If I Write an Embarrassing Story About You, It's Because I Love You...

Best Friend’s wedding was amazing! The Bachelorette Party was fun, silly, and exactly what Best Friend wanted her night with her closest friends and family to be. The Rehearsal Dinner had great food and even better company as friends met family and one family met another family. I cried the entire time during the actual ceremony. My best friend could not have looked more beautiful. My favorite part was when her father sang Avi Maria while she and her new husband placed roses at the feet of the Virgin. I love all of Best Friend’s family and her father has always been a second father to me, reminding me to say “sir” and “ma’am”, being proud of my accomplishments, and chastising me when I’ve made mistakes. I met Best Friend when her father worked two, sometimes three, jobs to give her and her siblings everything they wanted and deserved. They have an amazing relationship of respect and love and I know him singing from the choir of the gorgeous Catholic Cathedral they were married in is something she will never forget... And the reception… pretty much the greatest party ever!!! It was complete with funny toasts, yummy food, amazing cakes, awesome wedding band, and dancing all night long. Thanks to Best Friend and Best Friend’s Husband for allowing me to be a part of their special day.

All of the wedding events allowed me to spend time with friends I don’t always get to see and meet new friends who I hope to get to know even more. I can’t tell you how awesome it was to hear from so many of you that you are reading my blog and that you like it. Seriously, it totally makes my day. I work a job that has zero creative factors, and the hour or two I spend writing just lets me open that other side of my brain. Again, thank y’all so much.

And the stories… just hanging around new people and friends from the past brought up so many stories I need to turn into blog posts. So many embarrassing nights and hilarious events, so many stories to post in cyber space so I will never forget how weird and awkward I am and what great friends I have.

And now, one of those stories...

Besides Best Friend, who I have known since seventh grade, Davis Girl definitely knows me the best. Although we went to High School together (for our freshmen year and our senior year) we didn’t really become close friends until we lived together for three years in college. I’m pretty sure when you live with someone in your early twenties you either become lifelong friends or you that person ends up on your shit list. Davis Girl, narrowly escaped the shit list route because we moved out into our own places just as it was becoming way too hard to keep living with someone so anal and a little OCD. (My side of the story… Davis Girl will have to start her own blog if she wants people to hear about my awful hygiene habits.)

One time in college our other roommate and I convinced Davis Girl to take her top of in the car driving to get tacos at 2 in the morning. Since she was 21 and drunk, of course she was all for it. So here is the scene… Boy roommate’s bright blue late nineties mustang, Davis Girl is in the front passenger seat and I’m sitting behind her in the back. Sober Boy Roommate is driving. Things that had already happened this night… Davis Girl wore her science lab goggles for a good while at the bar. It was definitely a Toodies kind of night. (You know those nights you can’t hear Possum Kingdom enough… well we had those nights and this was one of them) Oh, and then she danced on a bar… but she did that a lot so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Anyway we are driving maybe three miles down the road and Boy Roommate and I convince Davis Girl it would be so hilarious if she took her shirt off and rode to the taco stand topless. (Yeah, I know we are just too funny.) Davis Girl, or Davis Girl’s Tequila Aided Mind decided this was a good idea, so off came her top. Now we’re on a side street about .75 miles from our house, Boy Roommate cranking up the tunes, Davis Girl laughing in her nakedness, and me… just along for the ride and yummy trailer food when all the sudden I hear a siren over Bob Schneider and see flashing lights when I turn around. Yup, we are being pulled over. I start cracking up. Really this situation was too much for my alcohol having brain. I could not stop laughing because for the first time in my life… at least the first time I could remember, something embarrassing was happening to someone other than me and I wouldn't even be the one getting a ticket. I wasn’t too worried for Old Roommate because A: he really wasn’t drunk (I promise I’m not just typing that because my parents might read this) and B: we were on a small side road. I mean how much over the speed limit can you really go down a road with speed bumps at 2 AM?

As soon as Davis Girl’s drunk face realizes what it happening she panics!!! (Okay stop. Time out. I think I need to explain the shirt she decided to wear that night because God totally loves me. I actually help Davis Girl pick it out from Ann Taylor where I worked at the time. I think the fact that the shirt was from The AT makes this story even better. It was bright teal and had spaghetti straps. Not two straps. Not four straps. Not six straps. But eight mother f-ing spaghetti straps!!! Four straps started on each side of the shoulder and crisscrossed in the back creating a virtual web of confusion. Seriously, when she wore it I half expected “Some Pig” to be written across her back. These death trap straps plus the built in shelf bra made a Bachelor Degree required to figure out how to put this ridiculous piece of fashion on. Okay. Time in.) Davis Girl goes from giggling about her situation to full on panic mode in about 3.1 seconds. Just long enough to look down at her naked tatas and realise that being topless when the cop gets to the car might... maybe... could sorta... be a bad thing.

3.1 seconds later...

Davis Girl: "Help. Shit. Help. Wait. Cop. Shit. Cop. Help."

Boy Roommate: "Dude, put your shirt back on right now!!!"

Me: "Hahahahahaha. Oh Davis Girl... your shirt. You've got to cover those glorious boobies..."

Davis Girl: "I'm trying..."

The thing is I was cracking up in the back seat, but Davis Girl was really trying to put on that evil shirt of death. She couldn't help it that she was trashed and she didn't have a Bachelor of Arts in Obnoxious Shirt Wearing. At this point the cop has pulled over and parked behind us on the side of the road...

Boy Roommate: "Davis Girl I swear to God you are going to get me a ticket. Put on your fucking shirt!!!"

Davis Girl: "I'm trying..."

Me: "Here let me help you." (Because two drunk people trying to dress someone in the Impossible Rubik's Cube tank top is totally going to make the process easier.)

6 seconds later...

Boy Roommate: "You have 2 second before I have to roll down this window and talk to a law enforcer and I'm not going to jail because you can't dress yourself the way every 5 year old does every morning."

Davis Girl: "I got it... I got it..." (yeah... she didn't)

The cop came to Boy Roommates window, leaned in and this is what he saw...

I have to give it to her, one side of the shirt was almost put on correctly. The other side however... not so much. Straps were going everywhere and her arm was stuck in one of them so she had to hold her arm up or have that side of the top fall down completely. So the entire time the cop was at Boy Roommate's rolled down window Davis Girl is trying extremely hard to play off the fact that she can't put her arm down by leaning against the window. Yeah... the cop's first question, "Sir, Have you been drinking???"

Boy Roommate: "I swear I haven't, but I can't speak for these two."

Me: (snickersnicker...gigglegiggle)

Davis Girl: (headrub)

The cop was probably at the window for about five minutes. I think he thought it was just as funny. It turned out that Boy Roommate didn't have his lights on fully, but on the fog setting, so the cop just wanted to let him know to turn them up. Right before he was about to get back into his squad car and leave our lives forever, he leaned froward to speak to Davis Girl...

Cop: "Ma'am you really need to put your seat belt on."

Me: "Hahahahahah"

Davis Girl: "Um... Ah... Yes Sir?"

(Now go back a look at the picture. Her right arm and hand are the ones right next to the seat belt, but she can't move those or her top will fall down and the cop will get an eye full of Davis Girl Lady Parts.) Davis Girl then spends the next few seconds trying to reach over her body to find the seat belt that is behind her arm she can't move. OMG Hilarious!!! The cop just chuckled to himself and walked away.


By the way: I swear my life doesn't revolve around tacos.

Second by the way: I have removed the older post about Boyfriend's weird stomach as he let me know the world doesn't need to know about his digestive system. To Boyfriend: I'm very sorry to put your tummy woes on the web and I apologise. Love you."

MIA

Just FYI Internet friends... I will be be a little MIA for the next few days because Best Friend is getting married!!!

In a few days I'll be back telling embarrassing stories of myself and I promise to write about that guy Steven who gave a big FU to the rude man on the plane. Boyfriend and I have been wondering about the other guy. Seriously, think about it. Where is he? Why isn't he on Chelsea Lately and the Today Show? Our idea is to put them both in the stocks at Colonial Williamsburg and have them hash out their differences. Dialogue to come...

Eat. PREY. Love...

You know what I hate… Eat. Pray. Love. I don’t know why because I’ve never read the book, but something about it really annoys me. I always kinda just shrug it off when friends bring it up as this great book I should totally read. I know I shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but look at it…


It says, “One woman’s search for everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia”. One woman’s search for everything? I already know she fails. How can you find everything? How do you even measure everything? And everything across three large countries? This book is not thick enough. It would have to be like a Michener on steroids for this woman to find everything across Italy, India, and Indonesia. Oh, and the movie coming out, meh. Julia Roberts is so exhausting. I feel like she over acts every emotion and every thought. Like somewhere in the script it might say, “Julia stares out the window, looks past her reflection, and sighs.” Watching that scene would makes me cringe. I can see and feel the wheels turning in her head thinking, “Do I look sad and pretty. Does it look like my foot is asleep? Can they see the veins in my neck? Do you think they are looking at my old lady hands? I hope they aren’t remembering that one time I didn’t shave my underarms for like five months and then went to an award show in a sleeveless dress.” I’m so over you Julia. I can’t even remember a good creative roll you’ve played in fifteen years. (Okay I just IMDB-ed her and I forgot about Closer and Stepmom. I love Closer. I can only watch it once a year or so, but I love it as much as I love Caddyshack and I probably watch that movie once every two weeks. And, I don’t care how many times I watch Stepmom I love that sad, sad, movie. It gets me every time. You know that scene at the end when Susan Sarandon is dying and she and Julia are talking about the daughter. Susan is upset she will never see her daughter get married and when she does get married she will have Julia at her side. Julia is crying because she knows even though she’ll be there the daughter will be thinking of Susan. OMG giant crocodile tears…)

How to make Eat. Pray. Love. better??? Rename it, Eat. Prey. Love. and the book cover could look something like this…


It’s Jurassic Park meets Notting Hill.

Project Runway Episode 2: Purple Linebackers, Jumpsuits, and Waking Up Dead... Literally

So, my bad this wasn't posted yesterday, but I was having problems getting the photos. All is good now. Enjoy...

Project Runway week two.

This week's episode opens up with all the designers rolling out of bed complaining of exhaustion. I have read that Project Runway has a ridiculous filming schedule and they work 18 hours days, but come on, it's only episode two. Sarah says she "wakes up dead, literally". I hate when people use the word literally incorrect. David Cross does a whole bit about this in one of his stand ups. When you miss use the word literally you actually use it in the complete opposite way you mean to use it. "I literally woke up dead." NO YOU F-ING DIDN'T MORON!!!! (Oh and we learn that Andy uses air brush make up.)

Joanna Coles, the editor-in-chief for Marie Clair, joins Heidi and Tim to announce this weeks challenge. The designers get one day and 150$ to create a look that tells the world who the Marie Clare women is. I read Marie Clare and I'm sitting here in Boyfriend's old plastic shorts with burn holes and my middle school track T-Shirt, yet oddly no one decided to make that outfit. The winner gets their look on a billboard in Time Square. You know with "Calvin Klein models and U2".

Time to sketch! "Bowler Hat" Jason (you remember the guy who wears the hat as intimidation but also dons a fashion corset) wants to make an infinity dress. It seems really short for a dress that is suppose to represent never ending with the number 8. Mondo doesn't sketch but makes a list of what he needs to get at Mood. Included in this list, "pretty little buttons." How can you not love this guy? And, does he have different glasses for everyday?

The designers get to go to Mood for the first time and honestly I don't really pay any attention to what they are talking about because I'm so busy lusting over the HP iPad thingys they get to use. Good product placement Bravo.

The designers get back to the workroom and start creating. Valerie tries to not make her dress look "Ann Taylor" (I'll be the judge of that) and AJ won't help Casanova make his pattern this being a competition and all. I heart Peach's fabric. I heart Mondo's fabric, too. Tim comes in and is worried about Bowler Hat Jason's dress. I would be more worried about him poking an eye out with that bear tooth bracelet he is wearing. Gretchen mentions that Nicholas is coping her winning design from last week because the back of his dress is cut out like her dress last week. "He's ripping me off." Crap Peach's cute fabric won't save her if she uses that skirt. Or that one (she makes like 5).

SURPRISE TWIST!!!

Tim informs the contestants that they will also over see a photo shot of their design so the judges can see how their creations photo. The night quickly ends with Casanova all up Gretchen's butt asking for advice. "He would be incredibly annoying if he wasn't so charming." Then she tries to call him her "bosom buddy" and he doesn't understand. I'm not sure if it's because of the language barrier or just because no one has used the term "bosom buddy" since Louisa May Alcott days. Then again I think Gretchen's from Idaho or something so they might just still be saying bosom buddy. Casanova settles on being a "Hip Buddy". These are the conversations we get to hear in hour and a half long Project Runways. (Oh and Nicholas is still going on and on about his model with "huge tits".)

Runway day!!! Of course everyone is running around trying to finish everything last minute before the photo shot and runway. Ivy's model thinks the dress is a little big, but Ivy say's it's not... but it totally is. Peach calls her dress, "Barbie's sofa". Jason (with his fashion corset) still can't find time to actually sew his dress (even though he's carrying a sewing machine strapped to his waist) and fastens the dress with safety pins.

Lets learn how designers direct photo shots...
Gretchen takes a page out of Tim's book and tells her model to, "make it work".
April says knowingly, "I like hands down."
Nicholas' idea, "maybe one leg up... maybe..."
Casanova says nothing and just waves the entire time.

Runway Show!!! Heidi, Michael, Nina, and Joanna Coles are all perched in their director chairs ready to dispense knowledge and snarky comments.

Nicholas: (Loser) The cape/jacket thing looks like a doormat thrown over her shoulders, and I'm confused on who thinks short/office/fishtail should describe one skirt. It's just not a good combo. The judges just call it "un-sexy" and he is sent home.


Christopher: The yellow trim is nice (I've been on this whole yellow kick all summer), but it seems like he spent all but 30 minutes on the top because the skirt is very boring.


Jason: (Loser): Besides the fact that it's held together by safety pins, his model looks kinda big and uncomfortable. As she is walking down the runway he says, "it's impeccable the way it's sewn." Dude, it's held together with safety pins and in the billboard photo there is a hole above bellybutton. Then when the judges question him he tells them that the safety pins were intentional. Look, bowler hat, fashion corset wearing guy, just admit it that you messed up. Oh, wait it doesn't matter you're going home.


Michael C: Fun, well made, pretty coper color that would look good on a billboard, but it is still safe. This dress has been made 100 time before and doesn't stand out.


AJ: I love the yellow, but I wish people would understand that it goes with other colors besides black. The model has a black belt, black piping, black neckless, and black lips. Just because the dress is yellow doesn't mean she has to look like a bumble bee. Then she starts walking and it rides up at the waist. AJ himself says it best, "it looks like she was impregnated by some weird alien".


Peach: (bottom) First of all, Peach might have the worst model. She almost fell even before she started walking down the runway. I hate this dress. As much as I liked the fabric it was old, boring, and what the heck was that brown chocker??? It was Barbie meets Palm Beach meets Angry Clown. Michael calls it an, "Amish cocktail dress" and although they don't like it, Peach gets to stay another week.


Michael D: This has great potential if Michael would just have bought more fabric. (Come on designers... you are making dresses for women who have legs.) It was hard to tell what exactly the material was, but I love the cut out. It's modern and fun and I would wear it in a heart beat if it covered my ass.


Ivy: It's a beige shift dress... Next. I think she knew it was a snoozefest because the model is loaded with accessories. And that neckless, horrible. (Is it a Christmas wreath? Is it a first grader's craft project? I don't know)


Valerie: (Top) It's defiantly not Ann Taylor, so good job there. And if Valerie made the green dress that she was wearing for the runway I'd say just give her the 100,000 right now. The detailing looks amazing but not over done. The red is a great color for a billboard. Heidi brings up that women feel powerful in red. Nina says it is interesting but simple and she and Joanna agree that it would also make a good cover dress because it frames the face. I totally think Valerie should have won.


Sarah: I feel like this is the same outfit made every season for the Banana Republic/Macys/Real Woman challenge. Then I saw the skirt bib. It's high waisted skirt in the front and a normal skirt in the back hence creating a skirt bib over the model's stomach.


Andy: Cute but a little over done. The purple is pretty and I like the wide leg pants, but the spring sleeve is a little much and I hated the purple strip up the back of the pant legs. Nice try, maybe next time.


Casanova: I'm 80% liking this. Well, maybe 50% because I really just like the white skirt. The navy jacket is boring and old lady. He was probably trying to hard to not go crazy Blake Lively slutty like he did last week, and it just ended up... meh.


Kristen: This is just weird... and off... and wrong... It's preppy in the front and overdone in the back. Plus it looks like the whole outfit shifted or something while it was being made. Maybe the blouse and skirt came from a Lacoste after an earthquake or something.


Gretchen: (winner) NO ONE LOOKS GOOD IN A MOTHER F-ING JUMPSUIT!!! Especially when paired with ankle boots. But Heidi loves that you can slut it up by unzipping the front and the other judges think women of all ages could wear it. I'm sorry Michael, but no 45 year old is going to walk around in a silk jumpsuit with booties!!! Valerie was robbed.


Mondo: (top) I like the skirt. It's herringbone, but young, youthful, and flowy. I don't like the top with it's polka dot bib. Nor do I like the leggings, but I love Mondo so I'm glad the judges think "every women wants to be that girl". Yeah... every 10 year old maybe.


April: This dress is like if Ivy's shift dress met a Minnesota Vikings Linebacker and they had a dress baby. From the feet up, boring, boring, boring, purple football pads.



Next Week: Hooray an unconventional materials challenge!!! Oh, and someone goes to the hospital.

Introducing Co-Worker #2 and the Ugliest Pants EVER!!!

Quick Post for today.

Today I went to lunch with two of my co-workers. We had a nice lunch of soup and sandwiches and, surprisingly, didn’t talk about work… that much.

Here I what we did talk about…

Co-Worker #1 and her brother used to hate sleeping over at their Auntie’s house because Auntie had a roach problem. One day Co-Worker #1’s brother complained of a head ache. It lasted until they poured water in his ear (yeah, weird I know…). Then when he was tipping his head over to let the water drain out, out fell a dead baby roach. I used to watch ER when I was growing up and I specifically remember an episode where a women came into the ER complaining of a head ache and George Clooney took tweezers and pulled a giant roach out of her ear. I can’t believe this happened to someone I know sibling. OMG…

I believe this story came up because Co-Worker #1 decided in the middle of the restaurant to yell, “Why do I have an ear infection?” Okay, she didn’t really yell it, but it was kinda loud, and there was only one other person in the whole place, and that lady looked pretty disgusted.

Co-Worker #1 and I decided to go through Co-Worker #2’s Facebook photos he’s doesn’t let anyone see on his iPhone. We saw Co-Worker #2 with a coconut bar. Co-Worker #2 wrestling random chicks. Co-Worker #2 drinking beer straight from the pitcher. And then we found this diamond in the rough…

Yeah… those are jean/sweat pants pants. I asked him if they came from one of those random stores that pop up in malls where 579 used to be. He said no. It’s like cowboy up front, laying on the couch stuffing cheese balls in your mouth in back. He looks like a hood version of Two Face. I know I just wrote about the humorous boxer/see through track pants trend I wanted so badly to join in 6th grade, but this is totally worse. He wore these just a few years ago and according to him he used to have a matching hoodie to go with the pants. What amazes me, is Co-Worker #2 to a very well dressed young man now. Seriously, though, I didn’t know which was worse the roach in the ear story or those pants…


Check back tomorrow for Project Runway Recap!!!

What I Learned In College... Jews, Beer, and Midieval Lit

You know what upsets me about my college education??? What upsets me is I can’t for the life of me think of one thing I learned in college that helps me do my job every day. I’ve already talked about how I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up (except for Anthony Bourdain’s stylist and you never see that on Craigslist) and I didn’t know in college either. So instead of learning how to run a business or how to build a skyscraper or how to clone something, I learned… well what’s the complete opposite of those productive things???

Things I learned in college…

A Whole Lot About Jews. You see my minor was history and you have to take a variety of history classes from around the world. Religion and religious people in general fascinate me and for some reason I just always ended up in “Jew class” every semester. I took History of the Dead Sea Scrolls (Ancient Jew Rules Class), Living in the Time of Jesus (Jew Life 101), and How American’s View the Holocaust (How to Deal With Your American Jew Guilt). Now there is a Jewish Studies major at the university that I went to and, as you can probably imagine, there are only so many Jew classes. Therefore I had a lot of the same kids in my Jew classes because the majority of them were Jewish Studies majors. They were like… really Jewish… and kinda rude. I mean these are small classes and you’ve seen the same people in them for the past year and a half, wouldn’t you want to say hi or something??? Not these Jews. My close Jew Friend, who just to confuse you really isn’t Jewish and wasn’t in any of my Jew classes, told me to walk up to them and say Shalom because he thought I could pass for being Israeli. So I walked right up the leader of the group, in his longhorn yamaka, and said Shalom just like Jew Friend (who really isn’t Jewish) told me. I then got the Jew stare… and crickets… But seriously, if you need to know about the ancient Jewish Sects, how to make Jew breed in the desert, or how to compose a symphony or write a comic book about how your family didn’t survive genocide but you did and now you feel guilty… I’m here for you. (I hope the last part of that sentence doesn’t sound like I’m trying to make a joke because A: The Holocaust… not so funny and B: That class was probably the best class I took all five and a half years I was in school. It was extremely interesting and someday I’ll tell you all about it and let you borrow some good books if you too are interested.)

How to Appreciate Beer for Breakfast: I was not exactly a novice of beer drinking when I entered college. I defiantly wasn’t an alcoholic in high school, but I had my share of hung over Sunday breakfasts with the family. I spend two years of high school in Germany where I learned how to drink... legally! But it wasn’t until freshmen year of college until I learned the how Beer for Breakfast might be as awesome as ponies are when you’re eight. Ex Roommate/Ex Best Friend/Now I’m Married to a Complete Raging Lunatic with Teeth Like a Shark used to come into my room in the morning, wake me up by shaking me violently, and hand me a beer. He would have one as well and we would shotgun them together on top of my bed. Loser had to drive to school. I’ll be honest I was never very good and lost the majority of the time, but I swear it was so much easier getting out of bed for Spanish class with a warm Miller Light in my stomach.

Leading Class Discussions in Classes I Know Nothing About: During my second to last semester I took a history class called Medieval Literature. It was on Wednesdays from 3-6. For three hours I sat in a small room in the history building (you remember the one that housed the American Studies department in the attic) and tried to be interested in the book we had to read that week. Yeah, that week… We had to read a new book every week… A new “medieval” book, every week. It kinda crushed my soul. Every Wednesday we came into class and someone in the class would lead the discussion of that week’s book. I was extremely nervous to do this for a few reasons.

Reason #1: Miles. Miles was this nerdy, short history major who on the first day of class before the professor even entered the room stood up and asked everyone what their major was because, “This is a 400 level class and only for history majors because other majors won’t be able to keep up.” Um Bullshit little nerdy dude. The class was also an upper level English class and many majors, including American Studies, requires you to take upper level history classes. He scared one of the only other girls away! Seriously, how bright could she have been, but she got up and left before the professor had even entered the room. Then, that first day our professor passed a paper around with all the books we were going to read and we had to sign our name next to the one we wanted to lead the class discussion for. I picked the only book written by a woman, The Book of Margery Kempe by Margery Kempe. After class I was sitting on a bench in front of the building looking for something in my backpack when Miles sat down next to me and decided to let me know why the book I picked sucked and how hard it will be for me to lead a group of male history majors in an intelligent conversation about a stupid woman for three hours. I knew then he was a little twerp, but he still got to me and made me nervous because as good of a bullshitter that I am… three hours is a long time.

Reason #2: I knew (well still know) nothing about medieval history besides things I’ve learned from Robin Hood, and I don’t think a “how Margery Kempe and Robin Hood were alike” lecture would fly. Seriously I didn’t take a single European history class the entire time I was in school except for Early Christianity (When Jews Rebel) and only then did we sometimes talk about Rome.

Reason #3: I don’t like to look stupid and I was 99.9% sure I was going to make an ass out of myself by talking about the wrong Pope or King or something.

I lucked out one way, though. The book I picked was one of the very last books we were going to discuse meaning I got to see how other people lead the class first. I saw what worked and want didn’t. (Oh, and Mile’s discussion was horrible. Hehe…) When It came my week to bravely step to the front of the room I was totally prepared. I had almost finished skimming the book, but I had read every review and critique I could find online. I had a nice list of open ended questions to talk about and quotations I knew I understood (thanks to Sparknotes) to discuss. What made my lecture the best of the class, seriously at the end of the semester I was called out by our professor for being the best guest lecturer, was that the semester before I had taken an Early Feminist Literature class. Sure, all those boys could talk medieval royalty and monks for days, but none of them knew women writers from the 40’s and 50’s. None of them could answer how Margery Kempe was like Phyllis Wheatley. It was awesome to ask questions that Miles didn’t know the answer to, or questions he couldn’t BS his way out of, and then get recognized by a “400 level history class” professor for doing better than the little history geek in the corner. I’m awesome.

Random Thoughts Including Alabama and Shark Week...

Random thoughts…

I lived in Alabama for 10 months when I was in 6th grade and the fashion trend at Prattville Intermediate School was to buy humorous boxer shorts and wear them underneath white, see through track pants. I never really understood why this trend was cool, but I never understood a lot about people from Alabama. My first day of school on the bus ride home we drove through a trailer park with a burning cross in someone’s front yard and the kids on the bus weren’t phased at all. Seriously… Let that sink in… I will never forget that. It will be 2064 and I’ll be flying around in my car still thinking, “I must avoid Alabama today because those rednecks are fucking crazy”. By the time this trend became all the rage, I had learned not to question the freaks but just smile and nod along with them. Now, I never partook in the boxers under track pants trend for one big reason. I could not figure out how to intelligently tell my parents that I needed boxer shorts with glow in the dark smiley faces and athletic pants that you could see though. I rolled ideas around for a good month, but never got up the nerve.

This week is Shark Week. Last night there was a show that taught the viewer how to survive a shark attack. This hour long show didn’t mention the number one way to survive… STAY OUT OF THE MOTHER F-ING WATER!!!

True story in which Boyfriend tries (unsuccessfully) to defend my honor...

One quick thing before today’s post… Hi Mom and Dad. Evidently my parents have been reading this blog secretly. Now, I have no problem with my parents enjoying embarrassing stories about myself, or laughing out loud wondering how they every produced me. But secretly laughing at me??? WFT Mom and Dad. I know I’m not the golden child that calls home EVERY SINGLE DAY (yeah… that’s the type of older sister I have), but we talk on a pretty regular basis, and Dad even has a Facebook account. Make yourself known and bring it up in conversation, or leave a note on my wall, or FOLLOW MY BLOG AND COMMENT!!! Let’s see some support from the parental units.

Boyfriend and I drove down to San Antonio this past weekend to spend some time with my parents. They built a beautiful new pool this summer and Saturday was spent floating, playing Horse with a volleyball because the basketball wouldn’t inflate properly, and just lounging in the sun. It was perfect. That night Mom, Boyfriend, and I were chatting in the living room before bed and Boyfriend brought up this story. I immediately started cracking up because I had forgotten all about it, and knew I had to blog about it on Monday. So here you all are… The Time Boyfriend Stood Up For My Honor And Almost Got Beat Up.

Last summer one night Davis Girl and I decided to meet for a drink in the evening. We meet at The Tavern for a few beers and good girl chat. Being the first person there I found a table for two on the second story deck. It was one of the nicer evening last summer (meaning it wasn’t 110 degrees but maybe only 98. 98 plus misters plus cold beer… very cool evening in Austin.) and I went ahead and ordered a picture of beer and two waters. Davis Girl showed up a few minutes later and we quickly fell into our normal routine of storytelling, bitching about work, and Davis Girls talking about whoever Davis Girl was dating. At some point I had to go to the restroom and I excused myself and went. When I came back there was some guy in my seat. I could tell from the look on Davis Girl’s face that he wasn’t invited to sit down by her. When I reached the table he looked a little annoyed but got up and left. Ten minutes later he walked back onto the deck and sat a few tables away from us with another guy friend. Besides a large table of about seven men and women, we were the only tables occupied on the upper deck at the time. After the first picture of beer Davis Girl has to pee too and leaves the table. As soon as she goes inside, both the original guy who took my seat when I left and his friend pull up chairs close to our table and start talking. (I am horrible with names and didn’t remember them two minutes after they introduced themselves but here they will forever be referred to as Some Dude and Ass Hole.)

Davis Girl, Some Dude, Ass Hole, and I get started talking about God knows what. It becomes apparent that Ass Hole is quite a bit drunker than the rest of us. Even after a shot or two there is no way we are going to catch up with this guy anytime soon. Twenty minutes or so later this is what’s happening…

Davis Girl: “And then we look into the beakers and blah, blah, science talk, blah…”

Me: “Students, students, something smart and witty, students…”

Some Dude: “Davis Girl you are so smart… and pretty… and I want to do dirty things it you…”

Ass Hole: “I’m drunk.”

Ass Hole then decides to move the evening along by standing up picking up my giant glass of water that hadn’t been touched because, come on, we had a picture of beer, and pour it in my lap. It was the most nonchalant action ever. Some person might have pointed to the dark clouds in the distance and said something about it raining soon. Ass Hole poured a whole glass of water on me and made a comment about my pants being wet. Thoughts poured (pun totally intended) through my head…

I know I can sometimes be a snarky bitch… what did I say to piss off Ass Hole.

Wait, he just poured water on me… on a girl… WFT Ass Hole???

Quick think of something smart… think of something clever… quick say something…

“What? Water… Me… Pour… Pants… Ass Hole…” I hate that in times of confrontation I turn into a stuttering second grader with a dirty mouth.

Davis Girl: “What the Fuck you Ass Hole? Who do you think you are? What kind of man pours water on a lady? Where were you raised because this is Texas and people know better and have better manners here?” Turning to Some Dude… “You need to get your friend out of here right now. He is drunk and a complete dick and…(so on and so on…)”

Davis Girl is one of those girls who not only could, but would probably like to kick some butt in a bar. I feel like everyone should have a friend who knows how to fight and stand up for you. I am totally not that friend. I would get hurt and I don’t like pain. Davis girl is that friend and totally has my back. Maybe one day I’ll blog about the time she almost got into a fist fight with the one black girl in our high school over a PT Cruiser in McDonald’s parking lot senior year. It’s epic.

Some Dude and Ass Hole quickly leave. (Like I said Davis Girl is scary) A girl from the only other table occupied on the deck comes over with some extra napkins shaking her head and making comments like, “how dare he” and “Who the Hell does he think he is…” I clean up, which wasn’t hard because I had come from work and was wearing black triacetate Ann Taylor pants which are practically waterproof. Davis Girl and I pay the bill and as we’re walking to our cars the whole ridiculousness and absurdity gets to us and we start cracking up. We both sit down on the curb and laugh about how crap like this would happen to me. We aren’t ready to call it a night and go home so Davis Girl suggests we drive a mile down Lamar to The Saloon, another neighborhood bar.

As I am in my car following Davis Girl, I call Boyfriend to invite him to meet us at The Saloon for a drink.

Boyfriend: I thought you were going to The Tavern?

Me: We had to leave The Tavern.

Boyfriend: What do you mean? Why?

Me: (tell him long story…) blah, blah, blah, Ass Hole, Blah, water in lap.

Boyfriend: WFT???

Me: blah, blah, blah, Ass Hole, Blah, Water in…

Boyfriend: I head you the first time, but why would he do that?

Me: I don’t know… I swear I didn’t say anything either!!!

Boyfriend: What was his name?

Me: I can’t remember

Boyfriend: Well, what did he look like?

Me: Um… he had dark hair… and was wearing a red polo shirt… yeah… pretty sure it was a red and black strip polo shirt… Why?

Boyfriend: No reason… Sure I would love to meet you and Davis Girl. I just have to stop by the house to change clothes first.

Me: Okay. See you in a bit. Bye.

Davis Girl and I get to The Saloon and order new drinks. It’s busy and we end up sitting on the curb outside waiting for a table to open and Boyfriend to arrive. As much as we try to go back to bitching about work we just keep reminiscing about the “water in lap” incident. 30 Minutes later Boyfriend arrives, goes straight to the bar and orders a stiff drink. When he comes outside to great us this is what he says,

Boyfriend: I went to The Tavern to defend your honor but I threw water on the wrong guy so I don’t think I worked.

Me: hu?

Boyfriend then tells me this story… “I really didn’t have to go home and change and I was already on my way to meet y’all at The Tavern. You told me what the guy looked like so I was just going to drop in and see if he was still there. Yeah, I know you said he left but I figured maybe they just went inside or down stairs to get away from you two. I walked outside on the upper deck and I saw him. Brown headed dude in a red striped polo shirt. My first thought was “oh shit, he’s still here” but it quickly turned to “what should I do now???” I didn’t think the guy would actually still be there but he was and I had to make a decision. So I went back inside to the bar, ordered a large ice water, walked back outside, taped the guy on his shoulder, and when he turned around I said “Next time you’ll think twice about throwing water on other people’s girlfriends.” And I poured the entire glass of water down the front of his shirt.”

OMG.

I love my boyfriend.

Please imagine this… you are sitting calmly with your group of friends having a few beers at the bar. You see some random chick get water thrown on (yes this was the same group that occupied the only other table on the deck) and thirty minutes later some crazy lunatic is pouring water all over you like some insane minister baptizing the whole bar. I would have paid a large amount of money to be a fly on the wall and witnessed this. Duh, the guy from the large group was pissed that Boyfriend had just emptied his giant cup of revenge onto his new GAP polo. He stands up, pushes Boyfriend, and takes a punch. Now, anyone who knows Boyfriend knows A: he’s not a fighter and B: he is shifty and fast as Hell (you should see him play water volleyball). Boyfriend just barely leans back enough to miss having his nose broken while the other guy’s friends hold him back and try to explain to Boyfriend what happened.

Five minutes later random group of people including “innocent guy who got water thrown on him” and Boyfriend were all taking shots together and laughing... yup, Boyfriend is that guy. He’s the guy that can make lifelong friends in five minute, even after pouring water on an innocent guy at the bar. On the other hand, I’m the girl that gets water thrown on her with no apology. But, then again I’m the girl whose boyfriend tries to defend her honor, which is kinda awesome…. Wash.

It's Sew On... Recap Friday!!!

Project Runway is back!!!

This show takes me back to my 2nd year in college, crushing on Austin Scarlet, Mike’s Hard Lemonade, and make your own Whole Food Salads.

This season starts with Heidi and Tim Gun sitting in what sounds like the studio bathroom talking about this year’s AWESOME designers. Seriously, the acoustics remind me of when I was 8 and would go into my parent’s bathroom and record myself singing Disney and Starlight Express songs. We hear from Heidi that Andy, “Is Asian and (wait for surprise eyes) cool!” Who knew Asians were so cool right now? Mondo has those Bad Ass Ran Ban glasses I wanted as sun glasses but he wears them all day a normal glasses, so he must be awesome. Plus Tim calls him “adorable” and I totally agree. McKell, who has dreadlocks and is from Utah, pronounces her name “McCow”. Does a “McCow” have a regional accent??? Casanova has a GIANT mouth and as annoying as his name is, it is actually his last name. Wash. Plus he says, “Will New York eat me, or will I eat New York.” I’m going to say you will eat it… and all the burrows. Seriously, his mouth enters the room five minutes before the rest of his face. Jason comes wearing a bowler hat for intimidation, you know “like gladiators or how Native Americans wore Mohawks”. (His words not mine.) April will make tea party dresses, but only if they are gnarly tea parties.

Eventually everyone gathers at Lincoln Center and out walks Heidi and Tim. Heidi’s legs are still amazing, but I like it when her hair is a little more blond. Tim is as dashing as ever. (I love Tim Gun. He would be my pick be my dad after my actual dad and Mack Brown. Close third.) They announce that because there are 17 designer here (to quote Madonna from League of Their Own) “some of yous gonna have to go home.” One, two, ten??? They won’t know till after the runway.

First Challenge!!! Everyone open your suitcases and pick out a piece of clothing to incorporate in your design, but (there is always a but) pass that item to your right. That’s right you get 5 hours to make something with the butt ugly (fill in the blank) clothing item of your competitor! Have fun! Oh, and Casanova didn’t seem to understand that “incorporate into your design” meant “ tear, rip, cut, and completely render un-wearable to anyone besides a size 0 model” because he selected his 1070$ Dolce and Gabanna olive pants. Damn that language barrier.

Workroom Time!!! The workroom looks like every other season except the sewing room looks like a prison that has been wall papered in grey paint swatches from Sherman Williams. We learn more about the designers like Valerie was poor growing up and had to shop at Wienners. (I feel like Wienners has come up on this show before… did Santino have to go there as a kid??? I can’t remember…) Also Michael says he will be out of his element working with fabrics instead of knits, but then says, “if you are a designer you should know how to work with all fabrics” when Peach starts hating on the orange scarf he gave to her for the challenge that kept falling apart.

Tim Comes to Visit!!! Jason has a “fashion corset”. Yeah, it’s a corset he wears over his clothes with pins, thread, and scissors all sticking to it. I feel like he shouldn’t run… or wear it outside.

Model time!!! Jason is upset because his model has giant knockers. I mean he makes it seem like this girl is walking down the streets of New York with basketballs taped to her chest. In reality she might… might have a B cup and it’s probably only because she’s about to start her period. I mean I went to middle school with girls who have bigger ta tas than this chick. McKell wants her model to have a “girly Mohawk”. (But do those intimidate like a gladiator? I think not.) Michael wants makeup that is “whimsical but not drag queen.” (Such a fine line.) Kristen forgot that she actually has to dress her model until 15 minutes before the runway show. Casanova’s model wasn’t even kinda dressed when Tim called time and told everyone to head to the runway. And Jason (with his corset, tool belt, Bat Cave of goodies tied to his torso) didn’t have time or supplies to finish his dress and he his walking out the door while stapling his model into his outfit.

Runway Show!!!

Roll Call…
Heidi (with new darker hair)
Michael (Botox Baby)
Nina (I’d go lesbian)
Selma Blair??? (Does anyone else think Selma Blair fashion and think this…)

(Because I do...)


AJ: Hot Topic prom dress with a foil bow.


Andy: This looks like the bastard child of Asian Robin Hood and an eclectic art teacher.


April: This finishing is horrible. the hem is wonky and there are strings hanging down. As for the actual design... I feel like those white strings look like worms, and she said earlier she was inspired by morgues, so maybe hangy strings are a part of her design aesthetic.


Casanova: Blake Lively + Tarzan + my dish towels


Christopher: I like this. It's a litte boring and safe and I wish it was longer, but it's pretty. Plus the collar looks like Kumomoto Oyster Shells. (mmmmmm.... oysters....)


Gretchen: (WINNER) Very pretty. The back is very delicate and girly and the models hair and makeup was perfect. I agree with the judges.


Ivy: The judges hated this and almost sent Ivy packing. I don't love it, but I don't hate it. They were upset because she made pants out of pants. I get that, but they do look like brand new pants. The top is ridiculous, and so are the big hoop ear rings. Again, I didn't hate it and I'm glad they let her stay because I feel like she is better than this.


Jason: I wrote in my notes, "Friar Tuck wannaby". Heidi says it looks like the cape they put around you when you are getting your hair done. Either way... it's not a good look.


Kristen: First I had to remind myself who Kristen was which is never a good thing if you're on reality TV. The dress... meh. I believe it was made from Andy's kilt and I would have rather seen Andy wear it as a kilt. The fabric looks heavy, almost like it was originally a picnic blanket and it started raining so she wrapped herself in it and ran to the car... yeah something like that.


McKell: (LOOSER) I don't 100% agree with the judges on this one. The dress is... okay. I don't like the wings on her shoulders, but I like the concept and except for maybe a little too much side boob action it seems to be constructed well. I do agree with the judges opinion that the styling is horrendous!!! What is up with that bag??? And why was everyone whispering how adorable it was when the model was on the runway??? And the "girly Mohawk" didn't work. It had its faults but I don't think she should have been sent home for styling issues.


Michael: He described his look as, "classy, elegant, and sophisticated." In reality it's a red top with no back paired with a short black faux leather skirt. Yup, classy.


Michael(2): I kinda love this. The frabic print it cool and modern and I love the shape. As the model started walking down the runway I too wondered, "Why is there a Native American belt buckle glued under her right boob?" Then she turned around and the back has a lot of beading detail that ties into the belt buckle. Could he just have left off the damn thing, yes... but I still like it.


Mondo: This is safe but cute. It has a vintage feel and reminds me of my Aunt's old kitchen and the avacodo green fridge she used to have. Plus I love the red clutch with it.


Nicholas: Gross. I hate this. This is bridesmaid dress from Hell. It is boring, made out of the worst fabric ever, and why does an evening gown need a built in purse??? I would put a gun in it and then ask someone to kill me for going out in public in that dress, or shoot the bride... whatever.


Peach: I wish designers would make their dresses just a little longer. This looks like a nice lunch or shower dress but it's a little to short. Of course then you turn around and there is a big bow of toile coming out your ass. Seriously, I looks like the veil Brides wear during their Bachelorette Party, but coming out her ass!!! Not the best look for Grandma's afternoon tea.


Sarah: Target 24.99$


Valerie: Monster dress??? Does anyone else see "boob cup" eyes and a mouth sticking its tongue out???


Come back every Friday for my Project Runway recap. Let me know what you think!

Top Grudges of All Time...

Todays grudge is "First Grade Monster".

Karen was in my first grade class and was a complete terror. She was already a foot taller than everyone else in the class and her three favorite things to do were push, punch, and kick. I mean this girl had absolutely no social graces at all. For a long time I just felt sorry for her because she had no friends, but then I invited her to play tag at recess and she punched me in the arm and spat on my shoes. You would think that this would be the reason for the grudge but no. Bodily fluids I can take. I once saw a boy pee on the jungle gym and never told the teacher. What really annoyed me was when she got me in trouble for just going to the bathroom!!!

The bathroom in our Elementary school had about 6 small stalls and one large handicap stall at the end of the row. In first grade using the big handicap stall became the “cool thing to do”. This meant that during bathroom breaks almost all the small stalls would be open, but there would be a line of 6 year olds waiting for the handicap stall. I never saw the appeal in this. I would always go in one of the small stalls and that was that. Did I rebel because I wanted my fellow classmate to think I was cool and didn’t follow the trends? No. Was I scared to fall in the larger toilet? No. I didn’t line up for the Taj Mahal of urinating experiences because I was guilty. I just knew that as soon as I went into that roomy stall some poor handicap, homeless, “I have only one leg” child would wonder into the bathroom and think I was a total Ass Hole for using her only handicap stall. The fact that we didn’t have any handicap kids in the school was completely beside the point. I knew it would happen to me. Even in first grade I was “that girl”.

What happened was one day our teacher figured out why it was taking her girls so long in the bathroom and told us no one was allowed to use the big stall. Karen decided that I was the one who told on all of them because I was the only one that didn’t use said stall. So, to get her revenge, she kicked me in my legs causing me to back up through the bathroom until I was in the handicap stall and then closed the door and wouldn’t let me out. I pounded and yelled for a bit, but when I figured out she wasn’t moving her big fat ass, I decided I might as well pee. I pulled down my leggings (the only type of pants I wore) and used the awesome, handicap toilet. While I was peeing in bliss, Karen (that bitch) ran outside and told my teacher I was using the big bathroom!!!

I was a total kiss ass in first grade and when my teacher started to chastise me, I lost it. I cried and tried to explain what had really happened but she didn’t want to hear me. We all walked back to our classroom at the end of the hall and right then and there I vowed my revenge. I would not let Karen get away with this injustice. I never made her eat paste or convinced her her parents were getting a divorce (like I tried) but karma is a bitch and I know someday someone will kick her into a toilet stall… or worse…

Come back next week for more “All Time Top Grudges”!

The Real Housebears of New Hampshire

So, I had a long post about 80% done and ready to go, and then I started reading it and I decided it wasn't really all that funny so I erased it. I tried to make fashion puns and interpret weird trends from all the places I grew up, but it was just too messy. To much information for the length I wanted it to be. In all actuality I think I'm just really excited for the return of Project Runway on Thursday. (Tune in here on Friday for my recap and predictions.)

After I killed my post about humorous boxer shorts under see through track pants in Alabama, I came upon a really funny news story from New Hampshire I'd like to tell you about.

Meet Da Bear #1


He enjoys sleeping during the winter, having non "face to face" bear sex, and breaking into New Hampshire homes. He did the latter yesterday while a family was out (tapping mapple surup trees???). He strolled through an open backdoor, ate some pears and grapes, and was about to move on to the porridge and beds when he heard the garage door opening. Scared he turned to leave, but not before he saw this...

Meet Da Bear #2



Beer #1 did what any self respecting black bear would do and rescued the poor stuffed prisoner from the evil human family.

Human family watched the bear leave their back yard with Bear #2 held gingerly in his mouth.

And they lived happily ever after in bear world...

Dream Jobs... Please Tell Me How to Get These...

Before I get to enchanting you with my regular post today, I wanted to say thank you for all the wonderful support of my little blog. Also, 10 followers in 10 posts!!! Yeah, pretty good start I’d say. Let’s keep this growth rate going!!! Seriously though, thank ya’ll so much for all the comments and nice words. They make me very happy, and make me think that this “showing people what you write” thing isn’t all that bad.

On to today’s post…

Dream Jobs…

I have already blogged that my degree major is the redheaded, stepchild of the history department, so it should come to no surprise that I don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

When I was a wee little Lemon I had monumental hopes and dreams about my future as an Illustrator/Astronomer. Evidently my art skills peaked about when my handwriting skills peaked, 4th grade. Up until 4th grade I was the go to gal for Art Awards at the end of the school year and cute “elementary school” looking frogs and Picasso knockoffs. Then I hit middle school and stopped taking art, and my sister quickly became the artistically gifted member of the family. Whatever she paints me lemons, so I don’t really hold a grudge. Astronomer died as a future career in middle school when I realized that although they can make up to 100 dollars and hour (yes, I looked that up when I was 10) they also have to go to school for like… ever!!!

Then as I got older and wiser I decided, after my near date with death during Hurricane Fran, I would like to be a meteorologist. This stuck for a long time. I even took GMO (Geology, Meteorology, and Oceanography) my senior year of high school. Yes it was rocks for jocks, but whatev… I memorized 75 different minerals and rocks, and made a weather diary I still have today. I applied to two colleges because of my meteorology dream. Then right before it was time to pick a school, I got completely freaked out and was all, “Wooh… that’s a lot of math. Maybe this isn’t the right thing for me considering I barely passed Algebra II and PreCal was all Greek to me”.

Fashion!!! I love clothes!!! Why not become a fashion design major??? (forehead smack) It took me a semester of memorizing 120 different fabrics to remember I hate stupid, shallow bitches, so maybe this isn’t the right place for me either… (Plus in my first lab where we got to burn and rip holes in different fabrics to learn more about them, the kinda good looking guy who sat across from me went to the same Church Camp as I did, and I’m pretty sure he is gay and a cheerleader… yeah… he was totally awkward because he thought I would be totally awkward.. which I was, but not because he’s gay, but just because I’m a totally awkward person…) Enter American Studies and the beginning of the end to it ever being easy to get a job doing something that might mildly interest me.

I hate when you tell people you don’t know what you want to do and they immediately ask, “Well what do you like to do?” Really Ass Hole… you think I’ve haven’t tried that already? You think I haven’t searched Craigslist, CareerBuilder, and HotJobs for “sit on your ass, drink beer, and be paid 50,000 dollars a year” job. Because trust me they don’t exists. And FU for making me think about a career in lazy and thus making me sad about my life.

Dream Jobs…

Anthony Bourdain Stylist: First of all I think we could be friends. Why??? I saw that episode where they were filming in Beirut when the bombs started falling and I think I would have lost my shit. Which all of them did until they held up in that hotel on the hill and the bombs weren’t quite so close. And then they all when into “reflection” mode. I could do this. I can be completely freaked out and then write amazingly emo journal entries. (Trust me I have them on a shelf in my bedroom.) Anthony doesn’t do cocaine anymore. Cocaine freaks the Hell out of me. I could help him stay clean. Lastly they went to the restaurant where nachos were invented in Mexico!!! I mean I should be a part of any TV show that goes there. (Oh, and why they were experiencing the awesome history del nacho, a camera man hit his head and passed out and had to be taken to the ER. WFT Camera Man!!??!!?? A: I’m not that clumsy. B: I would have at least rallied together a little bit better than that looser.)
Why become his stylist…? Did I mention I have a semester of Fashion Design under my belt? Plus the man only wears black and grey. How hard could it be?

Hotel/Spa/3 Star Michelin Restaurant Critic: How awesome would it be to travel the world (on someone else’s dime) and only sleep, relax, and eat in the best of the best??? Now, don’t start the judging. I get that you should emerge yourself in local culture. Eat where the locals eat, sleep in homely hostels and B&Bs, blah, blah, blah. I get it. Been there. Done that. I’ve stayed in “hole in the wall” hostels, survived on bread and tomatoes (there are much more important things to buy in Amsterdam), and slept on trains. I’m ready for the good life. Four Seasons? Yes Please! Exotic mud wraps? Bring ‘em on! Sweetbreads from Manresa? OMG shove them down my throat!!! Then I write a nice little review, and bingo! CondeNast, feel free to ask me for an interview in the comment section below.

Personal Shopper (but only for LSU Friend and Davis Girl): 50 different cotton dresses from Target. Check. Red lipstick. Check. Done. Pay me please.

Dog Walker: I know a real job I could go to craigslist and get. But… (oh yeah there is a but) there are some stipulations.
1.Must pay at least 45,000$ (I’m a really good dog walker, honest)
2.Only cute dog owners may apply. ( I mean people with cute dogs, not cute people.)
3.Additional 10,000$ for picking up poo (plus additional 5,000 for Extra Large dog’s poo)

Blogger: …dream big… …dream big…

Divorce, Popsicle Wrappers, and "Why is it Always My Fault???"

Boyfriend went grocery shopping this week and bought me a copy of the magazine Real Simple. I don’t read Real Simple religiously, it’s no Metal Floss or US Weekly people, but I enjoy reading it at LSU Friend’s house or every now and then shelling out the 4 dollars for it. I like that it is large, has a lot of pictures, and because it’s not made from that shinny, glossy paper, it is easy to fold it over and crease the binding so it stays open on your lap. Sometimes they have parenting tips which I don’t enjoy, because of my lack (thank God) of off-spring, also if I have to read one more Midwestern housewife write in that “The Notebook changed my life because…” I might die a little on the inside. All in all, I would say it’s a solid B on my Magazine Ranking Scale.

The article that really jumped out at me was “Ten Ways To Make Your Marriage Divorce Proof”. Now I’m not married, but divorce scares the crap out of me, intrigued I read further…

1. Realize that if you can both agree on what constitutes a clean room, you can agree on anything.

FUCK!!!! My marriage is doomed before it has even begun.

Boyfriend and I have technically lived together for just over a year. Before that I lived in a 400 square foot efficiency. He practically lived with me for a year and a half and really did move all his things in when his lease was up and we were waiting to move into a larger place together. Before that, when we first started dating, I pretty much lived with him in his small efficiency. The point I’m trying to make is this, if we could live together in 400 square feet (without walls!!!) we can live together anywhere. Right?

Right?

Everybody that I know, knows I’m not the most clean person that ever walked the earth. Even I wouldn’t call myself a clean person, but I am defiantly not a dirty person. I think I used to be a dirty person. Growing up as a dirty person I would leave glasses in my room until they grew five layers of mold, I wouldn’t clean my bathroom tub until it looked like Schroder from Charlie Brown lived under the showerhead, and I’m pretty sure when I was moving out of my first apartment freshmen year of college there were five or six empty to half full beer cans under my bed.

I am 100% better at not being dirty. However I would classify myself as a messy person. Now being messy has nothing to do with being dirty. A messy person can make a mess and then clean it up with the proper wipes, brooms, and chemicals. I believe I am messy because I can’t spend 10 minutes sitting on the couch without making a mess. Seriously, I don’t know how it happens. I sit down to watch House reruns and an hour later… Poof! The living room looks like I haven’t cleaned in a month. I’ll stand up and somehow there are Popsicle wrappers everywhere, a ring of water on the table, four unfolded blankets, the futon cover is all messed and scrunched up, five magazines are laying about, and there is a pile of crumbs on the floor. I have no idea how all of this happened. No idea. Do I remember going to the fridge for Popsicles? No. Was I really cold and needed four different blankets and throws? No. And where did these F-ing crumbs come from??? I mean, come on, I only ate popsicles!!! And don’t get me started when boyfriend and I are both home on a Sunday. Multiply the previous mess by 5 hours, add some Scrabble tiles, breakfast taco bags, cereal bowls, and papers where Boyfriend has written down our dream travel arrangements and that’s just our living room.

Now I understand that living with someone is all about compromises. I could fill a whole blog with old roommate stories about missing spoons and takeout containers that were put on my bed, but compromises are so much more important when the person you live with is also the person you are going to spend the rest of your life with. Take old roomie, Davis Girl. I love Davis Girl. Not a lot of people are classifies by me as totally, awesome, and Bad Ass. She is. We lived together for 3 years. Thank God we both moved out into our own places when we did or we probably wouldn’t be friends today. I take that back. I would still think she is totally, awesome, and a Bad Ass (although a little neurotic and anal). She would HATE ME!!! Her dirt phobia and anal-ness greatly outweighed my slightly annoyed “you’re not my mom” attitude. What I’m trying to say is, anytime we got into a small minor argument and we started screaming at each other I knew I would survive because one day we would no longer be living together and I would not have to listen to her bitch about prewashing the dishes and lecture about how her dad made her clean everything in her house even the baseboards.

I can no longer dream like this. I love Boyfriend and I know that Boyfriend loves me, but when it comes to cleaning we (to say it nicely) get on each other’s nerves. Really, we annoy the shit out of one another. And there is no dreaming of the day when he moves out, because as much as I sometimes want to kick him when he brings up my cleaning my car, I don’t want him to move out. This is it. We’re in it for the long run.

I come from a family where Saturday afternoons or Sunday mornings was made for cleaning. Cleaning our rooms, taking the crap that piles up on the stairs to our rooms, dusting and vacuuming, yard work… it was a part of our schedule. It was structure. Boyfriend came from a family with a “do it quick and fast everyday” and you won’t have to spend three hours on it later. Our family’s cleaning philosophies don’t exactly mesh well.

Me: (sitting on futon, eating popsicle, and watching family guy) I love you…

Boyfriend: (smoke coming out of ears, evil frown on face) Look at all of these shoes!!! Why do people ever have more than one pair of shoes??? Look at all these DVDs not in their cases!!! Can you not feel the sticky floors??? AHHH!!!!!

Me: Those are quite a few pairs of shoes. I think we own more than one pair because I can’t wear flip flops to work and in the winter my toes would get cold. Yes those are a number of DVDs not in their cases, but don’t worry, we are going to bed soon and one of those Arrested Development DVDs will go into the computer to watch. So there is one taken care of. Oh, and I didn’t want to wash the floor in case you wanted to play another game of Beer Pong tonight. (Yes we play Beer Pong on our vintage hardwood floors. Sorry Mom.)

Boyfriend: Well I just don’t understand why we (read you) can’t pick up after yourself more often.

Me: Why is it always my fault??? You’re the one with three pairs of flip flops by the door. And it wasn’t me watching Strange Brew and Dirty Rotten Scoundrels. Oh, and you left little hairs on the bathroom sink after you shaved last week that are still there!!!

Boyfriend: I didn’t say it was just you.

Me: You said “Well I just don’t understand why YOU can’t pick up after yourself more often”!!!

Boyfriend: I said “we”!!!

Me: You said, “you”!!!

Boyfriend: No I didn’t!!!

Me: Besides I’m planning on cleaning this Friday because I’m getting off work early.

Boyfriend: But that’s 3 days away!!!

Me: But I’ll knock it all out and then we won’t have to clean for like… forever…

Boyfriend: I’ll clean my hairs in the sink if you wipe the floors and it will be done in 5 minutes…

Me: Fine…
(Five minutes later…)

Boyfriend: Don’t you feel better.

Me: (sulking) Yes…

Boyfriend: You know this means my family’s cleaning style is superior, right.

Me: FU.

Boyfriend: I love you…


This happens about once a month.

A Little Story About a Hit Movie and My Traumatic Childhood...

It took me years to learn to ride a bike without training wheels. Why??? No, my parents weren’t evil a-holes who drank the days of my childhood away. They actually tried to teach me many times. I vividly remember my mom trying on the grass (maybe she thought it was my fear of falling on the pavement), and my dad tried a few times. The times with my dad were no better than the time (singular) when he attempted to teach me to drive in the high school parking lot. (Seriously Dad??? Who in their right mind decides that the first driving lesson should be “how to back up into a parking space”??? I mean, come on!!! I’m 25 and I still can’t do this.)

No, it wasn’t my parent’s horrible parenting skills. And, surprisingly enough, it wasn’t because my sister traumatized me, either. Why did I not learn to ride my bike without training wheels???

This guy…


More specifically when he made a movie about this guy…


That’s right. Mother F-ing ET. Steven Spielberg might have ruined my childhood. I saw that messed up movie when I was very young. I can’t tell you the plot, character names, nothing, but I remember that horrible scene when that little kid flies away in his bike with the little brown turd in the basket. OMG that scared me!!! I don’t remember how the bike started flying, but it did. And if I couldn’t remember how it started, what if I accidentally did that one action or flipped that “start fling now” switch on my bike without knowing it??? There was no way in Hell I was going to risk it. Therefore, I was destined to either never ride a bike (which really isn’t an option growing up in suburbia) or just never learning to ride without my training wheels. (Because in my head if I still had the training wheels I was safe. They were like suction cups that wouldn’t let my bike fly into outer space for no reason except to scare the crap out of me.)

The teasing and name calling came first from my older sister. She learned to ride her bike without training wheels in a weekend. (Yeah… she was that kid.) Sister decided that she wanted to surprise our father when he got back from his TDY (for you non-military people “his business trip”). So she got mom to teach her and help her… blah, blah, perfect child, blah. Dad came home, Sister triumphantly rode up and down our street, Dad cried out of pure joy and amazement… Isn’t his oldest child wonderful… (Okay maybe he didn’t cry, but you get the idea.)

Kindergarten is when it started for me. Evidently my mother subscribed to the parenting method of, “if it worked on one kid, it will work on her terrified little sister.”

“Little Lemon, Dad is going to be gone for a week. Why don’t you and I work on your biking skills…?”
“Oh, another TDY for Dad. Lemon, bring me your bike and I can help you get over your handicap…”
“Dad’s out for three day. SIT ON THIS MOTHER F-ING BIKE AND PEDDLE UNTIL I SAY STOP!!!! No, sweetheart I promise I won’t let go…”
Seriously, every time my dad stepped out of the house mom was pushing that damn bike on me like meth on a redneck from Missouri. But, I wouldn’t budge. There was no way I was going to risk my neck because of my renegade bike and not knowing where to locate, or how to turn off, the flying button.


Eventually one morning (I think I was in second grade or so) I woke up and decided I was being silly. I had never seen my sister fly away. Nor, had I seen any of the neighborhood kids, and we lived in England now so maybe bikes couldn’t fly in England. There must be some chemical in the sky, or maybe the Queen made a law, but I was pretty sure there could be no flying bikes in England.

I can’t remember where we were going, but it was early one morning and we were in nice clothes. I finished my breakfast. My mother was probably doing five things at once, so when I told her I was going to go ride my bike she didn’t look up or acknowledge me. The training wheels were already off my bike, from countless times my parents had tried to teach me. I wheeled the bike to the end of our short drive way, mounted the seat, put my foot to the peddles and rode off. I peddled to the end of the street slowly because I couldn’t figure out if it was safe to turn around on the bike or if I should get off and pick it up to face back the way I came. I’m a Bad Ass, so of course I turned all by myself. As I approached my house coming back my parents were standing outside. Both looked confused…

Looking back now even I confuse myself. ET scarred me for life. Because of one scene it took me years to ride a bike, but I love Jaws and I’m not scared of swimming in the ocean. Also, he directed Jurassic Park and I still have dinosaur nightmares…