Tragedy

My coworker's sister died on Tuesday, eleven days before her wedding.

When I heard the news, my heart stopped. I've only known this girl for six months, but she's one of the sweetest people I know. And the news hit super close to home, with my sister getting married next year. I've spent lunch hours talking to her in the kitchen about her dress, and all of the plans, and I even left a funny sticky note on her desk last week.

The news put everything in perspective for me. All of the bullshit I've been stressed about doesn't matter. Holiday obligations and trying to cram in a thousand trips to see various people no longer matter. Thank god I HAVE them to see.

I've had dreams about her this week, and I've been thinking of her a lot. In fact, I have found myself able to think of little else.

She came back to work today after a week off for the funeral, and I was terrified.

I usually consider myself loving and compassionate (sometimes to a fault), but this tragedy feels too heavy to bear. When I walk past her desk, a wave of sadness washes over me. I've been avoiding her all day, and I've been planning my trips to the kitchen around when she is in meetings.I just can't bear to run into her. I'm afraid when I do, I'll burst into tears. I've cried on my own a few times already.

I can't for the life of me figure out what to say. How can one person endure what are probably the happiest and saddest days of her life in one week? It doesn't seem fair.

The Miracle of Life

We sat, crowded into the gym turned makeshift movie theater, Trapper Keepers in our laps, staring in wide-eyed terror at the screen as a fetus emerged from a screaming woman's vagina.

I shuddered, hoping that wasn't the predetermined fate of every mother giving birth, and scanned the faces of the kids sitting around me.

Each one bore his own special brand of fear: cringing, pinched up faces, fear evident in clenched fists and crossed arms. A single tear of horror rolled down my cheek as I tucked my elbows in so as not to touch the boy sitting next to me (who happened to be my fifth grade crush).

What started off as a co-ed room slowly segregated to boys vs. girls. I didn't want to be near anything that could make that happen to me.

I never wanted to touch boys ever again.

All this debate about teen pregnancy... I'll tell you how we bring that statistic down: make every fifth grader watch The Miracle of Life.

That time I triggered a flash mob

We went to a super cool haunted house this weekend, and I spent most of it marching behind K, fists full of his sweatshirt, trying not to die. When it was over, we drank cider and ate donuts and stood in the middle of all the haunted commotion, waiting for the dimented clown sideshow to start.

Halloween songs played in the background, and as soon as I heard 'Thriller' I started making exaggerated dance moves and Michael Jackson-ing like it was my job. My friends laughed as I made a complete ass of myself in the middle of the crowd. I was JUST perfecting my zombie arms when I saw K looking intently over my shoulder. Suddenly, the music got super loud and I turned around to witness that a thriller flash mob had begun.

I totally pioneered that shit, people.

The dancers perfected the moves I was mocking, and I squealed and jumped out of the way for the real performers.

Today's lesson: sometimes, people, crazy zombie arms can be the key to summoning howie mandel.

This means war.

I stared down at the glass container with an aggravated frown. Two left. I did the calculations and assessed that I use one each morning, and he uses two. Which meant when he woke up, he would use the last two in the jar.

And probably leave it empty.

I crossed my arms in silent defiance and refused to cave and refill the container. It was my silent declaration of Q-tip war.

I arrived home from work later that evening, anxious to see the enemy's move.

Ah, just as I predicted: he left it empty.

I mean, I get it. Six feet is a backbreaking distance from the bottom cupboard to have to bend down bi-monthly, pluck a handful of misdirected cotton swabs, stand back upright and place them in the glass container. I can see how it's a struggle.

I stood staring at the container again, hand on hips, and frowned for a minute.

Then I thought about how he had made dinner every night this week, mowed the lawn, and prepared my coffee when he had to leave for work at 2am to work the night shift.

So I bent down, plucked a handful of misdirected cotton swabs out of the bin, stood upright and placed them back in the glass container, with an amused grin on my face.

Relationships are about compromise, right?

Two roads diverged in a wood

I woke in the middle of the night in the freezing cold tent, K curled up in the warm blankets like a drunk burrito. My hand immediately went to my stomach as the pain seared through my gut.

Guess burgers from Walmart weren't the best idea.

My eyes opened wide as I realized the urgency of my situation.

Frantically, I grasped for my pajama pants and clumsily fumbled for the zipper on the door. There was no time to find my glasses, but I remembered my way to the bathroom. As I stumbled down the dirt road past dark and quiet tents, I weaved and bobbed my way down the road, guided only by moonlight.

I made it safely to my destination and back out into the road again, where I suddenly came to a dead stop. The trees were a dark blur, and I developed a sense of vertigo in no small part brought on by the 10 beers I had consumed by the fire earlier.

Which way was the tent?? I squinted frantically, searching the skyline as as panic set in. I should have taken the extra minute to find my damn glasses. Or grab my cell phone to call for help, although that wouldn't have even helped since we had no service.

I started walking in the direction I thought I remembered the tent being. After tripping on several tree trunks and almost falling on my ass, I made it back to the tent.

But I'll tell you two things ill never do when camping again: forget my glasses, or eat burgers from Walmart.

Photo Shoot

I clutched my bags and stared up with glowing eyes as I took in the sights and sounds of the city. People streamed around me, talking on the phone, drinking coffee, rushing home from a long day of work in the city. They all looked tired and disillusioned, and my childlike excitement gleamed in stark contrast. But I didn't care that I stood out, considered a "country girl". My heart was exploding with pride, I had just finished art directing my first photo shoot. I thought back to my days at Cosmo, and all the scary choices I'd made between then and now. 6 years ago I moved to NY, leaving everything I'd known, and 3 months ago, I quit a job I'd been at for 5 years for the unknown.

Even this morning, as I made my way to a studio I'd never been before, to meet a photographer I had never worked with and actual stylists. Would they be bitches? Should I act like I knew what I was doing? But I didn't. I swallowed my pride, asked questions, and marveled at how so many talented people could come together and bring a vision to life.

We were shooting drinks and a very expensive necklace for an opening spread in one of our magazines, and I spent much of the day staring at the half-million dollar necklace lying nonchalantly next to a stack of napkins on the table. I wanted to put it on so badly, but the grown up in me thought better of it.

The day went smoothly, and as I walked out of the studio, i couldn't keep the grin from spreading across my face. Tears brimmed in my eyes as I realized that I finally, FINALLY found my dream job. And all of the scary choices I've made have begun to pay off.

Who's been having S in my bed?!

Listen. It's no secret that I have been knee deep in staff meetings and not cleaning my house since I got a grown up job.

But I was more than a little disgusted with myself when I only just got around to washing the sheets on the guest bed this morning. From memorial day.

I rifled through the sheets in a cleaning fury, when a crumpled jean skirt fell out of the unmade bed onto the floor.

I paused for a moment as my fury skyrocketed. What was THIS?! Who has been having adult relations in my bed?!

I grabbed the skirt and stormed downstairs to demand that K get on board the angry train with me.

LOOK AT THIS! I declared. Do you know what this is??

He stared for a minute with a confused expression, as I held up the skirt with both hands, to showcase my disgust.

The skirt was tiny. TOO tiny. Toddler tiny.

It was my 3 year old niece's skirt. (and not some skankity skank, like I'd originally thought.)

Lesson: don't jump to conclusions. Or clean your house more. One or the other.

Count THIS, beeyotch.

Last week, I downloaded an app for my phone that counts your calories. I was proud of myself for taking charge and trying to get back on the weight loss bandwagon.

An hour later, one of my coworkers walked around the office handing out free Drumsticks.

I took one, naturally.

Thursday went fine, and I was excited about actually seeing how much I was eating during the day. I was honest, upfront with myself, and calculated each bite.

Then came Friday. I got home from work, didn't feel like cooking, and was drained of all willpower to protest when K suggested we get Chinese for dinner. I reluctantly plugged in a whole sesame chicken meal into the app and grimaced as I watched the total add up.

A few hours later, I snuck a cookie.

Then I snuck the eggroll from dinner.

Then I snuck another cookie.

I plugged all of my wrongdoings into my app, and cringed as it judgingly calculated my remaining calories took a dive into the negative. As in, I had far exceeded my calorie allowance for the day. And instead of accepting responsibility, bucking up and trying to improve, I bargained. And made some creative revisions.

Sesame chicken dinner wasn't really a WHOLE dinner, was it? Because let's face it, who can finish that much food? I recalculated it to be 1/2 cup of chicken and 1/2 cup of white rice. I conveniently forgot the sauce. Who calculates sauce anyways?

I gave K a bite of my eggroll, so that means I REALLY only ate half of it, right?

And the cookies were really nothing more than breakfast cereal, marshmallows and butter. So I mean... cereal is good for you. Cookie.... delete. Cereal.... add.

And thus, my total was brought down to allow me 79 more calories for the day. I went to sleep satisfied.

I think it was a sign from the universe that counting calories is not for me, for two reasons: 1) I am terrible at math. 2) I do not like to be held accountable for the snacks I put into my mouth.

Congratulations on your engagement!

My brother's wedding was absolutely GORGEOUS. It was honestly one of the most beautiful weddings I've ever been to, and I'm not just saying that because he's my brother.

K and I danced, drank, laughed... And got congratulated by my parents' friends on our engagement.

Awkward.

What are you supposed to say when someone mistakes you for your sister and asks if you've picked a date yet?

I handled it gracefully, of course, and courtesy laughed my way through the awkward silence, exacerbated by the sudden lack of eye contact by all parties involved. But my heart broke a little, I have to admit.

I'm happy, y'all. I have a new job, K made me salmon steaks last night, I'm down over 30lbs. Truly, I couldn't ask for more. Not to mention that K has handled the summer of weddings like a champ, and we've even seriously discussed wedding stuff (K has decided he wants a top hat now... Which we will absolutely nix at a later date.)

But I have to admit that I got a little misty when I thought about what it will be like when it's me up there. Has anyone else experienced this?

Passive aggressive fantasies

He sat across from us, leering, sizing us up. I sank farther and farther into my chair, desperate to escape. He might as well have been wearing an open-buttoned shirt, chest hair sprawling, with gold rings, a dirty moustache and a cigar dangling from his mouth.

LEASE! He screamed over and over again, though I did not want to lease. I wanted to buy a car.

It was the first car salesman of my first car-shopping experience, and I HATED IT.

I felt like a little kid, unable to follow the conversation, growing bored with every diagram he drew, explaining why leasing a car was a better option.

It was one of those moments when I wanted to jump out of my skin, stand up and yell STOP IT!

Here was the fantasy scenario that I played over and over in my head after we left:
Charles: HEY, YOU SHOULD LEASE A CAR, NOT BUY ONE! *condescending chuckle*
Me: Charles, listen to me. I'm going to make this easy on you. I don't like you. I do, however, like Sean here, though he duped us into discussing finances with the dirty likes of you. I want to buy a car. I have money, I know exactly what I want, and I'd like to get one from this fine establishment. Now shut up, and let me give you thousands of dollars, please.

Here was the ACTUAL scenario:
Charles: HEY, YOU SHOULD LEASE A CAR, NOT BUY ONE! *condescending chuckle*
Me: *slinks lower and lower into my chair, avoiding eye contact, wanting to stab myself in the eye with Charles' pen.*

Why does it have to be so GD DIFFICULT? I HATE CAR SHOPPING.

Abercrombie and sex hair

Woman after woman stepped out of the small, warm room with flushed faces and sly grins. Sex hair and shirts askew, they stumbled from the kitchen back to their desks. Next was my turn.

I was nervous. Of course I had picked today to wear skinny jeans for the first time ever. I felt uncomfortable and apprehensive, but that was all about to change.

I stepped into the haven and was greeted by the aroma of lavender, the sound of naturescapes, and the white hot smile of an Abercrombie model.

I gulped like a teenaged boy about to get his first lap dance. THIS was our company masseuse? Why couldn't he be an old, fat lady?

Soon, I was crumpled into the massage chair, worrying less about whether my underwear was sticking out of my jeans an more about... well, nothing.

The fifteen minutes went by too quickly, and I cried a little inside as I shook the model-I mean masseuse's hand and returned to the toils of my desk. All in all, this new job isn't half bad.

Hug or HANDSHAKE?!

I watched him move down the row of coworkers; each one got a hug. I fidgeted in my work clothes like a five-year-old on picture day, sweat beads starting to form on my forehead.

This would be he first time meeting the president of our company, and I felt vastly unprepared. All of the huggers had met him before. And though I'm usually quick to hug, it seemed inappropriate for the president of the company.

Closer and closer he got, until he stood in front of me. I extended my hand and started to introduce myself, but he brought it in for the real thing. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a hugger on our hands.

The rest of dinner went fine, although I happened to get pushed into the seat directly next to him at a table of twenty, in one of the fanciest restaurants in town. (I'm not the fanciest lady, if you havent noticed by my constant stream of curse words.) I tried desperately not to spill on myself or say anything inappropriate, the "that's what she saids" sitting on the tip of my tongue.

I managed to make it through with one faux pas: I noticed everyone around me ordered the scallops or a salad, but naturally, I took the opportunity to order a delicious steak. It was about the time that my coworker whispered in my ear that the pres was a vegetarian. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I guess next time, I'll skip the steak and just order vodka. Maybe that will make the hug or handshake fiasco a bit more tolerable.

The dog mizer

I watched her squat on the floor in front of Meg's cubicle and piss right on the floor. I swear she was grinning.

It was about that time that I realized that "bring your dog to work day" is nice in theory, but highly fucking irritating in practice.

Do you know how hard it is to get work done with puppies chasing each other around the office? Not to mention we had free food brought in today (yay!) which made for a begging free-for-all.

I tripped over leashes, smelled pee all day, and nearly fell out of my chair twice when the demolition of a nearby building caused a barking frenzy.

A great dane + a doxen + a busy fucking day = a very angry PGG.

Call me the dog mizer, but i think I'll stick to my mews. And maybe work from home next bring your dog to work day.

F*ck off, buddy.

I held my gaze straightforward, hands on the wheel, expression determined. A silver Volvo sped up to pass me in the left lane, and a small blue car kept pace with me on the right, clearly trying to get my attention.

Seriously? I thought. Fuck off, buddy. I LIKE driving in the middle lane, and your middle finger isn't going to ruin my Tuesday morning commute or change my driving habits.

I had cruise control on, so my speed maintained as he kept so obviously To the side of me. I grew annoyed at pretending to not see him, but i am stubborn as an ox and I wasn't giving in.

Finally, I saw him pull ahead of me, and I relaxed now that our game of chicken was over.

My passive aggressive middle finger was halfway raised when I realized it was one of my friends.

Guess maybe I should pipe down the road rage at 7:15am.

Trying to score dope

God dammit. I was late, it was raining, and all of the parking spots were taken. Frustrated, I drove around to the back lot, where I had never parked before. I shuffled quickly to the building with an armful of bags and my coffee cup, scanning the wall for the door.

I spotted it, scanned my keypads and grabbed the handle. Nothing. I scanned it again, and pulled on the door a second time. Again, nothing. What the hell??

I backed up and read the words on the door: "Addiction and Recovery Center."

Oh shit. Not the right door.

Embarrased, I lumbered around to the front door, and the key worked. Whew. I headed up to my office for the day.

I thought I was in the clear until I received a call from the front desk around 5pm asking me if I had tried to come in trough the wrong door this morning. What the- how did they KNOW? My face turned red and I burst out laughing as the receptionist explained that I had tripped an alarm and that it recorded that it was my key that had done the job.

So much for trying to fly under the radar for the first couple of weeks...

How soon is too soon?

2 and a half weeks. 11 days. That's how long it took for me to drop the first "that's what she said" on my new coworkers. Too soon?

How soon IS too soon to start letting your true colors fly at a new job? I mean, I went from PJs, Maury, and swearing like a sailor all day every day to: is pink sparkly nail polish appropriate? how soon can I start wearing flip flops? And most importantly, can these people handle my Michael Scott impressions?

Turns out, they can. Hours after my first TWSS, i received my first email about zombies from a fellow designer. Thus began finding a middle ground between the me that sleeps with a pink gingham pillow and business casual me.

Open Sesame

I sat in my car with the engine running screaming obscenities at the garage door that refused to open with my magic button. It had been a long, stormy drive home from work and all I wanted was to get inside of my GD house.

Suddenly, I heard honking behind me and I quickly composed myself. My neighbor gestured for me to roll the window down, and told me the power was out. I waved a sheepish thank you and proceeded to walk around the house to manually unlock the front door.

Sure as shit, the power was out, and had been for some time. I changed into pajamas (yes, it was THAT kind of day) and sat on the couch. What the hell do you do when the power is out?

I knitted for about 15 minutes then grew bored. It's just not quite as much fun when the Real Housewives of the OC aren't there to join me.

Finally, I found an LED headlamp that K must use when he goes mining for coal, or some other such absurd thing, and decided I would start Fifty Shades of Grey. (I'm sorry, Lor... I had to see what the hype was about!)

And that is how I spent the rest of my evening: starfished on the couch, trying not to sweat on myself, reading porn with a headlamp on. Not creepy at all.

The Commute

I rolled the window down and felt the breeze blow through the car, through my hair. My antenna is broken so I only get 3 radio stations, so I went old school and popped in a danity Kane CD. (don't judge me.)

And as I drove, tired from a long day an lots of new information and faces, I smiled to myself. I felt so thankful for my life, for the people in it, for K's support and pitching in to help balance the work I'm unable to do from home during the day now. I'm thankful for this opportunity for change, for the chance to fight for my happiness and start a new career. That feeling of inertia I felt a few months ago is long gone. In its place is a lasting sense of contentment. I am SO thankful.

Pure, unadulterated hell

I gripped the armrest of my tiny window seat and fought the tears back. I could see the baggage guys loading bags down below and I fought the urge to fog up the window and etch "HELP ME."

It was hour 4.5 of the entire journey home from Phoenix, I was exhausted, and we were on an hour delay. It was one of those layovers where you're forced to stay on the plane, too.

There were two babies under a year old on the flight who were equally as unhappy to be stuck on this plane. A woman sat down next to me who wanted to know everything about me, kept peering over my shoulder to ask what I was reading, and inquired from start to finish about my game of words with friends. It was another full flight, elbow to elbow, and the mother of the two month old moved her seat to directly behind me before takeoff. The babies behind me echoed my unhappiness and played off of each other for the entire flight. When one would calm down, the other would start up.

It was pure, unadulterated hell.

When I finally got home at 2am last night, I threw my arms around K and have never been happier to be home. I think I'll stay home and postpone any cross country flights for awhile, at least unmediated.

First day at the new job

I managed to slip off one shoe and sock in the car during the hour drive home yesterday. The other was, understandably, busy driving the car home from my first day at the new job.

I was exhausted, in a good way. It was a flurry of new faces, information, experiences. But I earned it myself.

I pulled into the drive, ready to change into pajamas and veg out on my couch to a little Fringe action (hello, pacey!) when I noticed Ks work truck already at the house.

He was in the kitchen, banging pans around, surprising me with dinner! I couldn't believe it. Then, I looked over at the table and noticed a fresh vase of flowers.

And I just burst into tears. When you start a new job, it feels like your whole world is flipped upside down. And the only stable thing in it seems to be your partner, and your friends an family. I can't tell you what's relief it is to have someone who is standing by me, encouraging and supporting me, so that I can devote all of my energy to the job. I feel so incredibly blessed to have him in my life. All of my friends and family, too. I really don't think I could do it without them. :)

I might pee myself

Okay kiddies, this is it. Monday is my first day at the new job, and I am TERRIFIED.

One, I forget how to socialize. Working from home the last two years has severely eroded my social skills. I stutter and mumble and get all red in muh face, y'all.

B, I don't even know what to wear. I feel like it's my first day of school and I need to lay out my outfits for the week.

3, I have to go to AZ for training on Wednesday all by myself. And I hate flying.

So basically, this week is Be Brave boot camp for my socially inept self. Why do I feel like I won't sleep for the next week?

Shut it, Chatty.

Yesterday I was on the elliptical at the gym, minding my business, when a man and a woman came over to my (generally peaceful) corner of the gym and started loudly gossiping about one of their mutual friends.
He was gay, she was his (loud and very annoying) lady friend, who didn't do one ounce of working out the entire time they were there.

He attempted to lift weights while she followed him and talked his ear off about said mutual friend and her low dating standards. He walked over to the free weights, she followed him. He walked over to the lat pulldown machine... she followed him. He walked over to the treadmill... well, you get the picture.

But when he got on the treadmill, she announced that she was too tired to work out and was going home.

I'm sure she was tired, running her mouth like that.

I wanted to hurl my water bottle at both of them and tell them to shutty.

But I refrained, and instead made passive aggressive sneers while I re-read the same sentence for the seventh time in my book.

Why get a gym membership? You just need an unlimited phone plan, Chatty.

I can't keep up with you kids and your technology.

You GUYS. Last week, I finally bit the bullet, joined the world of fancy high tech gadgets, and bought myself an iPhone. (To go with my fancy new job, of course. I can't let those young art directors show me up.)

I waited patiently for a whole week, checking the mailbox each day like he was bringing my Red Ryder secret decoder.

Finally, a Santa dressed all in brown with very manly shorts dropped off a package on my doorstep. I hid behind the door and waited until the truck pulled away, eyes gleaming.

When I opened the box, angels sang.

K was my first call; he knew I'd been patiently awaiting my new bundle of joy for days.

"Hey honey! How is your new phone?"

"It's GREAT! I LOVE IT! BUT I THINK IT'S BROKEN!"
"Why?? What's wrong?"
"I DON'T KNOW! YOU SOUND REALLY FAR AWAY!"

"Honey... did you take the plastic covering off of the speaker?" 

"WHAT?"
"The PLASTIC COVERING! YOU HAVE TO TAKE IT OFF OF THE FRONT!"
(silence)
"I'LL CALL YOU RIGHT BACK."

I don't know if I'm ready for all of this, you guys. Should people who sleep with giant carebears be allowed to have iPhones?

The butthole of America

Maybe we were playing Justin Bieber too loud, but we didn't hear it at first. Then we came to a stop in Cleveland rush hour traffic, and rolled the windows down to get some air.

"Do you hear that?"
"Yeah. Is it the car behind us?"
"Uhh... (leans out window)..."
"No. That's us."
"What the hell is it?"

It was metal on metal, a scraping like ten thousand nails on an angry chalkboard. We were 9 hours into the drive, 3 hours from our destination. In the middle of fucking Ohio.

We decided to roll the windows up and pretend like it wasn't happening. It worked for a few minutes, until I noticed the car behind me flashing its brights. She pulled up alongside us on the highway and motioned for us to roll the window down.

"THERE'S SOMETHING DRAGGINGGGG!" She yelled.

I waved our gratitude and decided we couldn't ignore it any longer. We pulled off a random exit into the least shady looking gas station we could find. I put on my big girl panties and scooted under the car like I'd seen K do a hundred times.

Sure as shit, a big metal piece hung down from the belly of my trusty Focus, touching the asphalt.

We Googled a Munro Muffler in the area, and tried to contain the swear words as we drove as slowly as possible. Another lady at a stop light rolled her window down to yell a warning. At this point, it was salt in the wound.

I prepared my gameface as we walked into the lobby of the tire shop. I wasn't about to get taken advantage of in a foreign town, in the middle of godforsaken OHIO. My sister and I had dubbed it the butthole of America for a reason.

Tim was a gentleman, nothing less. He whipped my Focus up onto the lift and we cheered as he tore the metal sheeting from the bottom of my car with reckless macho abandon.

I offered him $20 to thank him, but he wouldn't take it. I was going to hug him, but my sister said don't make it weird.

And so, 45 minutes later, we were back on the road, sans a heat shield. Thank you, Tim--you saved the day. And Ohio, I hate you just a little less now.

Shuffling Boxes

Quitting your job is like a bad breakup. The time between giving your notice and completing your moral obligation of the final weeks is like being separated but still living under the same roof.

You can feel the tension, your mind is elsewhere (on the new job, most likely), and even through the emails you can sense the disconnect between you and the company you're leaving behind.

Thank god I work from home, or this would be like running into each other in the kitchen after filing for divorce.

"Oh... heyyy."
"Hey."
"How are things?"
"Good."
"Great. Well I just wanted to make a tuna sandwich, but I'll leave you alone in here to slice the tension with the knife set you demanded in the settlement."

I can do this. I can do this. Just a few more weeks of sleeping on the futon and silently shuffling boxes out to my car.

I quit my job!

Well kiddies, if you couldn't see through my transparent metaphor of a post, I have officially quit my job! (and gotten a new one.)

I don't normally talk about my job on here for obvious reasons stemming from self-preservation, but this is an exciting transition.

I currently work from home full time, as most of you know, and as awesome as that seems, I tend to go a bit stir crazy most days. Plus, K travels for work quite a bit, which leaves me alone to talk to my cats. And my plants. And yell at Maury for dragging out the DNA results.

So I will be a grown up now, with a grown up job in a real office, working for an AWESOME company. I am super excited!

Also, lots of other exciting things happened this weekend while we were in the mitten: my sister picked a wedding venue/date, I saw a lady get hit by a car, and had some car troubles on the 12-hour drive. This is the stuff good blog posts are made of, people. Stay tuned!

Don't Hate the Player

I have a secret, people. I need to share it with you.

I've got two boyfriends. Two. My life has been a juggling act lately.

One boyfriend lets me stay home in my pajamas, gives me lots of personal space, and doesn't make me wear shoes. He says "hey honey! I've got a great idea. Let's sit down and watch Maury for an hour, and try to guess who is the daddy." He's good like that. But he leaves me alone a lot, and I find that I'm an unhappy girl. Which is why I've sought out boyfriend #2.

Boyfriend #2 is a sophisticated man. He brings me flowers, likes me to dress up in pretty outfits, and holds the promise of free massages over my easily swayed head. He wears a suit, he takes me on nice dates, and he always pays for everything. He makes me feel loved.

When I'm with Boyfriend #1, I feel lonely. It wasn't always like that, we were happy for the first few years. Now, the personal space is great (I'm a very independent woman), but I find I'm dating myself most times. I'm not wowed by Boyfriend #1 anymore, even though we've been together for almost 5 years.

When I'm with Boyfriend #2, I feel excited, passionate, full of life. I feel useful, and happy, and vibrant. But Boyfriend #2 wants me to break up with #1. You see, he's not the polygamist type. And frankly, I'm not handling it well myself either. I hate sneaking around, I feel like I'm lying all the time, and I'm full of anxiety at what road to take.

Boyfriend #2 says he wants to marry me, but only if I leave #1.

So I've been waiting for about three weeks now for that proposal... nervous, anxious, anticipating. I'm terrified of change, but I've just been SO unhappy.

Who will I end up with?!

Sleep-a-sutra

I managed just fine in my twin-sized dorm room bed. It was cozy, in fact, and comfortably housed more than one of us on the rare occassion that a girlfriend was too drunk to walk home alone. (We slept head to foot, don't get crazy now.)

When I got my own apartment, I graduated to a full-sized futon, then my very own queen-sized bed. A real luxury, coming from humble army-cot beginnings.

When I met K, he had the holy grail of beds. A KING. With high count thread sheets and EVERYTHING. (He's a diva for bedding, which is obviously the only reason I stay with him.)

When K works away from home, I have the whole bed to myself. I enjoy the freedom to starfish myself in the middle (if I don't have 3 cats taking up prime real estate on the bed.)

Obviously, while away in his hotel bed, he has adopted the starfish as well. Because lately, THIS has been happening:

Yes. K sleeps like a percent sign, DIAGONALLY across the bed. With his head on MY pillow. Leaving me to curl up in a tiny corner of the bed, laying straight as a pin, because I can't even turn over without falling off of the bed.

What's even better? He is one of those people who sleeps like a rock. You cannot. Wake him. EVER. I've tried everything: gentle nudges, poking him, smothering him with a Carebear... NOTHING WORKS.

One night, I got up to go to the bathroom, gave up and came back to bed on the other side of him, because there was more room.

I love to cuddle, but at this rate--I think I had more room in that army cot of a dorm room bed.

Creepy Baby Overshare

Most of my new mommy friends are extremely tactful in their sharing of new baby photos, and I love seeing their cute faces to discover whether he/she looks more like mommy or daddy.

Hil tweeted this frightening photo of her baby.

But we all have those friends who share 10,000 photos of their babies a day... eating, spitting, sleeping... which is about 9,999 too many.

Thank God for the "hide" feature.

Like Hilary Duff, for example.

Hil, I love you. And your new baby is cute. But THIS picture is just plain creepy. ------->

I'm sure that once I have a child of my own, I will want to share photos of him/her with the whole world. God knows I tweet seventy bajillion photos of my cats. But I think Facebook may benefit from establishing a Quality Control department to filter out especially creepy photos. For the child's own good, of course. Because something tells me that when he grows up, he's not going to be thrilled when Mom breaks this treasure out to share with his very first girlfriend.

If I were a lesbian

If I were a lesbian, there are a series of women that I would leave my husband for.

(I don't know why I'm hypothetically married in this make-believe sapphic encounter, but go with me.)

But they'd have to be stupid hot. I'd be one of the pickiest lesbians ever. Maybe because I AM a girl, and I know what I like. Anyways, here's my list.

Kelly Clarkson has an awesome voice, and I also love that she's not a skinny-minnie, much like myself. Not to mention her first album was the anthem to my recovery from first true heartbreak. I'd totally switch teams for her.

Zooey Deschanel is hot, funny, and wears cute clothes. So we could totally have one closet and both wear the same outfits. (Double bonus!)

Kat Von D - She might be a bit moody (understandable after dating Jesse James), but she's hot too, and being with her would definitely up my street cred. I might have to dye my hair blue or something to keep up with her tatted up style though.

Gabrielle Union - She looked really good in a suit in Ne-Yo's video for Miss Independent. Plus she's sassy. And hot. And she made out with LLCoolJ in Deliver Us From Eva, so it would be like I'm making out with LLCoolJ by the law of deductive argument. Right?

Let's see, who else...

OH. Game changer. Khloe Kardashian! I think she's totally hot, she's got some junk in the trunk (like me) and she'd bring me out of my hetero shell. (I'd be new at this whole lesbian thing, and in need of guidance, okay?!)

So, people, let's hear your lists. Come onnn, I know I can't be the only one!

Choose Your Own Adventure

There is nothing like the fear of change. It's an illusion, really, because everything is changing all the time. We just don't notice, or take the subtleties in stride.

But a big change, one that could change the course of your life, those are scary.

Like the moment I packed up my earthly belongings and moved away from my parents for the first time to go to college.
Or the moment I decided to go backpacking in Europe with a group of strangers.
Or the moment I found out I got the internship at Cosmo, and moved to New York.

The changes you CHOOSE to make are possibly the scariest. Because you hold the power in your hands, you're looking down two roads, unsure of which path to take. You imagine what the outcome will be for each option, but it's blurry in your mind and you have to squint through the fog to see if indeed, the change will improve your life.

And the truth is there are no wrong answers. Just different life paths. Like a choose your own adventure of the very scariest kind.

There's nothing like the feeling of being ALIVE during these transitory times. So contrary to the quiet stalemate of indecision, it feeds your soul, keeps you awake at night, fills you with excitement.

I'm nervous, anxious, excited, hopeful, wishing, grinning, and so incredibly thankful. All wrapped up in moments of throat lumps and heart thumps.

It's vague for a reason, but I won't hold it for long. (Promise.)

How will it all turn out?

I peed in my suitcase.

"Guess what I did last night?"
"What?"
"Peed in my suitcase."

After work Wednesday, me, K, Seestar and brother in law, Johnny Bananas, hopped into my sister's car to begin the grueling 12 hour drive to the mitten state, for JB and Seestar's engagement party--and also to scope out wedding venues for the happy couple.

I managed to make it there and back without taking a driving shift, mainly because I am lazy, and also because I was very busy knitting a scarf in the backseat. (Don't judge me.)

Ring Pops, fo sho!

The party was an epic success, and we all got stupid drunk and ate ring pops until the wee morning hours.

...so successful, in fact, that my brother in law apparently awoke in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, and mistook his suitcase for a toilet.

Naturally, my sister lept out of bed to do major damage control when she heard the sound of peeing, repeating "NONONONONONONO stop stop STOP," to which Johnny Bananas replied:

"I'm GOING."

Did I mention we were staying at his mom's house, and we woke her and his stepdad in the ruckus of our return from the bar?

Thank god my second mother in law is the coolest on the planet and we all woke up the next morning to laugh about JB's pee-filled suitcase.

Three loads of laundry later, we were back on the road to NY. I can't WAIT for Johnny Bananas' bachelor party. They better all wear Depends.

Inertia

It seems like EVERY person in my life is going through a major transitional period. They are either engaged, pregnant, just had a baby, just got married, are buying a house, or are switching jobs--starting exciting new careers.

I... am doing none of the above.

And I feel a little like I'm standing in the ocean, my feet cemented into a layer of wet sand, watching the world change around me while I stand still.

It's not that I want to trade lives with any of them, and I'm genuinely happy for each one for the blessings they have. It's just that it makes me realize that nothing in this world is ever going to stop changing, even for a second. Even when I think it will always be exactly like it is. Even when I HOPE it will.

It won't be. It can't.

And I suppose that's a good thing, because we can't just stay the same forever. We need to change, and grow... to evolve.

Some periods in your life are full of change, and others are a bit more stationary. I guess when you're in your late twenties, it's natural to look around, check out what everybody else is doing, and take inventory of your own life.

But I feel a bit overwhelmed by everything changing at once. Like I need to run and catch up with everybody else. (For what? To DO what? Is life a race?) I guess it's left me wondering what path I'm on, in life, in my career.

And how is it all going to turn out?

Shit Girls Don't Say: Baby's First Bikini Wax

Where the hell is Skipper? (Image: www.ry.com.au/ontrend/brazilian-waxing-bare-all-down-under/)

I felt like a hooker on her first day of work. I picked out my outfit the night before, stressed about how to do my hair, and showered twice yesterday.

My appointment was last night at 7pm, which meant I had to sweat it out (literally) all day long. I was so nervous all day I could barely focus.

After all, what could be more nerve-wracking then a stranger approaching your nether-regions with hot wax?

It was a no-pants-dance of epic proportions, worse than a gyno appointment. Because I mean, doctors HAVE to be professional. This was one of my peers. A lady, who no doubt had seen more va-jay-jays than she'd like to admit, and knew what was weird and what wasn't.

She instructed me to strip and lie on the table covered with a sheet, which I did, feeling a little like I was about to undergo an alien experiment.

Suddenly, insecurity flooded over me and I felt 12 again. What if mine wasn't NORMAL? What did she really think? Did she appreciate that I had spritzed a little Japanese Cherry Blossom down my trousers?

She was very professional, and quick, which I appreciated. And I giggled and yelped through the entire procedure with as much maturity as I could muster, lying sprawled out nekked in front of a stranger.

She has me on a strict 4-week schedule now, which I'm sure is some kind of horrible corporal punishment. And as soon as I'm able to put my pants back on without wincing, I'll let you know how I feel about the results.

Fuck you, Us Weekly.

(Source: mamapop.com)

Shut up, I love that shirt on you.

But seriously, don't you think it's time to lay off Ben the Bachelor? I don't think he's quite the pimp you've made him out to be. He may have frizzy hair and a hell of a hat collection, but don't we all?

It takes a nerd to spot one, and I see right through that cashmere sweater. He's no player, just a lifelong nerd with a little case of Trapper Keeper Syndrome. The popular cheerleader asked him out after science class, got naked and made him do her homework, and he carried his lazer-covered Trapper Keeper in front of him to hide his boner through the entire rest of the show.

Can you blame him?

Sure, he was thinking with his No. 2 pencil instead of his brain. But who wouldn't be smitten by a hot model prancing in the ocean sans skivvies?

Ben, hang in there brother. Not all of us think you're an asshole. Any guy with mad rap skillz and an alter ego named Storm Horse is okay in my book. And whomever you choose to spend your time with after chess club is your own business. Nerds unite.

Where the hell does my neighbor go?

Let's play a fun game. It's called: where the hell does my neighbor go?

There it is, in all its loud, obnoxious glory,
stuffed to the gills with useless crap.

He moved in next door 4 months ago, and took it upon himself to claim a space in OUR driveway for his '94 Toyota Corolla station wagon, which is filled to the brim with useless bags and other crap.

It wouldn't be a problem, except that his muffler is broken. So each morning, the ground rattles and windows shake in announcement of his departure. He is home all day except for intervals during which he does mystery activities that take approximately 14 minutes to accomplish.

6:17am: leaves.
6:29am: returns.
7:39am: leaves.
8:17am: returns.
10:34am: leaves.
10:52am: returns. And so on...

It goes on all day. Sometimes he's gone a few hours, sometimes a few minutes. What does this man do? He can't be working--the hours are too erratic. Buying drugs? Selling drugs? Buying booze? (Yes, every example I can come up with involves socially unacceptable and/or illegal behavior.)

One day, K and I followed him. We didn't MEAN to, but we happened to be pulling out of our driveway seconds after he did and ran into him at the gas station. There he was, leaning up against the sandwich stand, fervently scratching off lotto tickets.

Lotto tickets? I hope you win a million dollars so you can fix that GD muffler.

It's a mystery, folks. Now make like Colonel Mustard in the Library with the Candlestick. WHAT does this man DO?

Groupon is making me a shopaholic.

It's true. I was first introduced to this delightful angel of savings by my friend Kristin, who sent me one as a gift. I made an account, and started receiving daily emails containing thousands of things I instantly needed.

AND could save money on!

Like massages, exotic vacations, and SHOES at heels.com!

If you've seen my closet, you'll agree that I own less pairs of shoes than K does. Flat black boots, 3 pairs of Target flip flops, 1 pair of fancy flops (J-Crew outlet, beyotches!) and a few pairs of black heels that have been collecting dust in my closet since I started working from home. Who the hell needs stilettos when I can work in my Snuggie slippers? Needless to say, a Groupon for shoes is not a necessity for me.

My fancy flops. See the flowers?

Suddenly, everything that Groupon was offering me was something I DESPERATELY needed.

Ooh, electrolysis treatments! You know, I've been THINKING of looking into that!
Yoga classes! I haven't been in 6 months, but now seems like a good time to start!
Home Teeth Whitening Kit! Maybe my smile COULD use some brightening...

Before I knew it, I had 4 purchased Groupons in my queue. They make it so damn easy, saving your credit card info like that.

I actually used one Monday night, at a yoga class with my sister. But I can't tell if it proved beneficial, or a positive reinforcement to my shopping addiction.

Groupon Lovers Anonymous, anyone?

Fail Blog Monday

Well kiddies, let's start this awful time warp of a Monday off right with some classic fails from right here in Stars Hollow:

Outside of a local bar. How did they get the gum machine out without someone noticing?

Take care of your teeth AND cry yourself into a tween frenzy! Available at Best Buy.

When they have to put subtitles on a white girl from Indiana, there's a serious problem.

That's what she said.

Either Dawson finds out about Joey and Pacey's stolen kisses, or he has extreme abdominal pain.

The Stars Hollow gym is famous! John Deere goes there, too.

That's right: a man, walking in front of our house with a shotgun in hand. Cue the banjo music.

Maybe our neighbors kept the third wiseman for a year-round celebration of Jesus?

The Pill Recall

I've been on the birth control pill since I was 16--over 10 years. It's become part of my daily life, so much so that I don't bother to set an alarm for it anymore, the time I take it is ingrained in my brain.

Norgestimate pack-the pills in affected
lots were put in upside-down.

I received a letter in the mail today from my health insurance company that Glenmark, the company that produces the brand of pill I'm on, has issued a recall for specific lots of the drug. Someone at the company screwed up and flipped the plastic holder for the blisters upside down.

Yes, that's right--the sugar pills were at the top.

Somebody call Maury, because we are going to have one hell of a nationwide rise in unplanned pregnancies.

When I contacted my pharmacy, they said they don't keep records of past lot numbers. So there's no way of telling if the pills I took last month were part of the recall. The lot I'm currently taking is off by ONE digit. So I'm safe for this month. But how many others aren't?

We rely on these companies to provide us with a safe product. We trust that the medication we're taking is what it says it is. We trust the pharmacists to provide us with information about what we're taking, how to pronounce the twenty-syllable names of the drugs and what not to take it with. I have been taking the pill so long that I decline to speak with the pharmacist each time.

But are we getting too comfortable? Do we trust these companies too much? There's an element of human error here, which has the potential for a BIG impact on the health of many.

This makes me squirm. Like snakes in my bed squirm. And I don't know about you, but I'll be using additional forms of contraception for oh, about... the next five years.

Samuel

Last Sunday, one of our cars broke down. On Wednesday, the heat went out in the house. And on Friday, the TV exploded.

I have been carless for a week and a half, working at the kitchen table wearing two sweaters, a flannel, and a scarf, and unable to watch Dawson's Creek.

Which is why at 2pm yesterday, in the middle of Sears, I uttered the following words that most boyfriends only dream about:

"Pick out a new TV. Whichever one you want."

I didn't give a fuck. I just wanted to watch Pacey and Joey make out.

Baby Samuel's first car ride home.
And yes, K buckled him in.

2 hours later (I kid you not) we were driving home with Baby Samuel in the backseat. K said we could call him Sammy, but I told him he was a fancy TV and deserved to have a proper name.

We had checked 4 different stores, made our assessments and agreed on a reasonably priced TV that is really quite nice.

And so, though I am still carless, K fixed the heat, and I can watch Real Housewives of BH in HD and see who really has had the most work done.

Fucking SCORE.

Ho to a housewife

Think about how much you've changed since you went from a ho became a housewife.

Thursdays

Hot, Single Days: Happy hour! Pitchers of beer, karaoke, flirting with strangers.

Housewife Days: Ooh, the Office is on! I might be able to knit an entire scarf tonight.

Going Out Attire

Karaoke on St Pattys Day, circa 2004.
That's right, it's light outside.

Hot, Single Days: Tight dresses, heels, some sort of cleavage or midriff bearing ensemble.

Housewife Days: Flip flops (so my feet don't get sore), my "good" jeans (the comfortable ones that come up high enough to cover my muffin top), and a flowy top with a sweater over it. (It might get cold, you never know.)

Alcohol

Hot, Single Days: Whatever I can get my hands on. The cheaper the better. Popov out of a half gallon.

Housewife Days: Orange dream martinis, but not too many--I might fall asleep during The Walking Dead.

Bar Nights 
Hot, Single Days: Dancing on tables, body shots, throwing up in bathrooms. 
Housewife Days: Dancing in your chair, watching girls do body shots, then holding their hair back while they cry and throw up in the bathroom stall.

Now, don't get me wrong--I still enjoy a good bender now and again. I just have to make sure I get enough sleep the night before and drink three RedBulls first so I don't pass out in the middle of beer pong.

A frustrating day

Can you tell we're sisters? Both on a mission for cake.

Yesterday started off beautifully and ended in tears of frustration.

I took my sister to a bridal show in the morning, which was absolutely fabulous. We had a great time, ate lots of cake, and enjoyed sister time. It was what happened after that that put me over the edge.

While I was at the bridal show, K worked on his mom's car (which she very kindly loaned him while he works on his own.) I followed him home after the show to make sure there weren't any problems.

20 minutes into the drive, he slowed to 15mph in a 30mph zone. I knew something was wrong.

He's so damn cute when he can't figure out how to fix something. He does this thing with his hat, pulls it off then puts it on again so it's not quite on his head right. He walked towards my car apologetically, and tried to verbalize why he thought it had stalled. He stood for a minute then tried to start it again. Thankfully, it went, and we continued home.

A quarter mile from home, the car chugged to a stop again. He tried to restart it, then got out and did the hat thing again as he walked to my car. As frustrated as I was, the look on his face melted my heart.

Both exhausted, we parked my car at the house and walked back to the Jeep to push it home. We held hands in silence until we got there.

I steered while K pushed the Jeep down the road in the dark. Suddenly, I saw headlights behind us. A man got out, and without hesitation, left his own car running and joined K. I looked in the rearview, nerves shot, and tears poured down my cheeks. What makes a person do such a thing? Stop and help complete strangers at his own inconvenience? I was so grateful I couldn't find the words. We managed to get it home, and shook the man's hand to thank him.

We got the car to the driveway, and stood outside in the cold for 2 hours, winter hats on, lights pointed towards the engine. I handed him screwdrivers while we both made "that's what she said" jokes through our own frustrations. An hour in, he looked up at me and said: "God, I love you."

I smiled, and it was in that moment that I realized I had chosen right. Not once did he get angry or yell, he was just sorry. And thankful. And that's how I know we'll be able to make it through whatever life hands us.

Shrink, Enlarge, Minimize

Source: 4.bp.blogspot.com

I was inspired today, by B's post on body image. She talked about her body idol, and how she grew up wanting to be someone she wasn't. It reminded me of my Cosmo days.

I was interning in the art department, and my job that day was to box up old, unused cover photos. I stumbled across a photo of Britney Spears; pre-umbrella breakdown, hit-me-baby-one-more-time-because-I'm-wearing-a-snake, Britney. She looked gorgeous: shoulder-length blonde hair, bright smile, killer body. But it wasn't the photo I was taken by, it was what was written on it.

Scrawled across the photo were large 'X's, body parts circled, Photoshop instructions written: "Shrink," "Enlarge", "Minimize."

On Britney Spears. 

What I saw that day was a glimpse into the world of editing, into the world of impossible beauty and imperfection. Cover models--the ones you pin up on your wall as a 12-year-old, the ones you starve yourself for, cry yourself to sleep at night because you don't look like them--aren't as they appear. They're Photoshopped, morphed, stretched into thin ideals of beauty. Boobs enlarged, eyes moved farther apart, thighs thinned, necks stretched. Sometimes, they don't even recognize themselves.

I wish I could have taken those photos and plastered them throughout high school hallways for girls to see, with the headline: STOP HATING YOURSELVES. (Stop hating myself.) And if I didn't love my job so much, I probably would have. Because we spend our entire lives wishing we were something else. Something NOBODY is. And it may just turn out that we really are beautiful, just the way we are.

Accidental Porn Star

"Is that 3G? It looks super fast." -my friend Jill, on the stand-in that I put in K's stocking until the real one came in.

Last night, I was brushing my teeth before bed when I heard K answer a call from his side of the bed, where he had already set up camp.

It was one of his friends, so I figured it would be a quick conversation. (Guys are like one-word phenoms on the phone, right?) I came out of the bathroom to change into my PJs when I heard K discussing the Facetime feature on his new iPhone.

I didn't have my glasses on, so I couldn't see what he was doing. I went about my business and tuned him out. I was just about to take off my jeans when I heard:

"Yeah, it puts you on speaker. You just do this. Here, can you see me?" 

I squinted in his direction across the dimly lit room where I was about to get my sleep on, and quickly realized he had activated this video chat, and I could very well be the main star in this XXX no-pants video.

He had his friend on speakerphone, so I couldn't yell at him. Instead, I resorted to diving behind the closet wall, and making urgent, angry facial expressions and hand gestures in his general direction.

He quickly disconnected the video chat and hung up the phone.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"What? I was Facetiming." 

"If you didn't notice, I didn't have any pants on in the background."

And here it is... 
"Oh, don't worry. You can only see my face blown up on the screen."
Comforting, thanks Ray J.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I didn't wake this morning with a burning ambition to enter into the adult entertainment industry. Plus, how fucking awkward would it be when I see your friend and he's like... oh hey. I know what your undies look like."

What's the moral of the story, kiddies? Be careful where you Facetime.

Facebook is heroin for my soul

Your drug is my love, Mark.

Some drink, some light crack pipes in darkened alleyways, and some eat themselves to death. I lose myself in status updates.

I first realized it back when I took a Facebook hiatus. I spend most of my days in a fog, blurry and unfocused, stressed, forgetting to eat, my mind whirls so fast.

I sit for hours engulfed in the ongoings of celebrities and people I knew 10 years ago, Maury on simultaneously, not knowing what time or day it is, or what I was in the middle of doing before my binge. It's a high, an escape from real life. I feel safe, mindless while I do it, and suddenly I'll realize hours have gone by and I feel exhausted, confused, my mind spinning.

Facebook is heroin for the soul.

So when it came time to make yet another new year's resolution, I decided mine would be to slow my life down.

Less Facebook.
No Maury.
More Knitting.

Sorry, Pancake. It's over.

So far, though I'm still devastated at the breakup, I'm 4 scarves in and I've managed to quit Maury and Pancake for good. Facebook, Twitter, Perez and Pinterest are a work in progress. (Baby steps, people.) Hell, who am I kidding. I've got Facebook open right now. Do they have rehab for social media addiction?

Hungry Cowboy: A Story of Love, Deception, and Slim Jims

In celebration of V-Day, let's check out a story of love and deception from our friends in Bozeman, Montana, who always seem to have something entertaining to report.

February 8, 2012: Someone reportedly stole beef jerky and DVDs from a grocery store around 10 p.m.

Dear Hungry Cowboy,

I realize that a long day on the range will leave you feeling tired, famished, and a little horny. Those cows won't herd themselves, now, will they? You park your trusty steed at the local Grand Union and dip in for some delectables when you realize--you didn't have room for your wallet in those tight Lee Dungarees! What to do?

You had a multitude of options at your fingertips, HC. You could have pocketed a few apples, oranges, or even some Hot Pockets. You had a whole aisle of crackers and cookies at your disposal, but you chose the meat snack marketed by a professional wrestler that costs 2 for $1. I hope you at least got the kind that has the cheese in it, too. Live a little. 

Once you were finished choosing your meal for the evening, you picked up a couple of randy flicks for later, Ride 'Em Cowgirl and An Officer and a Gentlehorse. Though I have to ask, where did you intend on sticking these videos, if you didn't have room for your wallet?

I guess we learned a valuable lesson here, HC: saddlebags aren't just for show. Next time, pack wisely. And maybe get a girlfriend.

XOXO,

PGG

GRIMAAAAACE!

Every year for my birthday, we go to the winter carnival with one mission: stalk the shit out of Grimace and get our photo taken with him. It's become a tradition, starting from the first year K took me and surprised me with the news that we were going to see Grimace. I was like whaaa? Okay...

There he IS! Grimace, my favorite purple dude

But when I actually SAW Grimace for the first time that year, I out-excited the small children taking their photos with Mickey and Eeyore, elbowed my way through the crowd and stood wide-eyed next to the purple guy until he turned to take a photo with K and I.

This year, I spotted him early, and urgently demanded the K get the camera out. No way was I risking missing a photo op with my favorite purple dude. He took his sweet ass time getting it out and I got impatient, so I snapped this photo with my camera.

When we got up to him, I tried to play it cool. Oh, hay Grimace, what's up? Do you mind if we take a pic with you? Sweeeet. Then I turned and grinned at the camera with the fervor of a child who just met Santa Claus, and my entire year was made.

The rest of the carnival was awesome as usual, but Grimace was definitely the highlight:
 

The awesome ice castle. The theme this year was "Alien Invasion."

Mulder?? Are you in there?!

Theeere's Elvis! Right up top like he should be.

Downtown, where the parade comes through.

Me in my giraffe hat, trying to high five the wildcat. He stiffed me.

Last Day of Being 27

The Carebears are ready to party!

This is it, kiddies! My last day of being 27. Tomorrow, I turn 28 and the world changes. It makes me think about how I've spent the last year of my life, and the things I'm grateful for.

In the last year, there were tough times. For the first time in my life, I let go of people who were toxic in my life. I lost my uncle to cancer and had to put a kitty down. I faced death head-on, had to play God and choose it, and it made me realize that while it's a sad and devastating part of life, I'm not so afraid of it anymore. I'm stronger than I thought I was.

But there were more beautiful moments than there were sad ones, and out of tragedy there was inspiration, too. My sister got engaged, my brother got engaged, friends have have welcomed children into the world, and I got to see my family be put back together. I'm so incredibly blessed to have the life I do, to be surrounded with good friends, family and people who love me unconditionally.

In this last year, I think I've started to become more aware of my strengths and weaknesses, how I want to live my life and who I want to be surrounded by. I had to be incredibly honest with myself and recognize that I've been a pushover. I've let people walk all over me and I pointed fingers and played the victim. I didn't speak up when I should have, didn't tell people how I was truly feeling. And really, that makes me a liar. I've held this sarcastic outer shell as a defense to hide what I was really feeling, and I became damn good at it, too. My sarcasm makes me who I am, but I need to be open, sincere and honest, too. It only took me 27 years to realize that.

I have so many AMAZING things to look forward to this year of my life: my brother's wedding, being a part of my sister's wedding, welcoming a brother and a sister into my family, and seeing friends bring their own children into the world. And I get to do it all with the most incredible man by my side. And now that I'm finally starting to realize the way I want to live my life, I can't wait to see what the next year has in store :)

Happy Superbowl to the GROUND

As K and I went to go pick up Superbowl supplies to take over to our friends' house, we discovered it was my favorite day of the year. (No, not my birthday. Although, I DO turn 28 on Friday!)

It was FREE SAMPLE DAY AT PRICE CHOPPER.

And it wasn't even one of the shitty ones where they give you a tiny Dixie cup of fruit salad and send you on your way. They were making WINGS. And PIZZA. And they were GENEROUS.

Naturally, K and I hovered casually near the table until the crowd dissipated. Then, we pretended to be disinterested in the merchandise until the lady with the apron turned to us and lifted the magic lid to the magic tray bearing all sorts of delectables. Then she uttered the words I'd longed to hear:

"Would you like to try a free sample?"

Are you kidding me? Of course I would. But I played it coy, said "Oh? A free sample? That would be great, thank you."

K chose a honey BBQ flavored wing and I chose a hot one.

And it was everything I dreamed it could be.

But my excitement got the best of me when I went to take the last bite of my wing and DROPPED it on the FLOOR.

Happy Superbowl to the GROUND.

"Would you like to try another flavor?" She asked, unknowing.

While I bent down to slyly collect my mess and slip the bone into the trash, K and I gave each other a look and contemplated the possibilities. What if we each took another flavor, and kept eating until the tray was gone? Or better yet, what if we took the whole tray and walked around continuing our shopping trip? They don't think about these things when they set up FSD. We decided to take the high road and got out of there unscathed, but damn, was I tempted.

Thank you, Free Sample Day, for reminding me why I need to have self control. And class.

So, are you a Mac girl?

Before I met K, I was a bit of a wild child, going out all the time, hanging out with friends, and unfortunately, doing a bit of online dating.

There came a point when I knew who I was and what I was looking for, but I just couldn't seem to find everything in one person. Something was always missing. I'd meet a perfectly nice guy and we'd date a few times, then I'd realize that the "spark" just wasn't there. Then I'd go for the opposite, where there was plenty of spark, and none of the kindness or compassion I wanted. One guy, AJ, stood me up for an entire day when he was supposed to pick me up and take me to a BBQ to meet his friends. Nine hours (and no phone call or text) later when I called him repeatedly, he claimed he forgot that we were supposed to hang out that day. I promptly cut it off.

I was tired of dating, and I had reached the point where I was ready to give it up for awhile and just enjoy being with my friends. A friend of mine was having a birthday party at a bar a few hours away that weekend, and excited to get out of town, I decided to go. We all met at her apartment first, where one of our friends came by with his friend.

When I first saw him, I thought he was a total dork. He was quiet, wearing a short sleeved collared shirt with a big coffee stain on it. He was REALLY tall, and I felt kind of bad for him because he didn't know anybody besides the friend that he came with.

It was pouring rain that night, and I was still smoking then. Four of us, including K and I, went outside to huddle under the awning of an adjacent bar for a cigarette. The quarters were tight, and K was really quiet. A few drinks increased my courage, so I started to chat with him. As the conversation continued, we talked about our siblings, what we look for in people, and dating. I matched him sarcastic quip for sarcastic quip, and he seemed impressed. I told him I was a graphic designer and he stopped for a moment and said: "so, are you a Mac girl?"

And that was it.

After chain smoking 2 more cigarettes in the pouring rain, not wanting the conversation to end, we went back inside the bar and he bought me a beer. (Magic Hat Number 9, I'll never forget that.) My friends had moved on to another bar, but I wasn't really concerned. I kept waiting for a deal breaker (I have a child, I hate my ex, I mooch off my parents, I'm broke, unemployed, a douchebag...) Nothing came up. With every turn of our conversation, I started to let myself hope that he could actually be someone I could hang out with.

Three hours (and several Magic Hats later), we were literally running down the street declaring our love for each other and inviting strangers to our wedding. He gave me a piggy back ride and I stuffed a twice baked potato into his mouth like wedding cake. Now that I know him, I see how completely uncharacteristic this was for both of us. But at the time, we didn't care. We went back to my friend's apartment, where the rest of my friends were stacked like cordwood in the living room, and fell asleep holding hands. He met my pink gingham Heart Po the first night we met, and he didn't think it was weird. Nothing happened that night except for sleeping, and I had to get up early the next morning to get back home to my newly adopted kitty, Linus, who I had left for the night to come up to the party. I took the initiative and put my number in his phone. I had never been so brave before, but I felt something inside me that knew this was something I didn't want to pass up.

And 3 years later, we live together with our Brady Bunch family of cats and Carebears. And I'm thankful every single day that I went to that birthday party and chain smoked my face off.