Friday, April 29, 2011

Awesomely hot illegitimate royal babies

I've been plugging my ears and not giving a shit about the royal wedding for MONTHS. This morning, I got up for an early workout and stepped on that treadmill just as the new royal couple finished signing the registry and emerged into the palace. And I got HOOKED, people. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen. I even teared up a bit. By the time my workout was over, I was so hooked that I timed my departure from the gym so I could SPEED home and catch the royal kiss live. I made it with 2 minutes to spare.

I got caught up, okay? Who doesn't love a good fairytale?

But my favorite people in the whole royal wedding? Pippa Middleton and Prince Harry. They're totally hot, and you can tell they're itching to strip off the stuffy attire and knock back a bottle of Jack. They are my kind of people. I have a sneaking suspicion Kate is too, though I'm sure her PR people are up her ass at the moment, trying to preserve her royal appearance.

You can just tell by looking at them that they can't wait for all the hubbub to be over so they can break it down at the afterparty. You know, the fun one the queen won't be at.

And I'm willing to put money on the fact that they're totally going to hook up later. I mean, would that not be the best royal wedding story EVER? I would love it.

Now go on, Pippa and Harry: make awesomely hot illegitimate royal babies. Do it.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

You have to be smarter than the smoke detector.

I ran upstairs yesterday, mid-cat chase, and stopped fast in my tracks when I heard a noise that chilled me to the bone. I froze for a minute to see if I could hear it again. Yep, there it was.


What the hell? I stood motionless in the hallway as I tried to decipher what the noise was. I put on my thinking cap and finally figured out it was the smoke detector--the batteries were probably dying. I stood below it, staring up at it for a good minute and a half, waiting to hear it again to confirm.


But it wasn't the one above my head. Where... was the noise coming from? I walked into our bedroom and noticed there was another smoke detector in there. Ah, that must be it. I stood directly below it, staring dumbly up at it for another minute and a half, waiting for the beep.


Nope, not this one either. How many damn smoke detectors do we HAVE in this house?

I walked into the office and noted that we have another in that room. I stared blankly, straining my neck, waiting for the beep... nope, not it.

Four. That's how many smoke detectors we have upstairs. Four. And naturally, it was the last one I checked, in the guest room, that was making the beeping noise.

I silently cursed K for not being home at this particular moment, as I could have used both his height and vast knowledge of smoke detector anatomy to help me. Instead, I rolled up my sleeves, dragged a heavy chair to the guest room where the annoying beeping was coming from, and started trying to twist it off of the ceiling. When I finally got it undone, there were wires connecting it to the ceiling. I felt like Keanu Reeves in Speed. Which one do I PULL? Will the house blow up? I started to sweat.

I pulled the wires with no dire consequences, and set the smoke detector on the nightstand, proud of myself. I dragged the chair back to its original location and began to walk back downstairs.


You have got to be KIDDING ME. WTF? It's like when you cut a worm in half and both halves still wiggle. I stomped up the stairs and stared at the smoke detector on the table in concern and amazement.


Holy crap. I picked it up, turned it around to see if there were directions on it. It must still be the battery. I finally found the side compartment where the battery was located, and I pulled that motha out. I layed the dissected smoke detector and its innards on the table and stood, hands on hips, in triumph. I dared it to beep again.

It didn't. I think I managed to beat the smoke detector in this battle of wits. And though I could have used K's height and ninja skills, I walked away proud that I was able to do it myself. The moral of the story is: you have to be smarter than the smoke detector.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Best of Craigslist: I stomped on your fire, you choked on a biscuit

I often spend my mornings perusing the missed connections and best of craigslist to see who is stalking whom. Today, I stopped in my tracks and spilled coffee on myself when I came across the following gem:

I stomped on your fire, you choked on a biscuit

You: passed out on the grass after choking on a biscuit and slamming your car into a guardrail at Franklin and Harding

Me: driver of silver bug with 2 women in the car who stopped and put your car fire out.

It's been a bad month, so if you would get me a new fire extinguisher, I would appreciate it. Also don't eat while driving in the future, it's dangerous, as you discovered.

Location: Nashville, TN 

What a tragedy. This guy was just out for a Sunday drive, trying to multitask and eat his breakfast at the same time, when suddenly he chokes and slams his car into a guardrail, igniting his car in a fiery blaze.

Thankfully, this guardian angel drove by in a silver bug to stomp out the fire and save the day.

But what became of the man passed out on the grass from choking? Did you speed off, leaving him to lie there with a mouth full of biscuits? Was he unconscious when you arrived? Did you call an ambulance? I hope you at least checked to see if he had a pulse.

Thanks for your words of wisdom about eating while driving; if he didn't learn his lesson that day, he sure as hell has now. And I'm sure he'll be more than happy to purchase you a new fire extinguisher. After all, you never know when you'll happen upon another spontaneously combusting choking victim.

Monday, April 25, 2011

Just because it says 'Jansport' doesn't make it cool.

K came downstairs for work yesterday donning a new and hideous accessory.

A fanny pack.

Yes, that's right. A fanny pack. I stopped him at the bottom of the stairs.

"What is that?"
"Around your waist. What is that."
"A fanny pack! I found it, it matches my backpack."
"Take it off immediately." 
"No way! This thing is awesome--I can fit my wallet, my keys, my phone...I think I'm going to bring it back."
"That's what purses are for. And no, you are not."
"What?! My dad uses one!"
"That does not make it okay."
(strikes a pose, showing off the pack) "Come on! The wheel... the lightbulb... Reebok pumps... the fanny pack! It's one of the greatest inventions!"

I tried three times to take it away from him in the half hour before he left for work, but he is hell bent on keeping it. I will have to pry that thing from his cold, dead hands.

So while K has transformed into a fashion pioneer, I've been brainstorming ways to destroy my new arch nemesis. So far, I've thought of: strapping it to the tail pipe of his car, pouring spaghetti sauce into it, lighting it on fire, or "accidentally" throwing it out. I welcome any additional suggestions.

There is no sight more terrifying than a 6'6" man with a fanny pack. Not even Hulk Hogan can pull it off. They went out of style for a reason, just like Hammer pants. And scrunchies. Someone please tell this man that he looks ridiculous.

Friday, April 22, 2011

a good Man seek a tender girl

People--I have excellent news. It only took five years, but my college finally found me the man of my dreams. His name is Max, and he is from China. He is looking for a girl who is tender, slender and enjoy life.

Here is his email to me: "hi, I'm Max and looking forward to meeting you soon."

So naturally, I had to look up my ancient password to this site and take a look at Max's online profile:

Viewing Dating Profile for Max:
Age: 28
Sex: Male
SexPref: Straight
Height: 5.7
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Black

a good Man seek a tender girl
i'am from China, i like reading, music, tennis and travel. i'm looking for a girl who is tender , slender and enjoy life.

Max, you seem like a lovely guy. I'm not sure how you got my new email since I've been out of college so long that my ".edu" address is invalid, but I'm sure glad you did.

I'm flattered that our obviously shared interests of "reading, music, tennis and travel" drew you to my profile, and I'm more impressed than creeped out by the fact that you are so confident this one-sided email exchange went so well that you will be meeting me soon.

I am not sure if the dating service informed you of this, but I happen to have moved several states away in the five years since I graduated, and I'm just not sure I'm in a position to pursue a long distance relationship.

But seriously Max, good luck with finding your tender, slender soulmate--I'm sure she's out there waiting to play a round of tennis and travel the world with you.


Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Is 30 the Magic Number?

As we approach the age of 30, it seems friends our age are getting engaged, married, and having babies like rapid fire. What is it about the age of 30 that makes people feel like they are under the gun? Is 30 the magic number in our society? The invisible deadline when it becomes socially and biologically necessary to pair up, settle down, and reproduce?

I realize the obvious, that women only have a certain number of years to have babies. But these days, women up to (and sometimes past) the age of 40 are able to have children (I'm sure there are risks involved, etc, but it's still possible. Mariah did it!)

People who get married so young tend to change while they're in the relationship. It's human nature, you evolve as a person. And it seems to me like it's a crap shoot whether you change together or change as individuals and decide you don't fit each other anymore. I think back on my past relationships and realize that we just grew apart. We matured into different people with different life goals and paths. So my question is... why rush it? You have the next 70 years to be married.

And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with getting married young. I firmly believe that when a relationship is right, it's right. And no time or outside forces can break you apart.

But I wonder why people feel the need to rush all of these important life events before they reach the age of 30? The pressure seems to make people MISERABLE.

During one of my dark days when I was super depressed and thinking I would never find someone, my cousin said to me: listen, you're at the age now where you feel like everyone is getting married. Just wait for the time when everyone starts to get divorced. And she was SO right. Haven't you seen some of your friends on facebook in custody and divorce battles with their exes? You are the same age as some of these people, and I highly doubt you'd rather be in their shoes than where you are. Am I right?

I know people who are single and 30 who are having the time of their lives. They're building their careers, going out to happy hours, focusing on themselves, yoga, vacations with friends... it sounds like heaven! But I understand that it becomes lonely when you see people around you in relationships and you don't see how you're ever going to get there. Believe me, I've been there.

Maybe it's because everyone seems to feel the same pressure to get married and have babies, your single friends start to rapidly decline in number. People get the pre-30 panic and start to pair up like they're boarding Noah's Ark. So I suppose the more people pair off, the lonlier you feel because you have less people sharing your single status around you.

I'm 27, (K is turning 30 in 2 months) and I'm lucky to be in a happy relationship at this age. I know I would feel differently if I were single and 30. But WHY? Why not take that time to enjoy yourself and enjoy being with your friends, instead of trying to live up to everyone else's standard of how you should live your life?

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Camo and Lace: The Teen Mom Divorce

I am DEVASTATED, people. Yesterday, when I turned to my friendly neighborhood gossip queen's website,, I discovered that Leah and Corey from Teen Mom 2 are getting a divorce.

And my heart sank like it was two people I actually knew in real life.

What happened, you two? You were such a beautiful couple. You gave me faith that a teenage pregnancy doesn't always end up in domestic violence, stolen credit cards and jail time. I honestly rooted for you and (though I will vehemently deny it) TOTALLY teared up when Corey hooked that ring on the end of that fishing pole and asked Leah to marry him. I cried even harder when they walked down the aisle in camo and lace.

We know you two have stressful lives with those two beautiful baby girls, one with disabilities. I'm SURE it is a handful for you both. Honestly, I'm 27 and I feel like taking a nap every time I think about it. But you seemed so HAPPY! Leah gave up seeing her ex, Robbie for you, Corey. And despite the unseen moment where you flirted with the bartender at that cowboy bar, Leah stuck by your side through it all.

So where did it all go wrong? I am honest to god heartbroken and demand an explanation for the downfall of your seemingly loving marriage.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Ruining K's Netflix Street Cred

Netflix bases its suggestions for new movies to you on your previous viewing history. Knowing this, I treaded lightly in the beginning of our relationship, respecting the boundaries of the Flix. Gradually though, one of my favorite new hobbies has become jacking up K's Netflix street cred. The other day, under "Suggestions For You" it said:

"K, Because you enjoyed: Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants and The Notebook, we recommend Maid in Manhattan."


The creepy thing about Netflix on Xbox is that other people can see what you're watching. This proved to be humorous when K jokingly turned on "Maniac Nurses Find Ecstasy" to piss me off and we both wound up wrapped up in the plotline. Come on, I had to see if those Nazi Nurses found what they were looking for. The story was HILARIOUS. I would recommend it for you to watch if we were Netflix friends.

Back when K and I first moved in together, I'd go on Netflix via the Evil Xbox Machine under his gamertag and a little box would pop up:

"AWESOMEXboxGUY wants to play Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2"

I don't know how to answer messages like this, so I just ignored them for the first several weeks. Eventually, the messages stopped coming, I think his friends began to realize I wasn't K when they could see I was watching Army Wives and Rock of Love Bus.

Poor K, trying to keep up his badass Kill to Death ratio... he had no idea what he was getting into when he asked me to move in. First came the pink gingham pillow as a permanent fixture on the bed, (not to mention giant carebears and the purple unicorn) then his street cred went out the door. Oh the things you sacrifice when you find yourself a girlfriend.

Friday, April 15, 2011

Police Blotter Friday: It's all fun and games until somebody gets tasered.

A man wearing a green sweater and a golf hat and holding a golf club was harassing people at a downtown restaurant. When police tried to restrain the man, he ran through the restaurant's kitchen, "destroying property." He was Tasered and arrested in the alley behind the restaurant.

Dear Tiger,

I know life has been getting you down lately. I'm sure it's frustrating that you didn't get to don that green jacket at the Masters. But to get drunk and harass patrons at a local restaurant with your clubs? You're better than that.

You must have been drunk, right? Otherwise why would you wear a green sweater and a golf hat to a restaurant. What were you saying to those patrons that got them upset? Did you try to sit down at a stranger's table and asked them to touch your club? Comment on how fat his wife has gotten? Maybe you asked to take a bite of his steak? I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt here.

I know times are tough, my promiscuous friend. But when you saw the police come into the restaurant, you decided to go down in a blaze of glory, dashing through the kitchen towards freedom, swinging your club at pots, pans and frozen bags of french fries on your way out the door.

Too bad they caught you in the alley and tasered you, bringing your reign of terror to a ceasing halt. I was really rooting for you to finish what you had started up in that motha.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Useless Junk That I MUST HAVE

Lately I have found myself inadvertently watching infomercials for useless junk that I absolutely need to have.

1.) The Baby Bullet
I don't even have a baby, but this thing looks awesome. Also, it has a big smiley face on the outside which is very inviting. I could puree all KINDS of shiz with this thing. I think I'd throw just about anything I could get my hands on into it to see what it would do. Olives, bread, butter. It even says it purees rice and CHICKEN. CHICKEN, PEOPLE. Imagine the possibilities.

2.) Pajama Jeans
Hello? Pajamas that look like JEANS? Yes please! I already have four pairs of jeggings that I rotate with tall boots and very flowy shirts. Ideally, I could put these PJeans on for bed, sleep in them all night, get up in the morning and wear them to WORK. Then I could go to sleep in them again! And nobody would be the wiser, until it was laundry day.

3.) The Speed Waver
A fancy crimper machine that brings the great hairstyles of the 80s into modern-day. Remember how punk rock it used to be to crimp your hair? You could put pink streaks in it and pretend you were Jem. Also, star earrings. But I digress. How great that they're bringing back this hideous hairstyler.

4.) The Shake Weight
I have a fun game. It's called "How Little Work Can I Do To Lose Weight?" I literally want to sit on the couch watching more infomercials, and not move at all but get super buff while I do it. Greatest. Invention. Ever. Now if only they made a book that you could place atop your head that would make you smarter by osmosis.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Hilariously Bad Date #4: Leather Pants Designer Guy

Before K, there were many (MANY) bad dates. I read a blog post today that reminded me of how shitty those times were. It also reminds me how lucky I am to have found someone awesome. But really, who wants to read about how happy you are? People want the dirty dirt. The dark ages. B.K., as I like to call them. (Before K.) So I give the people what they want. Jump into my time machine and relive my dark days of dating.

Hilariously bad date #4: Leather Pants Designer Guy

In my darkest of days, I did the online dating thing. Plenty of fish my ass. More like plenty of nonsense. But in all honesty, don't knock it 'til you've tried it if you're having a hard time and want to try to meet people. I think it can work great if you're open minded (and VERY careful/safe.) It's hard to meet people when you're so busy with work and shiz.

So I found myself emailing back and forth with a guy who claimed he was a furniture designer, just moved to the rural upstate area where my office once was, and we chatted about design stuff.

Chatting about design stuff. That should have been my first clue that this was not the man of my dreams.

We talked graphic design, fonts, computers, geeky stuff, (which at the time was really the way to my heart since I am a ginormous nerd.) Though I was skeptical, he seemed like a nice person and we decided to meet for coffee one day just to see if we hit it off.

I talked to my sister the entire drive there, it was a safe parking lot with a Starbucks in it, and lots of people around. It was also far from both my apartment and my office, which I found comfort in. I parked a few rows back facing the entrance so that I could see when he walked in, scope out the scene, so to speak.

A few people walked in and out before I spotted him.

Holy. Hell. He was wearing leather pants. TIGHT, tapered leather pants.

I described the bloody scene to my sister and started my car to drive away. No way in hell I was going in there. My sister calmed me down and said that while she supported my decision if I wanted to leave, how upset would we have been if someone did that to me?

Damn her and her morals. My guilt complex kicked in, I hung up with her and I turned off my car in disgust. We decided we'd give it 40 minutes and she was going to call me with a heart-stopping emergency that would require my immediate departure from said date.

I walked in, already pissed, but tried to make small talk with the guy. He was nice enough, and paid for my coffee, which I appreciated. He then complimented my purse. The ornate details of the metal clasp on my purse.

Thanks? I guess he really was a furniture designer. Or gay. Really, either way it was a lose-lose.

We sat down and resumed somewhat easy talk about design-related things. We talked about programs, learning Flash, frustrating client trouble... and that was it.

All business talk, no personal.

But apparently, he was feeling it much more than I was. Near the end of the date, we walked out to our cars and he said that it was great meeting me and he'd love to go out again. I couldn't lead him on any further, when I really didn't feel a connection to his bad fashion sense and attention to detail. I said to him, "yes--it's always great to meet new friends, you know?"

I felt terrible, but it had to be said. This date was doomed from the first gleam of sunshine off of those ridiculously shiny pants.

We said our goodbyes and he never called again. Sometimes you just have to break it to them gently, but directly. I hope that Leather Pants found the hipster woman of his dreams. Maybe they started a furniture/purse company together and live happily in their leather-clad mansion. Who knows.

Monday, April 11, 2011

An 80s Mullet and Origami Napkin Hats

I'm a 5-year-old in a 27-year-old's body. No, seriously. I'm a giant baby. I sleep with carebears, a stuffed purple unicorn and a pink gingham pillow. When K gets home from work, I hide around the corner and jump out to surprise him. I ask lots of questions, and I get REALLY fussy when I don't eat.

Yet I'm 3 years short of 30.

But isn't that the fun of it? Being able to act ridiculous with your friends? Honestly, that's when I find myself the happiest. This weekend was no exception--one of my best girlfriends Em came in to visit from Chicago, see the house and hang out with K and I. We went out to a delicious Mexican dinner with some great friends, and I haven't laughed that hard in SO long.

Caught with a paper napkin hat on.
We also went to see HOP at the movies on Friday night, and ate giant buckets of popcorn like we were back in middle school. It was AWESOME.

The first hilarious event of the evening was a drunk bachelorette in the bathroom declaring that she was having a sneezing fit at 8pm. Then, Em slipped on her way to the bathroom about an hour later and gave the waitresses a good giggle. Next, the boys started making origami hats out of their napkins which drew a shoutout from the live band playing next to our table. Annnd the cherry on top was the cab driver at the end of the night who had a straight 80s mullet and drove like he was an extra in Talledega Nights.

It doesn't matter how old you are, sometimes you just have to take it back to the old days, when hanging out with your friends and laughing your face off is the best remedy for any stress in your life. Because what's better than snorting milk out of your nostrils with good friends, acting like an idiot (and making hats out of your cloth napkin at the dinner table--*COUGH* K started it. *COUGH*

Friday, April 8, 2011

I think I have SARS

I think I have the SARS. Or mad cow. Or the swine flu. Or some other ungodly sickness that has transformed me into a drippy, sneezy, coughy disgusting mess. Nobody should ever have to see me in this state, burrowed in a blanket, shivering my face off in a 70-degree house.

I think you forget how crappy it is being sick when you feel good most of the time. Maybe that's why it happens--to snap us back into our own mortality and remind us how powerless we really are over stupid, dirty viruses.

There's something about being sick that stops you in your tracks, though. Whatever was going on at the time in your life is suddenly and abruptly put on hold as you spend all of your energy trying to feel human again.

So I think I'll return to my blanket fortress and try to recover from this mad cow with a few (dozen) hot toddies and a bottle of nyquil.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

Tree Planters Do Not Babysitters Make

Another classic police report from the awesome city of Bozeman, Montana:

"A caller reported seeing a woman put a child in a tree planter outside a gym and then go into a casino around 12:45 p.m."

Dear Single and Simple-minded Mom,

I understand that you're trying to get your afternoon chores done. I imagine it's hard being a single mom, trying to get your fitness on, staying in shape so you can pick up hot young cubs looking for a MILF later at the club. I feel your pain, sister--I really do.

I'm curious about what you did with your baby while you were in the gym though? Did you put him on the treadmill next to you while you worked it out? Strapped him to the console and played peak-a-boo while you jogged (soft 'j')? These are the details I'm concerned about. Maybe he held your water bottle while you took a little time on the elliptical. I don't know.

After your workout, you came outside, proud of your accomplishment for the day and realized you had a few hours to kill before you had to go home and put the kiddie to bed, so you thought you'd try your luck and see if you could win a few million before you went home. But crap--you have the baby WITH you. He's not 18, you can't put him to work at the blackjack table just yet. What to do?

You came outside--took a look around, assessed your surroundings, and decided the most logical place to put your child while you went in for a little casino action was a tree planter? Why not a trash can? Or a car seat? You could have at least left him in a stroller so he could chillax while you got your gamble on.

So lady, I sure hope it was worth it. I hope you won just enough money so you can afford a nanny (or maybe an adoption service) so that you can continue your healthy gambling addiction. At least then he can sit home and watch Teletubbies while you're out running your "errands".

Best of luck!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Downward Facing Douchebag

We took a little adventure yesterday into the wonderfully bendy world of yoga. It's always a mixed bag when you attend a yoga class, isn't it? You have your awkward beginners (me and my sister) and those regulars who probably attend seventeen classes a week and show off by doing headstands and hyperextending their arms into pretzel-y positions that would kill you if you attempted them.

We started off looking awesome, walking into the wrong door. After milling about for 10 minutes, yoga mats in tow (I literally had to rip the tags off of mine on the way to the class--I didn't want them to know I was a newbie!) we finally found the place. It was actually really cute, and the instructors were super nice, which helped to make the experience slightly less intimidating.

But I'll tell you, nothing makes you feel more inadequate than trying to face your dog downward and peering out of the corner of your eye to see the guy next to you leaning into an intense headstand. A BIG part of me wanted to reach out and poke him so he would tip over. If we have to look like assholes, so do you, buddy.

But I kept my composure and used some restraint (okay, a LOT of restraint) and managed not to tip douchey over. And by FAR the best part of yoga was where you lie on the floor and close your eyes. Pretty much, we paid $15 to take a bendy nap. And I'd TOTALLY do it again.

Friday, April 1, 2011

Free Alien Porn

For the past several weeks, K and I have become re-hooked on the awkward dynamic of sexual repression between Mulder and Scully. That's right. We took a time machine back to 1993 and started watching the X Files from the beginning. Season one. (Come on, are you really that surprised? You KNOW we are ginormous dorks.)

All 9 glorious seasons have been available on Netflix instant view, and we've been enjoying them at our leisure through the (*cough* evil) Xbox Machine. So far, we've seen Fox and Mulder through the awesome early nineties giant phones, androgenous outfits, bad haircuts, and trench coats.

A week ago, tragedy struck. When we went to turn on the Machine and see what UFO antics Mulder and Scully had in store for us, there was a disclaimer at the bottom of the Netflix screen:

"Available until April 1, 2011."

NOOOOOOOOOOOO. We are only up to SEASON 3!

After a few tears and preparing ourselves for the upset to come, last night came. March 31. We knew it was our last night of Mulder and Scully. We got the ice cream ready and watched a few episodes. Before we knew it, it was 11:30. The episodes are 45 minutes each. Even though it was late, and a school night, we knew we had to watch one more.

But what would happen at midnight?

Would they turn off our episode right in the middle? Before we knew if they caught the satanists who killed a prepubescent Ryan Reynolds? We watched in agony.

Midnight came and went, and Netflix took pity on us and did not cancel our show in the middle. But then we got nervous. The X Files still showed up on our Netflix screen. We thought maybe it was only until we restarted our evil machine. It was 12:15am. Should we just keep watching until they shut it off? I was afraid to turn off the TV. Much like Joey and Chandler when they got free porn and left it on 24/7.

But I had to check it out. So we restarted it and held our breath as we waited to see if they were gone forever. They weren't. So what's the deal, Netflix? Now I'm afraid to turn it back ON for fear of severe disappointment. But at some point today I'm going to have to test out the theory and see if we still have free alien porn. I'm crossing my tentacles.