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?

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.

Samuel

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.

Ho to a housewife

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

Thursdays

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.)

Alcohol

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.

A frustrating day

Can you tell we're sisters? Both on a mission for cake.

Yesterday started off beautifully and ended in tears of frustration.

I took my sister to a bridal show in the morning, which was absolutely fabulous. We had a great time, ate lots of cake, and enjoyed sister time. It was what happened after that that put me over the edge.

While I was at the bridal show, K worked on his mom's car (which she very kindly loaned him while he works on his own.) I followed him home after the show to make sure there weren't any problems.

20 minutes into the drive, he slowed to 15mph in a 30mph zone. I knew something was wrong.

He's so damn cute when he can't figure out how to fix something. He does this thing with his hat, pulls it off then puts it on again so it's not quite on his head right. He walked towards my car apologetically, and tried to verbalize why he thought it had stalled. He stood for a minute then tried to start it again. Thankfully, it went, and we continued home.

A quarter mile from home, the car chugged to a stop again. He tried to restart it, then got out and did the hat thing again as he walked to my car. As frustrated as I was, the look on his face melted my heart.

Both exhausted, we parked my car at the house and walked back to the Jeep to push it home. We held hands in silence until we got there.

I steered while K pushed the Jeep down the road in the dark. Suddenly, I saw headlights behind us. A man got out, and without hesitation, left his own car running and joined K. I looked in the rearview, nerves shot, and tears poured down my cheeks. What makes a person do such a thing? Stop and help complete strangers at his own inconvenience? I was so grateful I couldn't find the words. We managed to get it home, and shook the man's hand to thank him.

We got the car to the driveway, and stood outside in the cold for 2 hours, winter hats on, lights pointed towards the engine. I handed him screwdrivers while we both made "that's what she said" jokes through our own frustrations. An hour in, he looked up at me and said: "God, I love you."

I smiled, and it was in that moment that I realized I had chosen right. Not once did he get angry or yell, he was just sorry. And thankful. And that's how I know we'll be able to make it through whatever life hands us.

Shrink, Enlarge, Minimize

Source: 4.bp.blogspot.com

I was inspired today, by B's post on body image. She talked about her body idol, and how she grew up wanting to be someone she wasn't. It reminded me of my Cosmo days.

I was interning in the art department, and my job that day was to box up old, unused cover photos. I stumbled across a photo of Britney Spears; pre-umbrella breakdown, hit-me-baby-one-more-time-because-I'm-wearing-a-snake, Britney. She looked gorgeous: shoulder-length blonde hair, bright smile, killer body. But it wasn't the photo I was taken by, it was what was written on it.

Scrawled across the photo were large 'X's, body parts circled, Photoshop instructions written: "Shrink," "Enlarge", "Minimize."

On Britney Spears. 

What I saw that day was a glimpse into the world of editing, into the world of impossible beauty and imperfection. Cover models--the ones you pin up on your wall as a 12-year-old, the ones you starve yourself for, cry yourself to sleep at night because you don't look like them--aren't as they appear. They're Photoshopped, morphed, stretched into thin ideals of beauty. Boobs enlarged, eyes moved farther apart, thighs thinned, necks stretched. Sometimes, they don't even recognize themselves.

I wish I could have taken those photos and plastered them throughout high school hallways for girls to see, with the headline: STOP HATING YOURSELVES. (Stop hating myself.) And if I didn't love my job so much, I probably would have. Because we spend our entire lives wishing we were something else. Something NOBODY is. And it may just turn out that we really are beautiful, just the way we are.

Accidental Porn Star

"Is that 3G? It looks super fast." -my friend Jill, on the stand-in that I put in K's stocking until the real one came in.

Last night, I was brushing my teeth before bed when I heard K answer a call from his side of the bed, where he had already set up camp.

It was one of his friends, so I figured it would be a quick conversation. (Guys are like one-word phenoms on the phone, right?) I came out of the bathroom to change into my PJs when I heard K discussing the Facetime feature on his new iPhone.

I didn't have my glasses on, so I couldn't see what he was doing. I went about my business and tuned him out. I was just about to take off my jeans when I heard:

"Yeah, it puts you on speaker. You just do this. Here, can you see me?" 

I squinted in his direction across the dimly lit room where I was about to get my sleep on, and quickly realized he had activated this video chat, and I could very well be the main star in this XXX no-pants video.

He had his friend on speakerphone, so I couldn't yell at him. Instead, I resorted to diving behind the closet wall, and making urgent, angry facial expressions and hand gestures in his general direction.

He quickly disconnected the video chat and hung up the phone.

"What the hell were you doing?"

"What? I was Facetiming." 

"If you didn't notice, I didn't have any pants on in the background."

And here it is... 
"Oh, don't worry. You can only see my face blown up on the screen."
Comforting, thanks Ray J.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I didn't wake this morning with a burning ambition to enter into the adult entertainment industry. Plus, how fucking awkward would it be when I see your friend and he's like... oh hey. I know what your undies look like."

What's the moral of the story, kiddies? Be careful where you Facetime.