Tuesday, March 27, 2012


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?

Thursday, March 22, 2012

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.

Monday, March 19, 2012

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.

Friday, March 16, 2012

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?

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

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?

Monday, March 12, 2012

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?

Tuesday, March 6, 2012

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.

Monday, March 5, 2012


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.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Ho to a housewife

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

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.)

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.