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.

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.

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*

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.

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!
XOXO,
PGG

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.

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.