Monday, October 31, 2011

Happy Slutoween! Or, Carebear-Palooza.

Happy Slutoween, everybody! Hope you all had a fab weekend. We had our annual par-tay here at the house, despite the atrocious snow storm that rocked much of the Northeast. Snow, schmo. We just wanted to play some beer pong.

As I sit here, I'm still dressed in my carebear costume. Because let's face it, one of the perks of working from home is making your own dress code. And fuck it, I'm going to dress like a carebear if I want to. It's halloween, after all, and I'm a grown up, so I can do what I want.

I just have to share a few photos of the amazingness that K came up with for these costumes. I am one lucky lady, because let me tell you that that man knows how to work a sewing machine. And he taught me too, so I was able to help a LITTLE this time:

Me, K, and our friend R: K did ALL the hand stitching!

Carebear amazingness. (Sans creepy mask)

Carebear tummy bump.

The butt is by far the most amazing part. Thatswhatshesaid.
I am one lucky lady to have a man who is willing to dress up like a giant carebear for her. A good time was had by all, and I managed not to spill beer OR dip on my tummy. Added bonus: the carebear mittens function as potholders AND beer openers. SCORE!

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Leave the change, you filthy animal

We've been robbed. Not our house. But the bank that I could spit on from my front porch if I took a running start.

Who robs a bank anymore? I thought that went out of style when Bonnie and Clyde died in the 30s. I guess it just keeps coming back, like a bad rash.

Regardless, I slept with the lights on last night. I checked the locks, re-checked the locks, then built myself a pillow fortress on K's side of the bed to protect myself. From robbers, and also any monsters that may be hiding in the closet. I put all of my stuffed animals on the bed with me (like there weren't enough already) and left myself one crack in the pillow fort so I could still see the door.

I've been orchestrating my Panic Plan since I moved into this house. This is serious, people. I have strategically chosen my side of the bed because it is farthest from the door, and left two stairs on the way up to the second floor creaky so I'll know when someone comes up. I've also blow torched the door handle and rigged paint cans to drop down the stairway a-la Home Alone (that Kevin was a smart fucking kid.)

I've fantasized about the day I'll get to put my plan into action. Here's how it goes:
1.) Hear strange bank robber lady/rapist/giant monster creep up stairs when stair creaks.
2.) Do silent ninja somersault out of bed, snagging my phone from the bedside table.
3.) Sweep up all 3 cats and army crawl to my walk-in closet.
4.) Bar the door with laundry bins and call police.

Maybe I'm more easily scared then most. I started watching Monsters Inc. on ABC Family's 13 Nights of Halloween until the monster jumped out of the closet and scared the shit out of me. I recorded it for a later (daylight) showing and changed the channel. Yes, I know it's a cartoon.

When I woke up in the morning, I had 2 cats on the bed with me, and one in the hallway keeping watch. They can sense when I need protection. It's like they have ESPN or something.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The sun doesn't set on bad ass

After the bridesmaid's dress fitting from hell, I ate hot pockets and cried myself to sleep for a week. Then I went back to the gym. I'm not going to give you a play-by-play of how awesome I am and how much weight I plan to lose, because that is just fucking annoying. But I will tell you how I made a giant ass of myself this morning.

I strolled into Planet Fitness like I was badass, hair in a ponytail, shiny new running shoes, smirking about my witty remarks to the guy at the desk about his crossword puzzle. I was feeling brave, so I ventured over to the "boy's side" to attempt some weight machines.

Nobody ever wants to look like they don't know what they're doing on those mo-fos. So you saunter over, take an unassuming glance at the diagram with the crash test dummy showing you how to work your deltoids or triceps or whatever else fucking muscles you have stashed under that 6-pack.
You deceptive mother fucker.

I sat down at the "lat pulldown machine," faced the machine in front of me and began to pump some iron. A few seconds later, a woman sat down at the identical machine in front of me, and sat reversed on it so she was facing me, about 10 feet away. She shot me a look of annoyance, and I cursed her silently before assessing the situation.

If the machines are all facing the same direction... whyyy are annoying lady and I facing each other?

Because I was using the machine backwards. I was facing OUT, when I should have been facing IN. Guess I didn't notice those round pads that are supposed to go UNDER your knees. Sweet.

It was too late to turn back; I couldn't turn around in the middle of my set and let her know that I had realized my mistake. So I carried on with my 2 remaining sets, staring her right in the eyeball the entire time, pretending like I totally meant to do it on purpose.

No wonder people hate the gym. That shit is more awkward than elevator silence.

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Fuck you, Sisqo

Dumps like a truck truck truck.
You know what? Fuck you, Sisqo. You are a rat bastard. You make one catchy song and females worldwide have to suffer the next 20 years with a strip of fabric jammed in their ass cheeks.

Why couldn't you make a song about how awesomely comfortable granny panties are? They are cottony-soft, cuddle your butt like a teddy bear, and don't cause you to lose hours of your life in the bathroom pulling your underwear out of your butt.

She had butt that was covered up up
Wedgies are gone gone gone
Baby no more whale tale tale

I challenge you, Sisqo. I'd like to see YOU wear one of those bad boys for an entire day and let us know how you're diggin it. I bet that look in your eye won't be so devilish.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Day Drunk

Happy Monday, bitches! Hope you all had a fab weekend. I know I did. Saturday, my sister and I decided to go watch the biggest football game of the year for us: MSU vs. the Wolverines. Since nobody else is really a fan in these here parts, we decided to go relive our college days and get day drunk. By ourselves.

We didn't want to drive, so we walked to three different bars in Stars Hollow before we found one that was open. Nothing classier than a couple of chicks in sweatshirts and flops traipsing around town to find some beer before noon. But we finally found it: a sweet watering hole in a very dry desert. We saddled up to the bar, made the bartender change the channel, and got our wings and beer on while we angry facebooked our frienemies.

Five hours and three pitchers of beer later, it was a very different day indeed. We had beat UofM, I had wing sauce all over my sweatshirt, and we were day-wasted. Also, it seemed a tornado had blown into Stars Hollow at some point during those three pitchers.

We watched the end of the game and long-distance high-fived the TV from our barstools, then got our check. And I don't know if it was because it was raining sideways, or if people are just REALLY nice in small towns, but the lady bartender offered to give us a ride home. It might also have been because I was so drunk I locked myself in the ladies room during halftime.

Either way... we were offered a free ride. And we totally would have taken it, except it stopped raining for a hot minute and I figured I needed the ten minute walk to sober me up a bit before I went home to K.

All in all... an AWESOME day for Dwight.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Pie Attack

I'd like to take a little trip down memory lane to a tragic day in history. It's the story of a hungry young girl with an appetite for life, who has her dreams smashed to crumbly apple bits. All over her shirt.

You see, that girl is me. And on a cold winter day, I sat on the couch, cuddled in my blanket and ready to watch a movie with my delicious snack. I raised my fork in anticipation of the taste of apple pie in my mouth when my plan backfired and my snack attacked me.

It all happened so fast. I held one hand under the plate as I tried to cut myself a small bite with my fork. The crust must have been harder than I thought, because it was that very moment that the pie lept off the plate angrily and jumped to its messy death onto my chest. I sat, stunned, staring down at the remnants of my dessert, not sure if I should laugh or cry.

Luckily, my sister was on hand to document the lowest moment of my adult life. She is such a princess, that one.

You can all thank her for these.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

30-year-old carebears

I have been a very busy bee, my beautiful babies. After I got over the Mad Cow Disease, K got it. Whomp, whomp. We've been sickies. But we DID manage to begin the long and arduous journey towards the completion of our HALLOWEEN COSTUMES. (And by "we", I mean "K" did most of the work, and I watched.)

Here are a few snapshots of the process:

The beginnings of Love-a-Lot's ear.

K, sketching out a clover for Good Luck bear's tummy.

Bedtime's tummy!

Our workshop, complete with model.
So, you guessed it: we're going to be carebears! So what if we're almost 30 and K is 6'6"? I might just make him wear the bedtime bear costume around the house so I can give him the carebear stare all day long. Stay tuned for pictures of the completed costumes after the Halloween party!!

Friday, October 7, 2011

The first hit is free

Playing it safe: all candy that I don't even like
so I won't be sad when it's gone.
We couldn't BELIEVE how many kids came to the house trick-or-treating last year. We made the grave mistake of handing the bowl out as they came to the door, rather than dishing the candy in regulated quantities. Big mistake. Those greedy little monsters were grabbing candy by the fistful. We made three trips to the store in total, and went through 10 bags of candy.

I even had to sacrifice the secret stash of kit kats I was withholding for my personal indulgence the next day, when I would be alone to eat my feelings.

This year, I was smart: I bought the candy that nobody I don't like.

I strategically chose items that will deter kids from wanting to return to our house next year. Like poison apples. And razor blades.

No, I'm not that evil. But here is what I did come up with:
- Pixy Stix (parents will LOVE me.)
- Marvel Heroes candy sticks (guaranteed to send your kid into a diabetic coma.)
- Starburst (does anybody REALLY like these?)
- Skittles (a risky purchase, since I do actually like skittles. I hope I can maintain enough willpower to avoid eating these before the big day arrives.)
- Nerds (delicious, but not my FIRST choice of candy.)

Note: no chocolate. No king sized candy bars. And I resisted the urge to purchase pop rocks and Lik-m-aid, because they're the heroin of the candy world. The first hit's free, but they'll keep coming back for more. You're welcome, parents.

God, I'm gonna be such a great mom someday.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

Blast from the pornographic past

Hey, there it is!
Remember this music video? Where this dude basically showed us his junk and licked his lips a lot? I'm not saying I didn't like it. But do shiny abs spinning on a rotisserie really constitute an artistic masterpiece?

What happened to music videos that told a story? Had a plot, stirred up deep emotions with its artistic value? Like Lil Jon's Get Low? Girls on a stripper pole, booty poppin' in bras and heels? Iced grills and bottles of champagne? God bless those girls, if I tried to pull something like that, I'd throw my back out.

Skeet skeet, motha fuckas.

And a friendly heads up for the pervs like me that try to google d'angelo--don't. You'll get more than you bargained for.


Monday, October 3, 2011

Mad Cow Disease

I've been living in an adorable quarantine bubble, working from home, sheltered from the swine flu and SARS that the rest of the world working in actual offices has been contracting and sharing. I didn't realize how good I had it. Until now.

I woke up Sunday and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Sniffly, sneezing NON-STOP... coughing... and then the headache sets in later in the day. I must have Mad Cow. By the time I went to bed last night, even my FACE hurt from sneezing so hard.

When you're single and live alone, you can lay around in your PJs like a snotty mess for three days, surrounded by a sea of crumpled tissues and abandoned ice cream bowls watching Lifetime marathons and funneling Thera-Flu.

But now that K and I are living together, I feel a subconscious need to at least ATTEMPT to keep it together, get semi-dressed (PJ bottoms and a sweater was as far as I got) and keep my tissues in a neat pile (instead of strewn about the coffee table.) At least until I reached the headache point of no return, when I stopped having the energy to care and allowed myself to succumb to the sickness.

I'll tell you something, though. I never realized what I was missing OUT on, having someone to take care of me when I'm sick. I powered through while I lived by myself, sulked around for days, not wanting to be a bother to any of my friends. But to have someone get you Chinese food, make you tea, and sit on the couch watching bad movies all day with you? PRICELESS. This is SO much better than taking on SARS solo.