like 2 hours later. My shoulder is throbbing, as is my little piggy (literally crying wee wee wee all the way home), and I just go ahead and give up. Everything hurts. My eyes are burning from crying and from trying to NOT cry, and I have a pounding headache from stressing out about everything.

I have no idea what to expect tonight. During the day, I felt fine, but I don't know what I'll do if I have another night like last night. I'm scared. I'm tired. Mostly I'm just very self-conscious about the hole in my baby toe.

Send out healthy-toe thoughts tonight, guys! PLEASE?! If you don't, I'll be up spamming the crap out of everyone out of spite and exhaustion. I'll keep you toe-sted posted!! (Seriously...I'm writing this on NO SLEEP. Gimme a break.

Take That to the Bank

Stupid banks and their stupid security measures. Okay, so thanks for protecting me from all those identity thieves and everything, but protecting me from MYSELF is infuriating. I just had a string of bad luck that rivals that whiny little Alexander kid. It all started with a very routine trip to the ATM. La la la, I get my cash and stroll out of the gas station. La la la, happy as a clam. I paid no attention to the allegedly loud beeping sound that was allegedly alerting me to something. Whatevs. I was too busy going about my business happy and care-free.

Cut to the check out line at Ragstock. Perek, Kim and I went to pick up some AWESOME zombie costumes for the upcoming Zombie Pub Crawl this weekend. Everything was going swimmingly. I got my outfit, my jug of fake blood, and I start going through my wallet looking for my check card.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't in my wallet, my purse, or my pockets.

So I trace my steps and mentally end up at that stupid gas station, strolling away from the beeping ATM. D'OH! So, I call the bank and I'm all "I think I left my card in an ATM. What do I do?" She's all "Oh, just go into the branch..." "Hold up, lady." I protest, "I wasn't at a branch. I was at an ATM at the gas station." She breaks the news that alas, there is nothing she can do for me except cancel the card. I decide to give myself the benefit of the doubt and hope that it's in my car.

Spoiler Alert: It wasn't in my car.

So I'm freaking out. Kim generously pays for my zombie gear, and Perek covers my dinner tab. I suddenly remember - as I'm chowing down on my spicy garlic wings - I have an EXTRA check card! Long story short, I had mistakenly requested another one last year. I decide to calm down and that I'll just bop home and find the spare and it will be all good.

Spoiler Alert: I couldn't find the stupid card.

I tore my room apart. I saved bank statements and old phone bills from a bajillion years ago, but apparently, I had destroyed the card in the shredder before my move. UGH. So, I call the bank. Yes, I need to cancel my card. Yes, I'd like to order another one. I would also very much love it if you could get it to me tomorrow.

Spoiler Alert: It will not arrive tomorrow.

I can't get a new card over the phone because I have moved recently so I have to go into a bank branch to get one. I found a very old ATM card (which I had kept, but not the check card) and I thought "Hey, I'll just use this for a couple days! But can I get a reminder on my PIN?" No, I cannot get a reminder, because I need to go in to a branch in person to do that.

Okay, bank lady, so what exactly CAN you do for me? Nothing? Great. Thanks for that.

Claire and Kim both tried to help me by reciting a number of calming reassurances and helpful suggestions. But what's worse than losing your check card, remembering too late that you shredded the old one, being on hold with the bank, then getting NO resolution? Someone telling you to calm down.

Now I have no lunch for tomorrow (unless people still take checks. Do they? With my luck, probably not). No emergency cash, or access to cash, and I have to go INSIDE a bank tomorrow? UGGGHHHH. It's all just very, very annoying and frustrating.

Meanwhile, on our way home from the mall, I was dropping Perek off at his house. We're listening to the radio, and all of a sudden Perek is on his phone asking "Am I the fifth caller?" I was all "Whaaaa? Who are you talking to?" Turns out, Perek randomly called the radio station we were tuned to and won a CD or something. He's all "Ha! That was lucky!"

Yeah. Reeeeeeal lucky.

Clean It Up (or Don't)

Yay! Internet is back! I've missed you, internet. I shall never take you for granted again!

Anyhoozle, so there are two types of people in the world. There are people like my roommate Claire and my sister Prinna, and then there are people like me. I mean, of course, people who do tons of laundry, and people who do laundry only when we have to start digging into our bag of clothes we WERE going to donate to Goodwill. Claire was out of town this weekend, so the washer/dryer were free as birds and I finally hauled my bags and bags of dirty clothes I have been wearing for the past couple weeks downstairs and washed ‘em real good. Fresh start.

I’ll tell you this. I like my method better, guys. I do. Doesn’t washing clothes too much, like, wear them out? Make ‘em all dull and full of those annoying little hair balls? I’m pretty sure that’s a fact I heard or read or made up somewhere. Plus, not only am I saving water by limiting my laundry-doing, but I’m saving my clothes, people. And any way you slice it, I’m also totally saving so much money, too. Booya.

(To be fair, my sister has three kids who enjoy dirt, spaghetti, and magic markers. All their clothes are dirty the second any of the kids even looks at them.)

Another similarity between Claire and Prinna is that they both also TEACH. Prinna teaches Technical Writing, Claire teaches a GED course. Therefore, in that same spirit of educating the masses, I’ll teach YOU how to laundry like ME instead of them, because…you know, my way is better probably. So here’s a short quiz.

It all boils down to two very important moments. These two moments set apart the compulsives from the easy-goings. The first moment is when you are looking for a pair of jeans, and you see a worn pair on the floor. Do you A) pick them up and throw them in the wash and wait for them to dry before you wear them or B) give ‘em a quick sniff, and if they’ve been worn fewer than 2 times, slip right into those bad boys? The answer, obvs, is B.

The second moment/test comes when you’ve run OUT of something. It might be socks, or towels, or what have you, but EVERYONE runs out of something. This is where it gets tricky. If you run out of towels or socks, do you A) panic and frantically collect your quarters or dryer sheets or whatever and throw together a tiny load of laundry, or do you B) get creative with old (but clean) promotional t-shirts and socks from the $1 aisle at Target? Again, the answer is B. Dur.

The point is this. When it comes to laundry, I don’t get mad, I get creative. That’s the good part of me hoarding clothes. I’ll go ahead and throw together an outfit from eight years ago that still looks fly (btw, I’m bringing back the word “fly”) and as the illustrious Tim Gunn says, I “make it work”. All in the name of saving a couple hours and gallons of water. And I don’t get all uppity when my socks don’t match because I’ll put on two similar but different socks under tall boots and no one’s the wiser. That’s the ticket when it comes to conservation of laundry. If there’s a way to get around putting 4 white socks and a tank top in the washer, I’ll find it. I may not habitually recycle cans and wine bottles, but I am a hero of water conservation. Where do I collect my medal??

The trick is to lower your standards, people. I’ve championed myself on never ironing clothes and loosely interpreting the “dry clean only” instructions. (Because that is, at best, a suggestion.) Also, I’m really getting into understand the power of bleach. Oh, and it also helps to have a compulsive shopping habit, because if I can’t find a clean white tee to wear, rather than wasting a bunch of soap and water and hours of time, I just go and buy a new white tee. That gives me at least a couple days of respite. Geo once ridiculed me for owning no fewer than 12 pairs of jeans, but I can go at least 2 weeks without having to tend to my denim. I’m nothing if not efficient.

I’m just never going to be the person who wears an adorable sweater for 2 hours and then spends two hours cleaning it. I’m not a child who rolled around in the dirt hunting ants. And I don’t sweat out of my armpits (that’s a fact, people). So I just have no reason to spend as much time washing something as I did wearing it.

DING! The dryer just finished and now I’ve got loads of clean clothes to start my week. I counted and it’s 8 pairs of pants, 9 shirts, 4 sweaters, and like 8 pairs of socks (it is, after all, still flip flop weather in MN), among other things. I’m set for awhile. I could, if I’m being honest, make this current batch of laundry, last for a month probably. I’m a creative, resourceful gal, people. And I urge you to follow my lead. Together, we can save time, clothes, and water. Also, laundry detergent is kind of expensive. No more will we be under the thumb of Big Laundry. We can change this world, one load at a time. Say it with me: If it ain’t dirty, it’s still purdy!