Dear Crabby

Well, Happy Hour went longer than anticipated because two of my friends (KELLY AND FREDA) didn't sign up for our Fantasy Football draft in time, so that just never happened. Who knew ESPN would be so strict with their rules?! Anyhoozle, I had a lovely Happy Hour with Lana and Valerie, and then I made them come back to my pad to check out the dresses I had ordered online. Spoiler Alert: Neither worked. I over-estimated my measurements, and I was stuck with a saggy - albeit beautiful - Calvin Klein dress that no one was into. Whatevs. Let's get some Dear Crabby out of the way so I can help some peeps.

Dear Crabby,

I am thinking about deactivating my Facebook page. Thoughts? Why should/shouldn't I? Thanks, buddy ol' pal. BTW: It's separate, but significant, but I found out my very very ex-boyfriend was engaged recently on FB. All I know is that I could have done without that information.

LOVE,
Comment on My Status

Dear Comment on My Status,

You are most certainly not alone in your desire to flee from the FB. There have been so many stories lately about people who just get too MUCH information (i.e. "just did my 7th Pilates class of the week!!!!") or too INTIMATE information (i.e. "Just got my tubes tied! Baby factory is OVER!") that they would otherwise not want to know. It's almost become the chain letter from the 90's. You feel like you SHOULD participate, but you don't want to because you really just don't care. What if 10 people don't "like" your status update in the next ten minutes? Will you never find True Love?! It's time's oldest question: Do I, or Don't I participate in Facebook? I mean, we all feel like we SHOULD check in on Facebook, but when it's dumb and mundane, what good does it do us? It's ANNOYING to hear about only fabu things happening to other people who you aren't even necessarily friends with. La la la, that girl you had Math with in High School had her 16th baby. Huzzah! Wait, WHO CARES?! It's bad for your self-esteem. Unless you get some sense of JOY from your Facebook (I personally love pics of my family, statuses that are hilarious), then close up shop. It's dumb. It's become a hive of business promotions and bragging rights. I say, check out, never look back, and set up a Twitter and Picasa account. Unless you rely on FB for your Social Calendar, you'll be golden, Pony Boy. I support you!!!

Dear Crabby,

My boyfriend and I CONSTANTLY fight about sleeping with the fan on. One night we'll keep it on, and he whines non-stop about being too cold. But when he turns it OFF, and the air is all stuffy and hot, I can't sleep! However, HE sleeps like a baby with a Nuk. Any suggestions on compromises?

Thanks!
Your Biggest FAN!

Dear Biggest FAN,

If he's such a man, he should buck up and be able to handle a nice, calming breeze. If he can't, buy him a bra and hopefully that will warm him up.

That's it guys. It's all I can take tonight. I'm too upset and violent about missing my first chance at being in a Fantasy Draft (NOTE TO EVERYONE: I'm pretty much the biggest Girl Football Fan ever...stop skipping over me, jerks!) so I'm going to sign off. If you've still got burning questions, feel free to email pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll go ahead and solve allllllll your problems.

Zapp-OHs YEAH

A Love Letter

Oh zappos.com, how I love thee. Let me count the ways:

You are awesome at shipping stuff to me. I ordered dresses today, and they will be delivered tomorrow, which is just tops. (Almost) No waiting! However, I am almost 100% certain they will look, um, not so good on me, so I also love that...

Your return shipping policy is second to none. It's hard to buy clothes online. There is no unflattering lightning, no judgmental salespeople, no promise of a 40% discount with the purchase of an ugly necklace. All we have with online purchasing is "Hey, that's cute! I want to have that!" And when your pre-teen models don't exactly showcase the goods, putting the dress on my own body is sometimes...disappointing. Therefore, the ability to return a dress with no judgement, no "Why didn't this work out for you? Did you check out our 2-for-1 leggings?", AND no charge? Yes please!

Now, despite your obsession with showcasing your staff of models, who are - for the most part - exactly the same size, I trust your judgement with it comes to how an item will fit. These Marc Jacobs shorts run a little small? Thanks for the head's up! I love me some insider information. I will suggest, however, that because approximately 9 out of 12 of your female models claim their size is "2 or 4", you expand your options. I want to see what this strapless dress looks like on a girl who has gone through puberty. Is that too much to ask? Also, you list the model's shoe size. Which is...um...completely unnecessary. It's like telling you that my IQ is about 234056. No one cares.

In that same vein, I did have to take my own hip measurements this morning because Zappos isn't exactly forthcoming with their sizing charts. Which was wholly depressing. On the one hand, thanks for giving me the hip measurements of your dress, Zappos, but all that means to me is a panicked tailor session for me. I wrapped a novelty tape measure around what I assumed were my hips. The numbers weren't adding up. So, then I had to google "how do I measure my hips" for a very thorough description of how to take ALLLLL my measurements. My assumptions at the beginning of the day were way off the reality that came up on the promotional tape measure. I went ahead and assumed that the measuring tool must be wrong, and my arbitrary measurements are right. I will assume the reality of the fit will greatly differ from the "reality" of math.

But, ordering clothes online is like Christmas. Tomorrow is Wednesday, and Wednesday's are dumb. BUT! When I get home from an inevitably long day at work tomorrow, I get prizes in the mail! Yay! People don't get anything in the mail anymore. Besides bills. Which are total downers. But dresses? Yes please!

So, Zappos, I love you. I understand our relationship is sometimes lacking, but you just know how to pick a girl up after a long, dumb day. And even if I don't love the dresses I get tomorrow, I still love YOU.

Oh Zappos...an online store by any any other name...

Fun With Finances!

Okay, ladies and gentlemen. It's time for the best show in the blogosphere! Put your hands together and get ready to play....Did! $he! $ave! Money!!!! Let's get started. Here are the rules.

I've got a list of activities I did today, in efforts to save money. I'll round off some numbers, because I am bad at estimating, and then you'll tell me...Did I Save Money?! Let's find out! Good luck!

Lunch Time
Forgot that I was supposed to go out with some co-workers for lunch this afternoon, and had too much work to do, so I ended up skipping lunch out in favor of a homemade lunch at my desk.
Cost of My Lunch: $2.98 Cost of Lunch Out: $15.00
Amount Saved: $12.02
(Additional Factors: I was still hungry after my dumb little lunch, so I got a snack. Actual Amount Saved: About $10.02.)

Afternoon Break
Tried to get some girlfriends to come out and get a pedicure with me. No one could come, and Kim helpfully pointed out that I am completely capable of doing my own nails, and I do them rather well. With the right tools.
Cost of Professional Pedicure: $33. Cost of My Pedicure: $10
Amount Saved: $23
(Additional Factors: Because I needed to get a few of the "right tools", I ran out to Target to get a few things. Ten dollars is what I spent on nail supplies. But $80 is the actual amount I ended up spending at Target, because no one ever in the history of time has ever walked out of Target with "only what they need". But I DID get a few things I really needed, so that was good. Actual Amount Saved on Pedicure: -$27)

Post-Work Travel
So, it was obvious that I needed to go to Target. The problem is that I still go to my OLD Target. As in "by my old house". Sorry, but it's the best Target ever. So instead of going less than 4 miles away to the Target by my new house, I drove to the other Target almost 8 miles away.
Cost of driving to Old Target: $4.64. Cost of bucking up and driving to the New Target: $2.32.
Amount Saved: -$2.32
(Additional Factors: I also blared the a.c. the whole way, and had my windows down. Based on what my Driver's Ed instructor told me oh so many years ago, Actual Amount Saved: -$12.32)

Dinner
I had every intention of stopping to pick up dinner on my way home from the grocery store. I didn't have the energy to MAKE anything, despite having just been at the grocery store. WHATEVER. Anyway, I had intended to stop and pick up a sushi roll and a salad, but took the wrong way back home from Old Target. I never passed the sushi place, and nothing else sounded good, so I just came home.
Cost of Picking Up Dinner: $12.00 Cost of Dinner I Actually Ate Which Was a Sandwich and a peach: $1.37
Amount Saved: $10.63
(Additional Factors: It was a way healthier choice to eat at home. Actual Amount Saved: $10.63 and approx. 800 calories)

Evening Shopping Binge
Instead of dropping some cash on some plain ol' bed sheets at Target that I wasn't wild about, I decided I needed to save my money so I nixed the whole idea. Then I came home and Claire informed me she was running to IKEA tomorrow over lunch. She and I poked around online and I found a new duvet cover I wanted. I don't NEED a new duvet cover, but I need new sheets. But I figured that I'd get a new duvet cover and no one would be the wiser that it would be covering up a naked mattress.
Cost of sheets I didn't get at Target: $34.99. Cost of duvet cover that I don't need but will be getting anyways: $34.99.
Amount Saved: Total Wash
(Actual Amount Saved: Nothing, because I still need to get sheets.)

So, whaddya think? Did! $he! $ave! Money!? The answer, if you're going by the "math" is that um, no. I didn't save any money. Boo. But! When you get a little creative with the accounting, it would appear that I kind of "won" a new duvet cover and lots of cute manicure supplies, right? Yay! Everyone's a winner!!

Fitting a Pharon Square into a Round Peg

There comes a time in a gal's life, when you look around and think "things have changed." Maybe it's when you have a kid, or you're married, or your happily single with no drama. Whatever it is. It's kind of prolific.

Mine came this weekend, when I found myself dancing around a kitchen table in my friend's house at 10 p.m. on a Saturday night. Here's the long and short of it: I was invited to a surprise party for my friend Peter's fiancee Katie. While I love both Peter and Katie, Peter was first Geo's friend, and I know them by proxy, so I don't know too many of their "non Geo's friends" friends. So when I walked into the party, I knew not ONE PERSON. No familiar faces. Nada. Peter was distracting Katie elsewhere before her grand arrival, so I was on my own for awhile. I haven't been at a party where I don't know anyone in, well, a zillion years. So, there I was...a girl on my own. Trying to small talk my way through the jungle that is female strangers. It was, uh, rough. I threw around a few insults that were meant as jokes, and it was bumpy for awhile. I was waaaaay out of my element. I wanted to retreat to a corner and just text Geo about how weird it all was without him. Instead, I forced myself to get back out there and make some new friends.

Cut to: The dance party. After about 4 hours of mingling and forcing people to adapt to my sense of humor, a few people I knew showed up, and it was all good. I had been drinking Stella Artois all night, so I was feeling very mature, too - you know, because it wasn't like PBR or something. Others had been getting quite rowdy, and someone turned on some Journey and the dance party started in earnest. There were only a few of us at first. We looked like idiots, but it felt great.

I threw out some of my best Xbox Kinect Dance Central moves, and I'd like to think people were finally starting to come around to appreciating my unique additions to a party. This whole time, the 6 or so of us who were dancing, were actually dancing AROUND a kitchen table. It was weird. That's when I was like "This is...um...different. Where are the strobe lights? Shots? Loud gangsta rap, like in the good ol' days??" So we decided to move the table out of the way, and at least get a dance circle started. The rest of the party showed up to dance, instead of just staring at us, and it all just started to feel right.

But for that one minute when I was drinking responsibly, unfamiliar with all the rest of the party-goers, and had decided to just dance around a kitchen table, I felt so un-Pharony. Like a version of myself I would have made fun of when I was in college. But, it didn't last long, and eventually, I fell back into my old routine of being awesome. It was a little like I had grown up a little in that weird in-between time. No more was I the young, naive girl drinking rum and Coke's who was perpetually trying to fit in - no, I was the older, mature girl drinking non screw-top beer, trying to fit in. I guess some things never change.

Minnesota State Pharon

There are a number of reasons why I, a Minnesota-born and bred fabulous young woman, should love going to the Minnesota State Fair. Is there a better place in the world to see mullets and inappropriately short/tight/torn/crocheted clothes? I am certain there is not. And food? Word on the street is that I love food. And yet, despite all that glamour, I do not like the State Fair. I hear your cries now: "Blasphemy!" "Anarchy!" "Oh, the horrors!" "But Pharon, there's even FRIED BUTTER this year!" I know, I know you guys! The fried butter ALMOST got me pumped to go this year. But alas, I will do my best to avoid the whole mullet-y mess.

Not from Minnesota? Live under a rock? Okay, well, here's a brief account of what you're missing at the Minnesota State Fair. First of all, it's in St. Paul. Strike One. The traffic to get to the Fair blows. Cars full of screaming kids crawl along the highway, the rogue motorcycle gangs weave recklessly in and out of stopped traffic. It's terrifying. Once you get there, you park. And by "park" I mean "drive around for 45 minutes, pay some random resident $40 to park on his lawn for the day and then walk 6 miles back to the Fairgrounds". When you mercifully enter the gates, the stench of animal waste product punches you smack in the face. With eyes watering from holding down your breakfast, you try and find your way through the shoulder-to-sweaty-shoulder crowds. Helpful Hint: If you go with more than a few other people, one of you will get lost, and you'll have to meet up at the Fried Alligator booth. You'll try some really awesome food - mini donuts, french fries, sweet corn, cheese curds, milkshakes, deep-fried candy bars, Sweet Martha's famous chocolate chip cookies, funnel cakes, etc - and start to feel pretty good about the Fair.

Then you'll decide you're brave enough to go check out the Live Births. "Yay! Nature!" you'll think. Then you'll see a cow squirt out a gooey, disfigured baby, and return all that delicious food into the garbage cans. You might decide to slow things down a bit and check out the Horticulture building. Giant pumpkins, giant works of art created by using only seeds, heads carved out of butter (normal), educational posters. Suddenly, you're ready for a nap. But there's no time! You've got to get to the Midway!

Walking into the Midway is like walking into a homeless man's armpit. It's very smelly, and everything you touch is somehow both sticky and rusty. Are you up to date on your tetanus shots? I sure hope so! Anyway, the Midway is where all the rides and games are. You'll very quickly lose $30 trying to win a plush, dirty, Mickey Mouse. If you're "lucky", you'll win a prize, and have to lug the stupid thing around all day before eventually tossing that into the garbage can as well.

At some point, a very drunk woman in cut-off jean shorts, and a baggy tie-dyed tank top will come up to you, yelling, and ask if you have tried the pork chop on a stick yet. When you say you haven't, she gets very angry at you, and demand you go get it. Now. She'll go back to dancing in the middle of the street to the lovely vocal stylings of a Grateful Dead cover band.

By this point, you're probably ready to call it a day. Your feet hurt, your hands are still sticky despite having washed them like twenty times, and you've just about had it with all the sweating. But you've actually only been there for like an hour, so you'll feel pressured to stay because you paid nearly one month's rent to just park. Why don't you take a load off and sit down?

Where should you sit? Oh, okay, yup. Right there on the curb with everyone else. Don't worry about the gum you'll probably sit on. You're planning on burning the outfit you're wearing anyway.

After regrouping, you'll give eating another shot. The food at the Fair is THE BEST FOOD EVER. That part is true. I just hope you're okay with gaining a few (twenty) pounds, as everything is fried or slathered in butter. Just the way I like it. Anyway, the food is good. You'll drink milk at the milk booth, slide down the giant yellow slide on a piece of burlap, and maybe hang out next to one of the billions of radio shows recording live at the Fair. They engage the crowds, play fun music, and that's just really good. Maybe you'll win a t-shirt or bumper sticker. "Well this just isn't half bad!" you'll think. You're starting to forget about how dirty you are, and that stench of the barn has all but vanished. You think "I actually love this place!"

When you finally call it a day, though, it will take you 75 minutes to find your car because you can't remember where it is. Then it will be blocked in by other cars, and the residents/parking attendants will get very creative on how to move the cars around you. Turn on that a.c. as high as it goes to cool off, and you're off! For 3 blocks. Then you'll hit post-Fair traffic. One hundred hours later, you're home. When you open your wallet, though, you discover you've been robbed! Nope, you haven't, Silly Rabbit. You've just spent $150 on stupid games, food you couldn't keep down, and knick knacks you bought in a food-coma haze. You're poor. You're dirty. But you're full! And by next weekend, you'll have forgotten about all the grimy-ness of the Fair and get all mopey when it's over.

Well, I'm not falling for it this year. I'm keeping my money and waistline in tact this summer. You guys can go and have fun at the Fair. Just don't ask me to come along. I will humbly request, though, that you bring me back some Sweet Martha's cookies, mini donuts, and fried pickles. Oh, and I want to try the fried butter. And if it's not too much trouble, could you also get me a milkshake from the Dairy Barn? Oh, and don't forget the cheese curds! And maybe throw a Pronto Pup in there as well. I think that should do it. Aw man, do I love the Fair again??

Anyway, have a good weekend guys! Try and not get tetanus or food poisoning from the Fair if you go!

Dear Crabby

Well, I had two conversations tonight - one with my mom, another with my dad - wherein I said the phrase "Yes, you're right" more times than I care to admit. I believe that my ability to actually listen to my parents, and then agree with them means that I'm a full-fledged adult. Huzzah! But, I need to get back some of the control and know-it-all isms that I'm so used to. Therefore, awaaaaay we go with Dear Crabby!!

Dear Crabby,

So a girl friend of mine is about 8 years younger than I am. Well, she's about 8 years younger than EVERYONE in our group of friends. Recently, she's been taking all these jabs at us, because we are older than her. "I don't know who Jem and Holograms are, but that sounds lame". And once she asked us how we deal with our grey hair. Needless to say, her new-found attitude is not going over well with us. What do we do?!

Thanks, Crabby!
-Bold and Old

Hey Bold and Old,

First of all, this chick sounds lame. My first suggestion is to stop hanging out with her. She wants to make jokes about grey hair? Make jokes about the fact that she can't rent a car or become president or something. Also, you should probably let her know that just because she's young, doesn't make her cool. If that were the case, babies would be the coolest people on the planet. And they're not, because they can't even talk yet! My point is, maybe it's up to you to just realize that she's dumb and you should stop inviting her places because she can't appreciate how totally awesome you are. More importantly, you can rest assured that one day, that very lame, immature girl will wake up and realize she is, in fact, lame and immature. And it will have nothing to do with her age.

Dear Crabby,

GROSS. My friend is throwing her birthday party on the same night as me. We share a bunch of friends, too. Do I reschedule my party so that everyone can go to both? I really don't want to, because I've gotten a nice VIP room at this bar by my house, and I don't want to cancel it. What do I do?!

Thanks!
-Party Pooper

What up, Party Pooper!?

Is there ANYTHING worse than two parties in one night? Yes. There is. Genocide, poverty, war, etc. You catch my drift? Anyhoozle, here's what you do. As long as you can guarantee your party is better than the other one, KEEP THAT VIP ROOM. Bribe people, if you have to. If you're not so sure you can tempt people away from the other party? Quietly cancel yours ("Oh, they lost our reservations! RUDE, I know!") and then plan the best party anyone has ever dreamed of for the next weekend. Next year, there will be no choice. They'll pick you every time! If you DO reschedule your party, though, don't be a giant martyr about it. Go to the other one, be the life of the party, and have a good time. You won't regret your decision either way.

Dear Crabby,

My boyfriend and I are foster parents for dogs. We've had some good ones, some bad ones, and some really tragic ones. The puppy we just got today, though, takes the cake. She only has three legs! She is tiny and sweet and we love her. She has a terrible dog name right now: Billie, so we want to rename her, obvs. Any suggestions for a new name?

-Three Legs are Better Than Two

Heyo, TLABTT,

Names for a three-legged dog? Oh boy. Here we go: Tri, Tre, Trois, Pod, Company, Lucky, Legs, Menage, Pete, Poli, Trip, Crown, Athalon, Good Thing Happen In, Some. Um...that's all I can think of off the top of my head. Any of those working for you? If not, let me know and I'll come up with a FEW more. (Get it? Few? Three? HA!)

Well, I think I can safely say that I've solved all those problems. Have a question for me? Send in your questions to pharonsquare@gmail.com and I'll try my best to fix your life. Although, maybe I should have my mom or dad answer these. Turns out, they have all the answers! Mom? Dad? Whaddya think?

Coming Home?

Major shocker at work today. I'm sitting there, la la la, totally #winning at everything, and then I get a text from my roommate Claire. "Wanna do Zumba tonight?" Uhhhh, color me shocked. Basically, she and her bf were supposed to be out of town until tomorrow, so I had been a little, uh, lax when it came to proper living habits. So immediately, I go into panic mode. See, the thing is...I lived like a frat boy all week. Since they left last week, I've been leaving breadcrumbs of clothes, glasses, shoes, and papers all over the place. When I learned they would be home TODAY, I had vivid images of dishes on the counters, lights left on all day, high heels strategically placed by doors in order to thwart any clumsy burglars...not exactly the most grown up way to leave a house. So yeah, I was feeling all sheepish.

So I say to Claire "Oh no! I thought you were coming home TOMORROW!" And she's all "No, we'll be back TODAY, duh. Why, what's wrong?" I felt like I was 16 years old and was about to get caught throwing a raging party. Instead, I'm akljdewehjtliuwfg years old and did NOT have a party. I simply just, uh, let myself go. I said "Claire, I left the house pretty messy." And she's all "Okaaaay...'cause I don't care." And I said "Yeah, but I left dishes out everwhere." And, God love her, she writes back,

"Well, then you better leave work early to go put those dishes away."

Of course she was joking, so I felt better.

I got home from work, and kind of tiptoed inside, before realizing "DUH. Everything is FINE". Claire and her bf have been such good friends of mine for so long, that my initial panic at leaving the place messy faded away. I reminded myself "Claire used to come over to ask me to play when we were like 5 years old, and I'd be making snow angels in the piles of clothes on my floor. She has seen the time when I tripped on not one, but TWO garbage bags - full of garbage - on my way across my room. She knows I have my moments of messy." So again, I felt better.

Better STILL was when Claire said "I'm making jambalaya for dinner. Want some?" Yes, yes I do. My initial plan for dinner was "try and not just eat cookies for dinner. Again." So, we sat down together, ate some really incredible jambalaya, and then cleaned up and went about our business. I realized how much I missed this kind of thing. You know, just adults hanging out. I also missed having a roommate who has, despite my efforts to throw her for a loop, always been a dear friend. After years and years of adjusting to new roommates and new people, I feel like "I can adjust to this, because she already knows me." And that's, well that's just plain nice.

Now, as long as she doesn't come and look at my pigsty room, I'll be okay. Seriously. I have a shaker of sea salt and a jar of Chef's Secret spices laying on my floor. Not normal.