Thursday, September 29, 2011

My Ex is Engaged

I found out that my ex of 6 years got engaged. How are you honestly supposed to feel when this happens? Another girlfriend of mine had an ex have a baby this month. Though she and I are both in new, happy, committed relationships, there is still a strange, nostalgic feeling that accompanies news like this. We questioned ourselves: is it normal to feel this way?

Ironically, K and I discussed this the week before I found out the news. He said he thinks it's more difficult for girls for some reason. And I think he's right. I'm not quite sure why though. Is it because that person was such a big part of your life for so many years? Because there was a point in time when you thought that would be you standing next to him?

But you don't want to be with him. And even though my ex and I are still on good terms, there was a reason we broke up; we just weren't right together.

Remember my recurring wedding dream? If you don't, I'll rehash: for years, I have had this recurring dream in which I am preparing in the dressing room, getting ready to walk down the aisle. The dress and church were different each time, and I could never see the groom's face, though it was different each time. Every time, my mom and sister turned to me and said, "don't do it if you don't want to," and I wound up running out the back door, leaving the mystery groom at the altar. Each time, I woke up in a cold sweat after this nightmare. Then, a few weeks after I met K, I had the same dream. But it was different. I felt different. I was so happy, and for the first time, I could see that it was him standing at the altar, and I couldn't wait to marry him. That was the last time I ever had the dream.

My BFF Sarah made a valid point about the whole thing: she said it's the closing of the final chapter of what once was a big part of your life. That finality, that officially saying goodbye to your past. Maybe what it's really all about is letting go. And sometimes that is a tough thing to do.

But you know, in all honesty--I've had some time to let the news sink in, and even though this stirs up strange feelings of nostalgia, I truly am happy for him. And I actually like his fiancee, too. I wish the best for them both, and I honestly can't wait for the day I get to share all of this wedding/engagement excitement with K.

So you KNOW you're happy in your new relationship, but you just can't help but feel strangely nostalgic about the news. Why is this? Has anyone else had this happen? I suppose it's natural since we're *COUGH* almost 30 *COUGH*...

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Bumfight at Walmart

We were stupid enough to attempt a Sunday night Walmart run last week. Apparently the People of Walmart come for their photoshoots that day, and we were knee-deep in white trash the entire trip.

We pulled into the parking lot and K got a bad case of road rage when we got stuck behind this chick parked in the fire lane, yelling at her boyfriend. He swerved around them and pulled into a spot. Never a good sign when you're angry before you even get INTO Walmart.

Walking up to the store, we could tell something was awry. A group of people (employees included) were gathered near the door, staring in the direction of the car, where the driver had gotten out to continue yelling at her boyfriend.

What happened next was nothing short of Walmart-tastic. Her boyfriend got out of the Taurus to approach another dude in a beat up pickup truck, parked a few spots away from us. Both of the guys in the truck got out, angry words ensued, and one of them jacked the girl's boyfriend right in the face.

The boyfriend stood, face bloody, banging on the truck windows as the dude who assaulted him locked his door and tried to escape. As the truck sped off, the angry, bloody boyfriend stared after it, shaking his fist in dejection.

It was a drive-by fist pumping of epic proportions, and it totally made my day. Just when you think Walmart can't get any trashier.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Epic Fail Monday: Jersey Turnpike

Hope these epic fails brighten your already awesome Monday.


Hard to tell whether this mannequin is trying to Jersey Turnpike or take a poop.

Literacy isn't dead.

... because Tom Andersen became her first friend on MySpace.

Isn't this a bit of an oxy moron?

I'll treat your mom with care.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Police Blotter Friday: Ninja Skinny Dip

September 17th: After hearing noises during the night and finding an unfamiliar pair of shoes near her hot tub in the morning, a woman on Spring Creek Drive suspected someone had used her hot tub while she was sleeping. 

Dear Hot Tub Ninja,

I understand that everybody needs to take a dip now and then. You were probably out for a midnight stroll, spotted the beam of light reflecting off of a stranger's hot tub, and thought you'd jump in and warm up for a bit. I'm curious why the woman who owned the hot tub didn't come outside and check what the noises were when she heard them, but you were probably just splashing around and accidentally turned on the jets. When you were done with your soak, you threw your shorts back on and went on your merry way. But you forgot one thing: your shoes. How did you not notice you weren't wearing them as you made your ninja escape? I mean, I would imagine your feet were pretty pruney once you got out of the tub, and probably more sensitive than usual as you continued your walk down the street. Or maybe you were wearing those freaky shoes that have toes, which don't feel like you're wearing anything at all, so you didn't notice the difference. Either way, nice job leaving a souvenir behind. You're like the Tommy Boy of ninjas, and if I were your ninja master, I'd revoke your purple belt. I hope you enjoyed your tub experience and good luck with the rest of your career. 


Thursday, September 22, 2011

High School Reunion

Most likely to be a smart ass?
Next year is my 10-year high school reunion. 10 fucking years. Where has the time gone?

I'd like to Romy and Michelle my ass in there, bragging about how I invented post-its, saying I've done all I set out to do when I left the mitten...but what did I really set out to do?

Truly, I've had a pretty charmed life. Moved to NY, worked at Cosmo, and found an awesome guy who doesn't mind that I sleep with giant carebears.

But 10 years is an eternity. What are you SUPPOSED to have accomplished by now? I'm not married, I don't have kids, and I drive the same car that I did in high school (which I'm actually pretty proud of.)

Things I've accomplished in the last 10 years:
- beat 37 spiders to death
- got a cat
- got 2 more cats when I met K
- drank 10,956 cups of coffee
- fed a giraffe
- learned how to mow the lawn
- developed a cougar crush on Justin Bieber
- got my boating license
- broke about a bajillion things around the house

What do you think? Does anyone get to 27 and feel like they accomplished what they set out to do?

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Sucker for a sucker.

Go away, Cindy. I don't want
your delicious candy.
I'm a sucker. A huge fucking sucker. I heard a knock at the door yesterday, and opened it to a little girl with Cindy Lou Who eyelashes selling candy bars for $2 apiece.

There were several reasons for me NOT to buy candy from her. First of all, I'm on a diet. (They're these weird Swedish nutrition bars. They burn carbs. They just burn up all your carbs.) Second of all, I'm trying to save money.

So what did I do? Went and got a 5 spot out of my purse and brought it to the door. "Do you have change for a 5?" I asked. Of couuuurse she didn't. So instead of saying "you know, I'm all set, sweetie, thank you!" Which would have been absolutely acceptable, I said:

"Okay, I'll take 2 then. And you can just keep the change."


As I shut the door behind her, my eyes crazy with desire for the devil's chocolatey playthings in my warm little hands, I realized that I had forgotten to even ask what the donation was for.

Hopefully I didn't fund an underground cocaine ring for schoolchildren.

Monday, September 19, 2011

Epic Fail Monday: Prison Tats and Canadian Tuxedos

Happy Epic Fail Monday! Here are a few LOLs to get you through the toughest day of the week.
Prison tattoo fail. I hope that's Sharpie, Ashley.

That's what she said?
Naked man and kittens: sexy fail.

Nice Canadian tuxedo, Ryan Seacrest. Fashion fail.

A whole FEST? For JESUS?! Sounds like a blast in a glass.

Isn't it a bit too late for this suggestion?

Friday, September 16, 2011

Drink the koolaid

Hey, little girl... do you want some candy?
I was watering the plants in my front yard like a 90-year-old lady when a white escalade pulled up in front of the house, and two men in suits exited the vehicle, both holding binders.

I looked around nervously, planning my escape route. Because clearly these guys were here to either plan and execute my abduction, or doing an unconventional daytime drive-by.

I froze as they approached me, and a pool of water began to form on the lawn where I absentmindedly held the hose. And of course I was wearing my sluttiest flowy boob shirt and goucho pants, my "I'm-not-leaving-the-house-today" outfit. Epic fail.

I stared them down until they spoke. "Hi, we're here from the church of WeLoveJesus, and we'd just like to ask you a few questions."

The polite young lady deep (VERY deep) down inside me didn't want to be rude, and I obliged. (Damn you, people pleasing syndrome!!)

"Do you and your husband have any kids?"

Whaa? Husband? Kids?

How did I answer this man's question without breaking his Jesus-loving heart?

"Why actually, sir, we're living in sin. We're not married, and we don't plan on having children in the near future. Hell, come on over Thursday and bring your boyfriend--we're hosting an orgy!"

Instead, I weighed my options and decided a blanket "no" would cover it.

"Do you ever think about the future?" he asked me. This was becoming more of a philosophical pondering than an interrogation. I realized quickly that it was up to me to end this, or they would be camping out on my front lawn. "No," I replied.

No? I never think about the future? HUGE lie. But I was desperate. And I didn't want to talk about Jesus anymore.

They took the hint, left me with some mind-blowing literature, and burned rubber down the street in their escalade.

Since when did recruiting people for the church of WeLoveJesus become such a profitable and accosting operation? Does anybody else have any good stories about solicitors?

Thursday, September 15, 2011

High-maintenance? Or adult baby?

I heard on the radio this morning that one of the warning signs of being a high-maintenance girl is having a lot of stuffed animals.

You thought I was kidding, didn't you?
There he is in all his glory, folks: the namesake
of this blog, and my bedmate of 27 years: Heart Po.
If that's the case, K is in a world of trouble. Our bedroom looks like a 5-year-old's fantasy suite, complete with heart po (pink gingham pillow who inspired the name of this blog), a purple stuffed pegasus that K got me for valentine's day (Peggy), and a giant carebear (I need someone to snuggle with when K is not home and/or is staying up late playing call of duty.)

This is not just for show, or for purposes of exaggeration. Ask anyone who comes over on a regular basis. Our room looks like this ALL the time. And let me tell you why I love K: he NEVER complains. He actually steals our bedmates for snuggling purposes in the middle of the night, much to my chagrin. I try to wrestle them away from him, but he is surprisingly strong when in a post-COD coma.

Does this make me high-maintenance? I think it actually makes me more like the equivalent of one of those adults who like to dress up as giant babies in cribs. But not in the weird fetishy way.

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

MOM. Guess who's PREGNANT??

"MOM. Guess who's PREGNANT??"
"Oh... not me."

Apparently I have a certain finesse for phone calls. And giving my mom heart attacks. I guess when you get to the point in your life that becoming pregnant is a possibility, albeit a far off in the future one, you shouldn't start conversations with heart-stopping lines such as this.

I was filling her in on some facebook dirt I had dug up on a girl I went to school with, and was eager to share the news. Mom doesn't do facebook, so I have to give her monthly rundowns when juicy gossip pops up on my newsfeed.

We discussed whether the pregnancy was planned, if I thought she was happy, and when she was due. I can't wait for the baby shower photos to be uploaded, I'll have to give her a verbal play-by-play of each snapshot.

Friday, September 9, 2011


This is not a joke, people.
I've got a fresh new can of whoopass to open on these stage mom bitches.

In almost every episode I've seen, the sequin-clad toddler is screaming, crying, and being dragged by her daintily painted fingernails to center stage.

What possesses these moms to torture their kids in such a fashion? Parading them around in baby hooker outfits (no, really), training them to be tiny bitches with superficial diva tendencies? False eyelashes, toupees, "flippers", and spray tans belong in a wax museum, not on your child.

And are they seriously so self-centered that they don't realize these shows are making FUN of them, not celebrating their vicarious living? I am frightened for the future generation of women that these parents are raising.

She's having a blast!
You may have not fulfilled your dream of being a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader or having Richard Gere rescue you from the throes of prostitution, but your 3-year-old sure as hell doesn't want to punished for it. So take off the false eyelashes and take her to Chuck E. Cheese, where a kid can be a kid.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Spider Assasination

Crossing through the kitchen yesterday, I noticed Loki perched under the kitchen table. It was a weird place for him to sit; kitties have their fave nap spots (wheremycrazycatladiesat!)

Figure A., subcat position.
I bent down and walked towards him. "Heeey, buuuddy! What are you doing under the tab--OHMYGODDD!"

I backed up and stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, staring. Loki crouched in subcat position (see figure A), eyeing his newest target: an eight legged monster of epic proportions.

I slowed my ragged breathing to normal and assessed my options:

Option A: grab object close to me, not taking my eyes off of the creature. Problem was, things around me included: a pack of Hershey's chocolate, a candle, K's fanny pack, and a box of Triscuits. Not even close to enough ammo.

Option B: walk away from the spider to go find a longer weapon with which to attack. The risk factor: it could run away in the meantime, never to be found again. I would not sleep for an entire week, and if my eyes did close, visions of creepy crawlers would inch their way into my brain.

I decided reluctantly to go with Option B. I dashed into the laundry room and retrieved the longest, most dangerous weapon I could get my hands on: a dollar store broom.

I ran back into the room, and took a deep breath before I executed the assasination.

The next minute was a blur of flying plastic, screeching kitties, and crying. When the battle was over, I stood sweaty and heaving in the middle of the kitchen, shards of broken plastic strewn across the kitchen. The spider was dead, the kitties were scared, and my eyes were glazed over with crazy. I think next time, I'll leave the spider killing to K.
The aftermath.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

Ranger Danger and Carol's Broken Arm

This weekend, my girlfriend KW came into town from the mitten state and we went camping. The noise police was on patrol, and we were notified twice to keep our voices to a whisper. Quiet time began at 10pm, and we received our first verbal assault at 10:15pm. Ranger Danger was on POINT.

After several (muted) beer pong games, we all settled in for a long winter's nap. But what we thought would be a peaceful slumber turned into Nightmare on Elm Street when we were awoken around 4am to the sounds of blood-curdling screeches coming from a neighboring tent.

I shot up in my sleeping bag, my eyes adjusting to the darkness. I heard the screams again.


Holy crap. What was going on?

"Yes, you can. It's OPEN. Just get out."
"Carol. Walk towards the door. It's unzipped."
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" (Fierce rustling sounds -- apparently Carol was battling a raccoon?)

We crawled out to get a better view of the action. Carol's screams continued for about 5 minutes, while her friend coached her blindly toward the door. Yelling finally diminished to muffled sobs, and it was clear that she had found her way out of the labyrinth.

Whatever became of Carol? Did she really break her arm? Or was she just a victim of an acid trip gone wrong? The world may never know. But I'll be checking the police blotter for an update on her status.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

Condoms in a Fanny Pack

As K sped out the door for work yesterday morning, THIS fell out of his fanny pack.

Whaaaat. Is that.

Alarmed, I sleepily strode over and picked up his contraceptive, somewhere in the back of my head wondering why he would keep them in his fanny pack. And why he even has a fanny pack.

It was then that I realized it was no condom.

It was a lens cleaning wipe.

Whoops... my bad. I think I've been watching too much Maury.