Two Non Blondes

Hungry Hungry Hippo

2011-01-30T15:50:00.000-06:00

I have always been an eater. And now I have an excuse.

I wasn't always fond of cooking, but sometime during my senior year in college I picked up the habit and now it is one of my favorite ways to relax. Or it was before it hurt my back to stand for more than an hour. Thanks baby.

B and I always try and eat at home during the week. We tell people it is because we are cheap, but really we are lazy and like to be at home. Eating dinner in our pajamas watching TV.
Because of this, any given Sunday I can be found at the grocery store trying hard to make the trip the only one I make during the week. Most weeks, I am lucky if I only hit the grocery store an additional time.

A few weekends ago, while at home alone as a hunting widow, I happened to flip to Rachael Ray's new show, Week in a Day. I know she is a polarizing personality, and I really haven't made many of her recipes, but I thought the idea was pretty neat. So last week I gave it a shot. But kind of cheated too.

Last week, we had B's family goulash (I have not idea how that is spelled) which is completely different than my family's version, but really quite good. We also had crock pot gumbo, another favorite of our house. How did I cheat? I made enough goulash for 3 dinners and gumbo took over another 2 nights, which gave us a bonus night. I was pretty proud of myself because it is virtually impossible to have leftovers in this house as I married the original bottomless pit. B will sit back in defeat claiming fullness, and I will find him an hour later with his head in the fridge.

Anyway, I was very happy that I was able to make the goulash on Sunday afternoon and prep the gumbo recipe so all I had to do on Wednesday morning was dump and heat. This week I am trying again, but this week involves more cooking. As I type, I am 1.5 meals down of 3. This week will be Swedish meatballs, crab cakes, and turkey burger casserole. Also this week, I am basically cooking everything all the way, except the crab cakes which are mixed and refrigerated, and the stored for use this week.

If this week works out as last week did, then I will have no excuse for not working out, even on nights when I don't leave the office until 7 or later. This makes me very happy.

So, I wanted to ask the 3 of you out there that read this, do you have any good casserole or crock pot recipes I should rotate in? I am desperate to come up with some sort of menu rotation that expands out choices of food past 2 weeks.

Also, later this week, there will be a shoe post, and as of now, none are being shilled by a shoe cult. I am very excited about it.

Happy new week!

Passive Aggressive

2011-01-25T20:04:00.000-06:00

*Unrelated Note of Importance* Gina is alive and well, I promise. She recently went back to our former profession, which sounds worse than it is, but this is considered "busy season" and she is lucky to see her house, dog, or fiance for more than 4 hours a day. That and the fact that she is diligently planning her wedding, makees her an unreliable blogger for the time being. She will be back. Promise.

So I am going to tell you a little story. It starts like this.

Once upon the early summer of 2010, there was a girl, relatively unknown to most, who was in a seemingly abusive relationship. After all, when she cried "it is never okay to hit a woman, ever" everyone listened. As they should. She received lots of support, but decided not to go into details with most as to what transpired that fateful night.
A few months later, this girl was given the gift of happiness yet again and she announced to her friends that she was happy yet again and sporting some shiny new hardware on that all important finger. Again, not wanting to pry too much, her friends offered their genuine congratulations and kept their surprise at the timing well hidden. She was happy, and timing does not matter.
The wedding planning began immediately, and a date was set. The date was a little over a year and a half, but planning is half the fun, right? Each moment of planning was shared with those around her, pictures of her dress were "ooh-ed and ahhh-ed" by the masses. The engagement seemed to be carrying on perfectly. There were countless date nights and they were publicly affectionate.
The holiday season came and went with updates on new traditions being born for their future family as well as the initiation into each other's family happenings.
Then suddenly, with no warning to her friends, an announcement was made that she was in a dark place, stricken with grief and mourning over what could have been. Questions were asked, but none were answered for days. Eventually she explained to those that cared for her that she would contact them when she was ready, but please do not contact her. This was met with understanding and many began to assume the loss involved the engagement.
Days passed and suddenly the second (third?) stage of grief was entered full steam. Anger, honest anger was spewed towards the former loved one. This went on for about a week, then acceptance moved in. After acceptance came the rationalization. To herself, likely, but to her friends definitely. Friends were asked to not bash the former flame, to let her move forward and grow from the experience. So far, everything seemed to play out as it should.
Then the bashing returned. And along with the bashing, the accusations of potential stalking and horrible acts. None described in detail, but the allusions were clear as day.
Finally, she reprimanded her friends for discussing her story with others. And shame on them for asking questions and did someone really just speak to one of his friends? How dare they!

Is this familiar to anyone else? Reminiscient of a high school breakup perhaps? Or gossip overheard by a teenager speaking loudly on their cell phone?
For me, it is the musings of a Facebook *friend* who I have absilutely no memory of from wherever it was I once met or knew her. As an aside, I have an accept policy on FB for anyone I recognize or that more than a handful of my good real life friend's have confirmed. I also freely use the Ignore button, but I have kept these posts unhidden for the entertainment value alone.
I don't consider anyone in any sort of abusive relationship a form of entertainment. In fact, I sent a private message to the girl last summer to offer help if she needed it. I also don't doubt her story in any way, lest I be accused of that. The moral to my story is really only that I am offended you chose to berate me and your other 367 friends for "not respecting her privacy by sharing her page with others (obviously this was directed to someone other than me as I am just now writing this post!)" and "keep your opinions to yourself as they are clearly irrelevant and if they differ than mine feel free to use the ignore button." Really? You tell me and the equivalent of the population of West, TX 3 times over every freaking detail of your life, but we aren't respecting your privacy?
Good grief.
And here I am waiting for her next post. There is a 50-50 chance she is "turning over a new leaf and leaving the past behind with love and respect." My money is on "You can all go to hell for staying friends with the ex." She is due for a pissy comment any minute now.
Do you have *friends* like these, or am I the only lucky one?

*also, spell check isn't working, so I apologize for all horribly splled words. Way too lazy to proof read*

The Stylish New Fashion Trend

2011-01-12T19:04:00.000-06:00

This post has no point, and for that I apologize. I am sitting here eating a glazed donut in lieu of doing a yoga DVD, but only because the dog hasn't figured out how to use his new dog house and it is hovering above freezing so I feel bad putting him outside after just letting him in. And everyone knows you can't do yoga with a 130 pound lab interested in what you are doing. So donut and blogging it is.

Pajama pants in public. That is what I want to talk about.

Over the holidays I did a little shopping around town and noticed this trend. At the time, I thought maybe these kids were college students home on break and all of their decent pants were being washed at their parents house and so pyjama pants had to do in a pinch. Ok, fine. At least you are somewhat covered, but I reserve the right to side-eye you for trying to tuck your polka dot flannel pants into your Uggs.

Then last night, I was picking up dinner for B and I at a local grill/burger joint. As I walk out, in walks 3 high school age girls. One wearing jeans and a big coat. One wearing a short skirt, bright colored tights and a long sleeve shirt. She looked cold, but also looked as though she put some thought into her outfit. Kind of as if she wanted to look cute in case she ran into some boy she had a crush on. I mean, why else would a 15 yr old brave 30 degree temps in little more than a flimsy layer of rayon?
The third girl? Pajama pants. And a long-sleeved t-shirt. Not even a hoodie. The other two looked like they could have just come from a library, while this one looked like she was woken from a deep sleep. Bad hair and all. Hopefully her teeth had been brushed within the last 12 hours, but I wouldn't have put money on that.
At the time I wondered if her friends were embarrassed by their hobo-esque tag along. The I had the chilling thought that maybe this was a "look" and then I silently prayed I was incubating a male and would only need to worry about the inevitable "I don't care if it is considered 'cool' but you will not have that Bieber hair cut and no son of mine will have hair reminiscent of a Beatle, ever!" Girls can be hard, I was one.

Anyway, tonight I stopped into the grocery store on the way home for my short list of things the house was in need of (re: milk and dog food) and in the process of forgetting the dog food, but picking up a 6 pack of glazed donuts (seriously $1.99 for 6 totally beat out the $0.39 each in the case), I saw another unfortunate soul dressed for slumber. And this one was post high school age. I think. She was wearing something which looked an awful lot like a letterman's jacket, but without the patches, so I couldn't really tell. Anyway, girl was in too tight t-shirt, ragged grey pajama pants, and flip flops. Oh, and the pleather jacket missing the school identification.

Seriously, WTF? Pajama pants as acceptable outerwear?
I get the yoga pants thing. For one, if you are wearing something equally as casual on top, it can never be discounted that you are on your way to or from the gym. Yay you. Second, yoga pants are generally figure friendly. Pajama pants? Even the girls in VS look a little bit frumpy in the magazine. *Sidenote - the girls in VS are like 6 feet tall, yes? Why then when I order pajamas from VS, the pants are ankle height, if not higher, and I am only 5'6?*
Maybe yoga pants were the precursor to pajama pants. Kind of like the shiny metallic windsuits from the early 90's were the precursor to tracksuits? No?

And now there are pajama jeans? Woah. "The stylish new fashion trend!" Oh goodness. I almost want to buy a pair to make fun of them, but I don't want to waste $39.95... even with the promise of the free t-shirt.

I am lazy by nature, so I get the throw on the closest thing way of life, but generally that means you still change clothes after you get out of bed. At some point, at least, before you leave the house. Right? Am I just crazy?

Things I have learned about being pregnant

2011-01-07T22:21:00.000-06:00

I swear this blog will not turn pregnancy on you. But it is kind of consuming my thoughts lately, so you might get stuck with it once in a while. I promise to warn you so you can skip right over, m'kay?

So I have read a lot of pregnancy blogs, and blogs where people got knocked up, and I have 3 nieces and have been very active in their lives. I felt like I had a *good* idea of what to expect. And mostly I have been ok, but let me tell you there are things I never knew about.

1. The no allergy medicine.
Seriously, WTF? I can't breathe. I am sneezing constantly. It happens to be mountain cedar time and on a scale of 1 to 10, I am about a 12 on allergic to MC. And grass, which basically means there is no off-season for my sinuses.

2. The acne
Oh Em Geezlouise, my skin. Not to brag too much, but I have always had pretty good skin. People remark on my skin all the time. Apparently I had no idea how good I had it because 29 years of minor acne has come back to explode ALL OVER MY BODY. I am gross. B offered to buy me a massage, but I would feel too guilty that someone would have to touch that. Gross. Oh, and the fancy Neutrogena Skin ID I was in love with? Can't use it because it has Salicylic Acid in it. Or benzoil peroxide, which is a no-no. But seriously, if you are looking for a product to clear your non-pregnant skin, I highly suggest Neutrogena Skin ID... great stuff.

3. Pregnancy Tests are not all or nothing
So I joined a pregnancy/baby site about the time we started attempting this whole process. This is where I learned more about my cycle than I have ever known before. I also learned there are commonly used acronyms such as BD (baby dance) and POAS (pee on a stick). I find BD creepy, but think POAS is hilarious. I don't know why.
I digress. Did you know that just because you don't see a second line on a pregnancy test that you still might, in fact, be pregnant? You did? I didn't. But there are people out there that have skillz in the photo editing scene that can take a pregnancy test that 3 years ago I would have seen and immediately followed up with a "Phew, who wants to go to happy hour?" and after turning the photo kind of glow in the darkish can find a second line. And these lines turn into positive tests in a few days? Blew me away.

4. Other pregnant people are really cranky
On this same site is a community board where you can shoot the constipated (yep, another fun fact) sh*t with other baby makers. These people have opinions. And their opinions are that everything you are doing is wrong. I hear this phenomenon continues into motherhood, so I guess I should buy a few more pairs of big girls panties that I keep hearing people say to put on.
4.5 In Laws
Also, these same people have an entire board dealing with crazy in-laws and families. Train Wreck. And addicting. I highly suggest the next time you find yourself bored and tired of facebook, sign up for baby-center and watch the fireworks. Unbelievable.

5. Exhaustion/Sympathy Pains
These wouldn't normally go together, but at my house they do. I have always been a napper. I love to sleep and have no problem spending a Friday night in bed at 8:30. Sleep is my favorite hobby. But man, I have never in my life been this tired. Luckily B is exhausted too. It may be due to the hormonal shifts he accuses me of having every day, I don't know what he is talking about, but I am ready for bed early. He is typically the first to suggest lying down for the evening. I had to put my foot down Tuesday when he suggested this at 7:12 pm. In his defense he had no idea what time it was, and had I not looked at my watch, I would have been all over that idea. He has also been in need of more back rubs lately due to unknown reasons as well as no longer sleeping. I don't sleep either thanks to the psycho dreams this baby gives me, so I think he has sympathy insomnia. Which is BS because he can take Ambien and I cannot.

Anyone out there have any other warnings for me? I think I am handling this pretty good so far, but what do I know. Apparently I am doing it all wrong anyway!

Happy Friday, and if you get some spare time to nap, please do so with me in mind. I am trying to stockpile all the sleep I can, even if it isn't MY sleep!

Excuses, Excuses. Alternately titled: Suck It Herbstreit.

2011-01-02T09:52:00.001-06:00

So clearly we have been MIA. Apologies. We have been a little busy around here.

Wedding planning has become central to Gina's thoughts, as it should, and she has been working hard on creating the most amazing wedding invites (I will let her tell you about them) and working on getting wedding skinny for the big day.

Meanwhile, I am working on getting as fat as possible for her big day. Seriously, I elastic pants are a Godsend. It has taken a lot of work to look like this, and I am damn proud. Really. While Gina has been taking cross-fit classes and crafting wedding details, I have been busy getting knocked up. 3 months down, 6-ish to go.

We will be back more often this year, but will try to make our appearances worth it. And likely with less Shoesday posts, until we find a new site that provides shoes you can actually wear more than 8 hours at a time.

We hope you all had a great holiday and new year! Hopefully you got to see at least a part of the Rose Bowl where my Horned Frogs played their game and beat the big bad Big Ten team, while repeatedly being called the little guy and kicked to the curb by 50% of the Game Day crew. How do you like us now Herbstreit? What do you think ESPN? Looking like a bad idea to sell Wisconsin 2011 Rose Bowl winner shirts a week before the game was played, huh? Asshats.

I am off to get a breakfast taco. Eating really is the best part of pregnancy.
Fatty love,
C

A list of absolutely nothing

2010-10-11T19:27:00.000-05:00

Hi-ho! We have been busy doing things that would only bore you to tears to recap in detail. So I will spare you, mostly.
When recalling the events of last week, all I could come up with was this:

Melatonin doesn't work. Period
OTC sleeping pills are better.
Restless Leg Syndrome will counteract OTC sleeping pills.
The only plausible explanation for having RLS at 29 is that my body ages in dog years.
In that case, it is a miracle I am even alive.
You can tell when people were praying for you to get a hair cut by the sheer enthusiasm at seeing your new do.
You can tell when people do not like your new haircut because they look at you, smile, and ask politely "do YOU like it?"
I now actually have to style my hair. Like a real life grown up. And it kind of sucks.
The flu/sinus infection thing I have going on is the complete opposite of sexy.
The couple on the Tempurpedic Mattress commercial are entirely too excited to learn how a DVD works.
Also, who sleeps on a mattress without sheets other than college age boys?
My dog can disconnect the hose from the spout. He is Houdini reincarnated.
With LiLo in the looney bin, TMZ has absolutely nothing to write about. Which? Makes me more productive... so yay?

See? Nothing of any importance going on here.

This post is held together losely by hygiene

2010-09-30T19:53:00.001-05:00

Today I finally worked up the nerve to tell the girl from 2 offices over that her hygiene practices were not okay. I realize this is a touchy subject and I would have been happy to leave the issue unspoken, however my throat was getting scratchy from the vom each time I witnessed this.
You see, this girl and I cross paths in the bathroom on a daily basis, sometimes multiple times a day. And the small two stall bathroom affords us the misfortune of knowing exactly who is in the bathroom and whether or not washing of hands occurs. Typically, I could really care less if you don't want to wash your hands after you go to the bathroom. I will pass silent judgment on you, but it is your prerogative. Except in this instance where to exit the bathroom I must pull the door handle. Not to mention we just paid a small fortune to install hand dryers to help with our green initiative, so we are all trying to not use the paper hand towels. But after seeing this girl use the restroom, check her hair in the mirror and exit the bathroom by grasping the door handle with her unwashed hands over and over, I have had to resort to using at least one towel to pull the door open and exit. And then I have a trash can full of towels in my office at the end of the day.
I am really grossed out by this.
And then she totally crapped on my hygienic high ground today.
I walked into the bathroom after lunch and she was washing her hands. I even saw her use soap.
As I shut the stall door, I was suddenly overcome with relief that I didn't have to be that asshole who publicly brings up the fact that she is plain gross.
And then, after washing her hands, she dried them in the air dryer. And then? She entered the other stall, relieved herself, left the stall, checked her hair in the mirror and walked out.
The F?
Who washes their hands before going to the bathroom only to not wash them after?
I was so incredibly shocked by this I lost all nerve to say anything. And I continued vom fest 2010. Except, not the vom fest that causes weight loss, which is also annoying.
Anywho.
I apologize for sharing that nightmare, but really? This is backwards, no?

In other news, I have a hair appointment Saturday for the first time in 5 months. My hair is a rats nest of stringiness.
I figure since I turn 30 in 9 months, and I have a professional job (although I no longer have to wear suits, thank God) I should start looking like I give a crap with my appearance.
Here is where I need help.
I have a lot of fine hair. And is hangs straight. Occasionally, my hair bends one way or another, but basically doesn't curl. Except for when I spray it within an inch of the ozone. And I don't want to single handedly speed up global warming.
Here is a picture of me from my wedding rehearsal so you can see my face shape. It is blurry because I cut and paint in MS Paint. Old School Baby.

Also, you should probably know I have like 20% control over my hair. My stylist has done my hair since 7th grade and I trust her implicitly. And she knows this, so if she is not on board, it isn't happening. Case in point: last April I asked for bangs. I had no bangs when I left.

Are you a cat?

2010-09-29T20:15:00.000-05:00

So last night I unknowingly participated in the dentist-given-hallucinatory drugs.

Let me back up...

I spent all weekend in and out of consciousness on the couch. The third time I fell asleep mid-sentence was apparently B's first clue that these weren't just naps. I love a good nap, but rarely ever *need* a nap. I needed 5 over Saturday and Sunday apparently.

Monday at work, I started to feel my day go straight into slow motion. Complete with voices lowering a few octaves. I remember working until about 7, heading home, and then? Nothing.

Tuesday I call B from work and tell him I just want to catch up because we didn't get to talk last night. He corrects me. Apparently we *talked* for quite a while, and I continued to *talk* all night. According to B, I witnessed a helicopter crash, the dog needed to go to the vet, and something about the car selling cupcakes. I must be busy in my alternate universe. I blame it on the potentially fatal flu I am convinced I am coming down with.

Last night, still feeling flu-ish, and also having just welcomed in my monthly *original sin*, (B's term, not mine), I crawl into bed and turn on the DVRed Raising Hope. B missed the premier last week, but finds the show hilarious, which I think causes him to forget to confiscate the remote when the show ends. He gets up for a second to get water and I see my chance to start Glee.
I ask nicely when he returns if I can watch a few minutes until I fall asleep. He agrees. I think at this point he realized my psychotic dreams were sure to be entertaining enough he could suffer through a few minutes of Glee.
Here is where the hallucinating begins again:
Just after Britney finishes singing Britney and Asks Uncle Jesse "Are you a cat?" I hear a faint man giggle.
I avoid looking at him, because I don't want to spoil the moment. And I also realize I am probably just hearing things through my medicine induced lethargy.
Then, as I start to fade into dreamworld (sorry Glee, but the meds were STRONG), I hear Finn say to Rachel, "Are you asking me to choose between you and football?" After she responds, I distinctly hear B mumble, "Well that isn't fair. How could she ask him that?"
Oh Em Gee my husband is involved in Glee. How strong are these drugs?
When the show ended, I took a chance to find out whether or not this fake version of my husband was a figment of my intoxication or if he was real.

Thanks for letting me watch all of Glee. That was very nice of you, I know it isn't your favorite show.

I don't mind. It is actually a good show once you get past the strangeness of guys breaking into song in football pads.

Oh, well good then.

Clearly there was a chemical spill near my office on Monday that unleashed gallons of dentist happy juice into the air.

I sure hope it doesn't wear off soon.

Everything I never wanted to know I learned on Facebook

2010-09-22T19:47:00.001-05:00

I am not perfect. This I know and readily admit. I have many faults, one being my penchant for gossip and unquenchable desire to know the story behind everything.

I have been trying to keep my thoughts and judgments out of other people's business. I have tried to not bring up any gossip unless it is good news about someone that can be construed as sharing in their excitement.

Facebook is killing me.

I know that an acquaintance of mine is due to have her 2nd child any day now, and I also know what he son had for dinner tonight.
I know that another acquaintance's newborn son is sick, and I feel awful about knowing that. But I wish her and the baby nothing but the best.
I know when the latest engagement occurs.
I see pictures from weddings that I wasn't able to attend.
I know what my ex is doing on any given day.
I know that two former classmates hooked up at our class reunion last year while one of the two was still in a relationship.
I know that entirely too many people in this world do not understand the correct usage of there, they're, and their.
I know people log a lot of hours on farmville when they should probably be working.

These are things that I can live with and not feel the great urge to gossip about.

What I can't live with and simultaneously try to be a good person? The Oversharers.

The guy who has an affair on MY friend. Who, on the very day the divorce is finalized changes his formerly hidden relationship status to "in a serious relationship" with the other woman. The guy who boasted of his 1 year anniversary with this same woman when his marriage failed only 10 months before. The guy who has now proposed to this woman. The woman who leaves messages on his status decrying her luck at finding such a classy and wonderful man.

The girl, who I can't place from my past but who befriended me. The girl who over the late summer months went on a status update frenzy posting about how it is never okay to hit someone, and how it is a strong woman who walks away from a bad relationship. Her status changed from in a relationship to single in between these posts. Daily posts were pro-female voicing how she was better off without that loser. Then today she reveals she is engaged. And none of her other friends seem surprised in their posts?!?

It is my *friends* like the above who make daily posts that send my brain off to crazy land while I try and figure out how their lives play out. It takes emails from Gina to remind me that it is not appropriate to email these people and ask, why in the name of monkeys are you airing out your life decisions. But, while you are airing out these happenings, could you pretty please explain more because, seriously, you are giving my overactive imagination just enough rope...

It makes me very happy that I was not apprised of such social networks while I was dating. The *official* relationship status on Facebook has me utterly confused. In my life, we had the DTR (determine the relationship) talk prior to using the term boyfriend or girlfriend. Do you now ask the other person if you are facebook official, or do you wait for them to change their status first? And how do you deal with the friend status after a breakup? Do you stay friends? Do you block your ex? How many days do you leave pictures up? Oh the insanity.

I am not complaining as without facebook I would feel completely out of the touch with the world. Also, I would miss such gems as the *like* button of which my favorite use was when a friend's status was *liked* when he went from being in a relationship to being single. Nothing says, "Dude that girl was a lifesuck" more than liking a breakup.

What I need? Is a way to subtly convince these people to write a blog so I can get to the bottom of this madness. Without them knowing I care of course.

Is that too much to ask?

I am the only one that feels this way?

Quick. How many phone numbers do YOU know by heart?

2010-09-21T19:17:00.002-05:00

Do you remember when the sole source of telephone communication was the home phone?
I remember being so very very excited that my parents gave me my own phone line in high school. That same phone line is now the fax line for my Dad's business. (Justin R. Timberlake faxes important shit daily.)
I can easily remember when my friends in high school had pagers because cell phones were like iPads... the cool new thing that you wanted but your parents told you were too expensive for a child your age. And yes, I am looking through my cheap ass rose colored glasses and am pretending that 80% of students at my old high school do not actually own iPads, humor me, I am old and cheap.
Now? I can barely function without the use of my cell phone. My husband told me in the nicest way possible that he could that I may have a slight problem with technology rage and that normal people do not react to slow internet uploads with such fury. Personally, I feel that he is overreacting to my overreacting, but that is a post for another time.
My ~~beloved~~ ~~loved~~ trusty Blackberry was murdered over Labor Day weekend. Actually the judge ruled it involuntary phoneslaughter, but added on depraived indifference to appease me. Regardless, I was awarded little for the pain and suffering caused by hours of emailing and adding lost phone numbers into my new phone.
I honestly know 5 numbers by heart. 3 of those belong to my parents and 1 to my husband. Sad. (Justin R Timberlake's number is NOT the 5th, but hopefully soon.)
So, here it is about 3 weeks later and I am about to go through this misery AGAIN.
I bought a Garminfone because I figured getting a phone and a Gramin map direction thing all in one was a sweet deal and for once in my life I might have some cool tech gadget that none of my friends had.
Joke's on me. This phone sucks ass.
The phone has, in it's lifetime dropped 20+ calls, most of which were to my mother and I could look past that, but really? Also, rings when it wants to. Randomly locks itself and wont let me back in.
I HATE YOU PHONE.

So, question is now... what kind of phone should I get?
*Hint, if you answer iPhone I will come through the computer and strangle you... my company won't use iPhones for work email, blah blah blah.
Help... anyone? I would really like something with cool applications, but honestly if I can keep a call connected 100% of time I won't complain.
Also, Glee? How I have missed you.
And you too Justin R Timberlake.

Rejection

2010-09-17T10:27:00.000-05:00

About a month ago N and I bought that awesome JetBlue All You Can Jet pass. What? You don’t know about this awesomeness? Once a year at the beginning of August JetBlue holds this 3-day sale where you can buy a pass to fly all you want during the month of September for like the price of one flight. And since N and I were planning a trip anyway, we thought why not travel to 3 places instead? Hate me.

Anyway this past weekend we kicked of our jetsetting month with a trip to NYC. Now I haven’t subjected you guys to this b/c I know I am nuts and all kinds of ridiculous, but I accidentally bought a wedding dress that I hate (it was for charity, don’t ask). Ever since then I have become determined to find something better. I decided that the only thing for me to do was go to Kleinfelds, the very same shop from my guilty pleasure show “Say Yes To The Dress.” I am completely 100% obsessed this show.

Except I called 3 weeks in advance for an appointment and they were fully booked. WTF. Being the determined obsessed person I am, I went anyway just in case they saw me and were like “OMG, we HAVE to dress you in one of our amazing dresses because you are so awesome!” (Whatev, it could have totally happened.) Needless to say, I went inside, fell in love with the place, and got immediately rejected. I didn’t even get to see my fake GBFF Randy. Worst of all, it was raining outside and for some reason N declined my offer to share an umbrella and opted to wear a bright yellow plastic poncho. He looked like Curious George. I would not lie to you, internet friends. Also? They were taping an episode of Say Yes To The Dress while we were there. Of course they didn’t want Curious George there while taping an episode of their amazing show. Therefore I fully blame my rejection on my fiancé wearing a very unfashionable poncho and not to me not having an appointment. Thanks a lot buddy.

And now I leave you with something that always makes me smile. Because when you smile, I smile. http://lesbianswholooklikejustinbieber.tumblr.com/

~Gina

5 minutes later

2010-09-16T19:13:00.002-05:00

We have hit # 4 (if you don't count the 2 *baby* searches in connection with #3). Ooh, and we have a baby search of our own!
Justin R Timberlake? You have been John C Mayered.
And are officially my favorite person in the world.

Mutha Lovah

2010-09-16T18:51:00.000-05:00

After reading the most recent posts of one of my favorite blogs, Mommy Wants Vodka, I decided to take her up on her Prankster challenge to John C Mayer a celeb.
Soooo...
Two Non Blondes has chosen the lovely and sexy Justin R Timberlake as our ~~victim~~ celebrity. Justin R Timberlake hopefully would approve of our prank as Justin R Timberlake seems to have a fabulous sense of humor. I mean, Justin R Timberlake was 50% of the amazingness that is D*ck in a Box and Mother Lover.
Also, Justin R Timberlake can rock a fro like no other white guy ever has. Or ever should be for that matter.
If you have been living in a 3rd world country without access to the internet or radio or whatever and don't know the brilliance of Justin R Timberlake, then I pity you.
Justin R Timberlake has a wikipedia page here where you will learn all sorts of interesting tidbits like how he was in NSync and then went solo. Also, Justin R Timberlake was the best thing that ever happened to Britney Spears in her pre meltdown era, and Justin R Timberlake has gone on to date hotties such as Cameron Diaz, Fergie, and currently Justin R Timberlake dates Jessica Biel. As if having a fantastic body wasn't enough to make me envious, Jessica has to go be Justin R Timberlake's girlfriend. I bet Justin R Timberlake Rocks her Body like no other, and for that I am super jealous.
If I had a list, you know the lists of people your spouse would look the other way if you ever had a chance to be with, Justin R Timberlake would totally top that list. Also, I think we could so be friends because who else but me has a crush on Justin Timberlake that is willing to admit that I not only repeatedly watch the NY Madison Square Garden performance of the Beat Box, but also own the DVD featuring Justin R Timberlake? Me. That's right. I own that shit in DVD form.
So my dear Justin R Timberlake, wherever you are, I will always love you and your William Rast jeans, curly fro complete with bleached tips, and ridiculously good comedic timing. Your d*ck in a box is always welcome in this neck of the woods sweet Justin R Timberlake.
Also, as a side note Justin R Timberlake, I swear I am not a stalker, but this John C Mayer prank thing was way to fun to pass up and I really hope you will take this in stride when you Google yourself tomorrow and find our pathetic attempt at a blog.
I heart you Justin R Timberlake.

Tuesday Shoesday... the Wednesday edition

2010-09-15T19:19:00.000-05:00

You are probably thinking that as I promised a Shoesday Tuesday post and the post is coming on Wednesday that it should be at least better than usual, but you would be wrong.
But... it is a shoe post nonetheless.

I caved and bought some ShoeDazzle goodness. And Holy Guacamole they are cute AND comfortable. Shocker.
I wasn't going to buy shoes this month, and was pretty much over the whole thing when I opened my inbox to boots.

Please don't judge the poor quality of photos, and please also ignore the fact that these are supposed to be slouchy and have an inch or so between calves and boots, but alas I am a heifer and no such space exists.

Boots. I mean, it was the beginning of football season which in most parts of the US signals cooler weather and cute boots. I was excited.
Even the Hus approves. Double shocker.
But I didn't get much else exciting in my combined 10 picks (actually it was 9. SD gave me the same boot in different colors at 2 separate options.)

Never fear, I have done some internet shopping for you to fill the void. A friend does some marketing for Naya shoes and wore a pair to a party the other night. I fell in love. With ankle boots. It is like I don't even know me. So now I am obsessed with these:

And these:

And OMG THESE:

1, 2 & 4 are from Naya and are environmentally friendly, so totally worth it. 3 is from Bandolino (I found at Piperlime) and I am really hoping the riding boot fad isn't over because I totally missed out last year.

What other shoe fads am I missing for this fall? I don't want to be late to the party again.

Today? I am in a reflective mood. Tomorrow? Shoesday. ( And I am being dragged by the KK bandwagon.)

2010-09-13T13:17:00.000-05:00

Somewhere in my parent’s house is a dusty manila folder containing what my memory recalls to be a faded red folder. That folder contains the details of my history.

Twenty-nine years ago yesterday I was given to the only parents I have ever physically known, but not the only parents that have ever loved me. I am lucky in that regard. I have 4 parents who love me in a truly undeserving, albeit different manner.

When my B-Day rolls around each May, I don’t hear the sappy, sugary, sweet stories of “I was in terrible pain, but that all disappeared when the nurse placed you in my arms…” or even the “your Dad almost fainted at the site of the epidural…” anecdotes. I go about my day accepting the obligatory “Happy Birthdays” offered by friends, family and passers-by that overhear it is the day I was born, even though it is only second in meaning to me. It is after all the day that I got my license 13 years ago, the day I was able to legally begin using my real ID to purchase liquor 8 years ago, and the day I realized it is a LOT of pressure to determine the lunch location for your entire department to celebrate. Especially when you have worked at this company for say, 2 weeks?

That day in May? Doesn’t mean what it does to other people. The day I get the warm fuzzies is in September.

Yesterday.

This is the day that almost 3 decades ago my Mom met M on the front steps after school and told him that he was going to be a big brother. This is the day my family loaded up into their car and drove I-35 N to Fort Worth in anticipation of filling the now empty car seat buckled securely next to M.

And this is the day that is filled with memories.

The day my parents let M go with the nice lady at Gladney to get me, armed with 2 outfits, sizes 1-3 months and 3-6 months. M returned in tears exclaiming, “She’s too big for these! What.Is.She.Going.To.Wear?” while giving my parents a look of despair and shame for their lack of foresight. My mother thankfully had brought along a 6-9 month dress just in case her new weeks-shy-of-4-months baby was too chunky to fit in anything else. She just had a feeling. And M breathed a heavy and dramatic 8 year old sigh of relief.

The day my Mom was too scared to admit to the social worker that there was no running water at our house because after 6 plus years of waiting for the call, they had decided to renovate.

The night I struck fear in my parents that they may never sleep again when during the 3 hour drive to my grandparents house in Granite Shoals I was wide-eyed and awake the entire trip. Evan at midnight.

It is the day that I think about how blessed I am to have been loved so deeply by the first two important people in my life to have been placed on my personal yellow-brick road to happiness instead of the rocky road that might have been.

It is the day that reminds me that love isn’t something everyone is born into. I am one of the lucky ones.

But it is also the day that I share these thoughts alone with my *second* family. The two responsible for bringing me into this world have only the day in May.

They don’t know about my A-Day.

I am forever grateful for the choices that were made 29 years ago. Signing the papers must have been hard. I hope the decision does not haunt them, it was the right one.

I am equally as grateful that my parents show no difference in love for a biological child versus love for an adopted child. They love, completely, unconditionally, and the same. They love me so deeply that they have always chosen to share the story of my beginning with me.

I have always known. I was told every day how lucky I was to have both families.

One family I know in and out, up and down, for better or for worse.

The other, I know only what is written in that red folder. I am fairly certain that people divulge more detailed information in online dating profiles than those two 8.5 x 11 sheets of paper, but I have all I need.

Bonus? I get to celebrate with cake and shopping 2 times a year.

It's That Time Of Year Again

2010-09-09T09:37:00.001-05:00

No, not football season. Or the dumb holidays. This is way more important than that. Its Halloween. You have to understand something about me. I. LOVE. HALLOWEEN. Yes, I am nearly 30. And yes, I am a strong believer in the dress-like-a-slut rule. Well at least I used to be until I stopped being a size 6. Which now that I think about it was quite a while ago. Which means I now believe in the dress-like-a-ridiculous-person rule.

And when I say a ridiculous person, this is what I mean:

Dont laugh. I was crowned Queen of the Trailer Park.

So my internet friends who’s opinion I trust more than anyone I know in real life, I need your help. I am all out of inspiration for an original yet hilarious idea. My original plan was to dress N in some overalls and a red shirt and call him Mario so that I could dress like Princess Peach with no shame but I went to Target and saw that Mario and Luigi are actually popular costumes this year. WTF? Any ideas? And remember, this is a brainstorming session, therefore there are no bad ideas.

Love,

Gina

Stabby rant disguised as Throwback Thursday

2010-09-02T20:54:00.000-05:00

You remember when you were young and used to pull stupid pranks on unsuspecting people?
No?
Liar...
OK, remember when you were young and used to toilet paper people's houses?
Ya, someone out there remembers this.
You know how you purposely determined which one of your friend's parents would be the least likely to flip the F out and call the cops prior to your selection of target houses to which, ahem, damage property with quilted double-ply softness?
Or which house you could call after 10pm and ask for someone whose name sounded *almost exactly* like a venereal disease?
You know how you pulled these pranks on people YOUR OWN AGE????

...breathe in, breathe out, count to ten...

What the shit is wrong with teenagers today? Can't play with people your own size, eh? Have to bring in total strangers into your world of no responsibility, adderall sustaining, no PE class required lives, do you now?

On my way back from a lovely lunch with Gina and some other friends, about a mile from my office I turned onto a residential side street, in the ghetto where I work. A narrow street with parked cars on both sides, as I was about half way to the stop sign a truck turned onto the same street going in the opposite direction. He pulled behind a parked car to let me pass, and as I passed I showed my gratitude the Texas way... I raised my fingers (all, not the middle one only) off the steering wheel in a *waving* manner and nodded my head. About half a second later as I passed this car... WAPOW. I jumped and then looked to my left and saw slimy grossness on my window. The POS had an even more childish/worthless POS in the backseat who EGGED my car.
I am twenty f*ing nine years old and my car was egged.
I feel certain there are better ways to protest the eggs will put you in the hospital thanks to bad food regulation movement. But apparently donating spoiled eggs to your children is the route parents have taken in my town. Awesome.
In the 2 minutes it took me to get to the office parking lot from the moment of impact, the egg had baked to a hard boiled state on the side of my car. Thanks Texas weather. I drove the entire way home after work with the window down because, FYI, when you try and remove almost dry egg white and yolk from a car window, it smears and becomes cloudy and completely opaque.
I wanted to turn the car around and go pull them out of the truck one by one by their ears, but then I remembered that A) I am a 29 year old woman, not my Grandfather and B) I work in the ghetto... these people probably had other *weapons* in the car besides eggs. I also considered suing, but you know, I have no idea who these punks are and I am busy and shit.
Then I called B who went bat shit crazy telling me how the paint would come off my car if the egg dried and I had to do something about it right.this.second. Way to calm me down there bud. I knew I married you for a reason.
So the moral of the story is... I guess.. teenagers should be chained to their basements/desks/kitchen tables until they are forced off the parent's payroll.
Bonus moral? Two crazies in one marriage causes unnecessary stress.Most of the egg came off in the car wash by the way, but I was a nervous wreck all afternoon anyway.

Happy long weekend you guys. And stay away from eggs.

The Man Pleaser

2010-08-30T12:46:00.000-05:00

Get your mind out of the gutter.
The man pleaser is food.

In honor of Labor Day, three day weekends, and the start of football season I thought I would pass along a life saver.
Starting Saturday, I am assured random boy-men will be stopping by my house at any given time to plant their, hopefully showered, asses on my couch to watch football. I too like football, and because I would rather watch the game than become their short order cook, I keep the ingredients for The Man Pleaser available at all times.

Cream Cheese
No Bean Chili.

Shredded Cheddar.

Done.

Seriously. Try this one the next time you need a dip:

Smear softened cream cheese (2 8oz pkgs) on the bottom of a 9x13 pan. Pour the can (or 2 if you like chili a lot) over the top of the cream cheese. Cover the chili with shredded cheddar. I use the whole bag, but you can portion out a cup or so if you want.

Bake at 350 uncovered for 20 minutes. The cheese should be melted and bubbly.

Dip with your fav chips.

Men happy. Me/You happy.

You are welcome.

The day the internet news sites died

2010-08-29T11:29:00.000-05:00

Are there really no more trustworthy news sources out there?

I gave up on CNN a few months back when I read 3 articles in one day with the exact same story only with different titles.

Fow News? I don't remember when I gave that up.

Huffington Post? There were no less than 2 stories on Elizabeth Hurley that didn't involve her significant other with a hooker. Relevancy? Also, a recent article mentioned a photo of Bethenney Frankel was the first such shot since Bryn's birth. Um, no, she was on the cover of a magazine 3 weeks post baby. C'mon Huff Post.

But today is the day the internet news died for me. (and no spell check, I will NOT capitalize "internet")

People Magazine, oh how I will miss you. But seriously. I read this this morning on your website.

Hair cascading over her shoulders... WTF? Are we practicing for the Emmy recaps? It was a MUG SHOT you douchenugget. Do NOT ruin my Sunday morning reading with your delusional grandeur of romance novel fiction writing.

Ugh.

Does no one take the news seriously anymore?

Throwback Thursday - Volume "Do Your Hair Right"

2010-08-26T07:00:00.000-05:00

Brush your hair.

Put some lipstick on.

My mother was an ever repeating chorus of these statements as I was growing up. I went from not being allowed to shave my knees (5th grade) to in trouble for not looking appropriate and combing my hair (6th grade) overnight. So the fact that my mother encouraged me to begin highlighting my hair around this time should have been about as surprising as the Speidi divorce.
My hair was darkening to a delightful shade of "mouse-y brown" and I flat out refused to chemically alter my hair with a "body wave" as my mother desired, seriously, WTF Mom?, So highlighting was a compromise.
Side Note - What IS a body wave? A perm? I had bangs at the time, do you think my bangs would have been *waved* as well? Never mind, don't answer that.
But just like everything else in my family, laundry, dinner, clothes ironing, if you wanted something done, you did it yourself (unless you weren't old enough to see over the ironing board or something.) So one day while being forced into a family weekend at the river, we stopped at the grocery store in the booming metropolis of Uvalde, TX. I had been diligently reading the latest copies of Seventeen and Cosmopolitan (don't tell my Mom I wasn't allowed to read that one yet... it talked about SEX) and decided Sun In was the way to go.
You thought about it to. Don't deny it. I mean how could you not?
Of course I went with the Super strength Sun In.

The bottle has changed, but the directions have not. In case you can't see the above image directions are as follows:

1. Spray in damp hair and comb through to distribute

2. Something about a sun streaked look to only spray select strands

3. Let the sun dry your hair, or you can boost the process with the help of a hair dryer.

This instruction list is obviously abbreviated by my 29 year old mind. My 12 year old mind read:

Damp hair, spray, comb, sun, blow dry, repeat. Use entire bottle.

Did I forget to tell you I thought this shit washed out over time? I had no idea this was permanent.

Anywho, I woke up the next morning and jumped in the shower to wet my hair. I stood in the bathroom and sprayed 1/2 the bottle into my hair, combed it through, grabbed a beach towel, my walkman, and trusty Seventeen (pretty sure it was the one with Nikki and Chrissy Taylor, RIP Chrissy) and headed to lay by the river. All freaking morning.

Then, because I had no idea whether the blonde in the bottle was working as my head was wet from a dip in the river, I went back to the house, sprayed the remainder of the bottle into my hair and then proceeded to blow fry the crap out of it.

It. Was. Blonde.

And I loved it. For a few days.

Then one day, I am fairly certain it was the Sunday before the first day of middle school, also known as the first year of the most judgmental and awful years of your life, I woke up and staggered into the kitchen for breakfast. My Mom took one look at me and teared up mumbling something about fixing this disaster as soon as possible while running from the room to find the phone.

I went to the bathroom and then I too started to cry.

Some horrible girl with orange hair was staring back at me, and she too was crying.

I composed myself and walked into the room where my mother was just finishing her phone message to the lady who cuts my hair and I tried to assure her that I could spend the whole day in the shower washing and rewashing and surely it would come out by the end of the day.

That's when I learned Sun In is like a hair tattoo. Permanent. And it took like 3 professionally applied colorings to fix.

And so began my journey with hair coloring.

Here is a link to the catchy Sun In commercial circa 1992 for your viewing pleasure. I would embed the video but I don't really know how and my computer beeping at me really loudly and I expect it to self destruct any minute now.

Happy Thursday!

The one where I am rendered worthless by yoga

2010-08-24T22:24:00.000-05:00

At 6:20 this evening I looked at the clock on my work computer and started to close down the open applications. I grabbed my pink bag and headed to the restroom to change into my yoga gear. I was meeting Gina at Bikram and due to the class rules, the ones that were shouted at Mr. Bikram from a burning bush somewhere on a mountain, I had to be flat on my back in class at exactly 6:59. I don't want to rock the yoga boat you know.

I realize left my flip flops at home.

So... I put my heels back on and headed towards my car. Wearing inappropriately short shorts, a workout top, and heels. Did I mention that I had to walk across one parking lot and through the loading dock, past 3 waiting semis with large burly men who probably haven't showered in 2 days? The security guard gave me the once over, but not the "damn girl, where you goin?" look, the "damn girl, what are you thinking?" look.
Really short shorts. Shorts that highlight the abundant pasty flesh of my legs that I make me want to apologize to anyone and everyone who has the misfortune of seeing me in. But Bikram is hot y'all. Like summer day in hell hot with the humidity of say, Houston. H.O.T. So the shorts are the next best thing to a bathing suit, and I have a tad bit more respect for those in my yoga class than to subject anyone to me bending in ridiculous poses in a bikini. For now at least.

So I walk as swiftly as I can to my car and head out.

I call my husband to make sure he remembers I wont be home to make dinner. Mid conversation I get a really awful feeling and as if the last five minutes haven't been humiliating enough, I start my period.
Ugh, I inform my husband because, well I was on the phone with him and wanted him to share in my misery. I also inform him, I have no feminine products with me, and OMG what the hell am I going to do for 90 minutes bending and stretching in the heat without a tampon?
Husband says I should stop by the gas station. He clearly doesn't understand the cardinal rule of Thou Shalt Not Be Late To Class This Is A DISCIPLINE YOU ASSHAT!!!
I don't bother explaining just mention that I should get off the phone and call Gina to see if she has a spare tampon.
She does. Thank God.

So Bikram starts. I sweat. A lot. And I spend the next 75 minutes wondering why this bending hurts so damn much and how many days in a row I have to do this until I look like the instructor. Serious body envy. I am pretty certain it will take more than my next 6 free classes to look like her. Oh well.

And then somewhere in between the rabbit pose and the roadkill pose, pose #205 of 26, my uterus decides to fight back. And it hurt like hell. And I started to focus on praying to be relieved of this pain either through a well-timed fire alarm or death. My death or the instructor's death, it didn't matter.

The class finally ends and I escape to the outdoors. A quick drive home and one lime coconut water later, I thought I was feeling better. And then I buckled over in pain.

Husband brought me 3 Tylenol and a cookie and I took my dinner of champions outside because I was cold in the air conditioning, and proceeded to promptly puke. Seriously. Bikram will f*ck with your system. I think this is where the weight loss comes in. The inability to consume anything for 12 hours after class.

And then I did the most logical thing I could think of. I dyed my hair. And showered.

So now I am going to call it a night and pray to sweet baby Jesus and possibly Mr. Bikram to please please let this entire day have been a dream. Or at the very least to remind me to pack my flip flops tomorrow.

How I found out my dog was smarter than me

2010-08-19T19:10:00.001-05:00

Or at least more frugally-minded. Is that right? Or Frugal minded. Or cheap. Whatev.

Our lack of Shoesday posts can be chalked up to one of two things.
1. We have had it up to HERE with the shoe cults, or
2. We are lazy.

I will take 1 AND 2 for the win Alex.

I haven't quit shoe clandom yet, but if I don't drink the kool-aid soon, I imagine they will off me sooner rather than later.

I bought a pair of shoes in July because I didn't follow the rules. Because the rules were so super clear shoe selling people! Which rule? The 5 days no takesies backsies even if you ask for a new selection pay up now bull crap. That rule. CoughNigerianScamCough. What, wrong country?

I thought I actually liked them. They went with outfits I didn't already have a designated shoe for.
I wore them to work twice and both times I came home with unfortunately putrid smelling wet feet nurturing blisters that resembled oil coated dead jelly fish in the Gulf. But I wanted to like them. I really did. So much that when I cleaned out my closet, (well let's just say I picked up the crap on the floor), I refrained from tossing them in the Give Away pile.

Then one evening as I recovered from a terribly hard day of playing on the interwebs and emailing Gina, as I stalked people through Facebook and watched a rerun of Bones for the 4th time, I heard this weird scraping sound. Scraping like fingernails on rubber. Cause you know, clearly you are annoyed daily by that sound...

And there was Blue chowing down on the heel of my shoe. I would take a picture, but I left my camera at my in-laws. Likely story, I know.

And that was the last pair of shoes I have bought from the Bieber Lover and the Other Shoe Gang. And the last one I intend to buy.
I know, I know, the cost of gas driving to the shoe store plus the shoe prices and often sparse selection of non rubbery, non-velcro including shoes surely will cause me to eat my words. And you might be right. But I am officially on sabbatical from online shoe buying.

And also in the market for a rubber based toy for the dog. We are now down 1 pair of shoes and 2 garden hoses. Also a rug and 5 rubber balls. And a partridge in a pear tree.

Suggestions?

Abandonment

2010-08-16T15:26:00.000-05:00

I’ve come to the conclusion that I am a very irresponsible blogger. I blame my living arrangement. You see, N and I were supposed to move to the middle of nowhere since we live in different cities and had to find a common ground. Instead he has actually been making an attempt to get a job in my city, which means we have held off moving anywhere. Of course this attempt came after I rented out my house and so I am therefore, in turn, renting a room within such house.

Now maybe this doesn’t seem like much of a problem, but I have never had roommates in my life. Other than my parents. And I only allowed that because my mom cooks like a mad woman. So, I have no idea how to handle the typical roommate sitch, such as if I make dinner do I have to share with them or should I watch TV in the common area if no one else is using it or would that be weird since I don’t own that TV. On top of all this, I decided I wanted to be all pioneer woman one day and canceled my cable. This means that I am missing out on the entire season of True Blood, not to mention that I have no idea what is going on in the world. And by the world, I mean such important information as who is Kim K currently dating and when does Always Sunny In Philadelphia begin the new season. So in an effort to avoid sitting in my little rented room with no cable I have begun doing all kinds of things that I normally wouldn’t. Like attending bikram yoga 2-3 times a week. And eating at Souper Salad by myself. And begging random people to go to happy hour with me.

So my inter-friends, please forgive me for the recent abandonment. I promise to be more responsible and to go forth and have bloggable adventures soon.

Love,
Gina

Bad Dates

2010-07-28T21:04:00.000-05:00

This post is inspired by Mommy Needs A Nap.

I was not a big date person, but I went on a few. Bad dates seemed to abound in college.
In fact, I had a string of bad dates one year in college. All of which were *set-up* dates for a sorority/fraternity event.

Date 1 ~
My sorority held an annual paint/water fight party. If memory serves, the paint portion was food coloring and solely included to get the party idea past the alumni who were drunk enough to believe that we wanted to have a party to express our artistic sides, not that we were really looking to wear bikinis and wet t-shirts and get it sponsored by our annual dues. We had water guns and college bodies. Guys were lining up to attend this party, so when a friend told me her BF's roommate wanted to go, I said I would take him.
Our friend invited me to her apartment for poker night so I could meet the guy before the event. I was, as expected, a few drinks over the sober limit, and all I remembered was that he was about my height and skinny.
Date night arrives and I showed up to his house. A guy with spiky blonde hair and glasses answered the door. I said, "Hi I am here to pick up *Eric*, is he around?"
Guy at door says, "Ya, I am Eric. We met last night."
I say, "Oh, I am sorry, I was drunk. I thought you were taller." That was all that came to mind. He didn't like me much after that. I wonder why.

Date 2 ~
I was asked as a date to fraternity event. By a friend. I couldn't screw this up, right? Well, I did. It wasn't all my fault though. I had a semi-crush on this friend and decided that maybe tonight was the night to make a move. To gain enough courage, I drank a few beers on the bus on the way there. (It was a party bus, I wasn't arriving via public transportation.) I thought it would be best to make my move near the end of the night, so I didn't look desperate during the party. I spent some time mingling with friends and hanging by the bar in an attempt to not be clingy. It worked. I failed to notice that my date was spending the party hanging around a cute brunette that lived 3 doors down my freshman year. When it came time to head back, he asked if I wouldn't mind sitting with his friend on the bus. I must have looked confused, so he whispered to me "I am hoping to hook up with *Kendra* tonight, and so I was planning on sitting with her. I knew you would be ok with it. Thanks for coming tonight!" Whoops, didn't see that one coming. At least I didn't try to make a move.

Date 3 ~
A few weeks later, we had another sorority party. I needed a date. Again. So I asked my roommate if her new guy had any friends that might want to come along. She asked, and came skipping into my room later that day and told me she had found me a date. Steve.
All week long, people would ask if I had a date yet, and who it was. I always replied, "yes, I am taking Steve." This was met by confused looks. I then would always say "I don't know him either. He is a random."
We had a pre-party at my apartment. My date and roomie's date were late to arrive. By the time they got there, everyone was referring to him as "Random Steve." To.his.face. He was a little dense though and got over it fast.
At the party, he started to kind of get on my nerves, and he was definitely not someone I wanted to repeat date, but I was being nice. He brought me a drink and put his hand on the small of my back. I didn't think anything of it until he says "Are you wearing a girdle?" Whoops, I forgot I was wearing the generic version of Spanx Thongs with a waist band that came to my rib cage. I probably turned beet red.
On the bus, (always a bus) on the way home, I was definitely not feeling it. I was trying to be nice, but he was getting too close. Luckily for me, my friend in the seat in front of us was having a hard night and was turned around talking to me in tears. Her BF was arrested at the party for serving alcohol to minors (me and her, probably). While I was consoling her, Steve leans in and says, "I really want to makeout with you right now, but I feel like it is bad timing. What do you think about later?" Ugh. "Um, I don't think it is going to happen tonight buddy. Sorry."

And those are my stories. And having re-read them, I realize now, the bad part was mainly my fault and alcohol induced... I wonder why that never occurred to me before?

The Return of Gina

2010-07-19T22:09:00.000-05:00

Oh my internet friends, how I have missed you. Let me just say that life has been nuts for old Gina lately. Here are the things I have been doing instead of playing on the internet like I am supposed to:

1. Joining a kickball team which has more "team meetings" (i.e., happy hours) than any other association I have ever belonged to and has caused a combined total of 4 injuries in 2 games so far.

2. Packing my house and getting ready to move to the middle of nowhere with N because I am getting married and apparently married people usually live together. We have decided to not move to Mexico after it was ravaged by Hurricane Alejandro and a little gunfight between the military and about 50 random gunmen occurred in the neighborhood where we were supposed to work and live. N is totes being a weenie about me possibly being kidnapped and dismembered but whatev.

3. Thinking about starting P90X and buying workout clothes that show off the washboard stomach I am going to have 90 days from the time I stop thinking about it and start doing it. Don't worry, there are before pictures that you will get to see if I ever start and complete the full 90 days.

4. Shopping for a dress for my stupid wedding. This is a story for another day in which Wedding Gina goes ape shit. You will enjoy.

Since I feel like I owe you, I will now give you an uncensored engagement pic of me and N. I am sorry to have abandoned you, my internet-friends. I will be more diligent in the future. Especially since I have canceled my cable.

I've Got the Fever

2010-07-13T20:30:00.000-05:00

... Not of the Bieber strain.

Worse.
Maybe.

The baby fever. It is awful. I really need some prescription strength Excedrin No Babies, but the stupid HEB monopoly here doesn't seem to carry it.

I don't know where this is coming from. Seriously. I have a few friends with bambinos, and toddling poopypants, but it is not like I am surrounded by upchucking mini humans all day. Husband and I decided last year that we would start trying to have a baby around June of this year, but that was before I got a new job that I actually like. We decided when I ripped up my contract with the devil (read: quit my last job) that I did not want to have a baby during the first year I worked at the new place. Pregnant during part of that year, sure, baby, no. But here I am 3 months into the job and I am starting to dream babies.

Being the rational person I think I am, I have made a list of baby vs. no baby

No Baby:
Ugly babies - Don't say all babies are cute. You know damn well there are some ugly babies out there. I don't want anyone's pity when I birth ET's long lost cousin
Ovulation charts - My graph drawing stage came and went with Advanced Economics in college
Weight gain - The most successful I have ever been at weight loss was 8 pounds. Something tells me I will gain more than that with a baby
Diapers - gag me
Delivery - I've read Breaking Dawn...just because Husband isn't immortal doesn't mean I will have better luck.
Infertility - My husband claims to have suffered from Blunt Testicular Trauma as a child.
The Obvious - Pregnancy and child raising is just plain scary

Baby -
Maternity Clothes/Eating A Lot - so excited about this
Baby - *most* are so dang cute!
Maternity leave - 3 months to hang with a kid and still have a job to go back to.

As you can see, I am really trying not to want a baby right now. But just like dieting, my efforts amount to a massive fail.

Advice?

Shoesday - The almost wordless edition

2010-07-12T20:21:00.000-05:00

Kim has officially lost her mind.

Here's an idea, force Lindsay Lohan to wear these for a week straight and save us the inevitable mockery of the justice system.

But... her sneaky little deadlines conned me into buying one of the following

Disclaimer: there are representatives of both shoe cults in the photos above.

Why your Granny is right about her panties

2010-07-08T21:17:00.001-05:00

When I was a senior in college, I spent a week one spring drunkenly staggering my way through events celebrating my friends who were required to wear these dresses and perform gumbi-like bows. On my drive back to school, I received the following voicemail from one of my 3 roommates (Names have been changed to protect the innocent)

Alice: C, we changed the locks on the door. Call when you get close and someone will meet you at the door. You may want to stop by Victoria's Secret on the way and stock up. Serious.

I got into town about an hour later and made plans to meet the roommates at the bar so they could explain. I thought maybe they had decided to vote me off the island during my absence. Thankfully, I was wrong. At the bar I hear the story.

On Sunday morning, two of my roommates headed out to Yogi's for our usual weekend breakfast around noon. (We always loved heading to the family friendly Yogi's dressed in pajamas, bed head, and last night's makeup. It made all of the church going families squirm when they brought their children in wearing their Sunday best. Bonus points if we brought whatever guy had stayed the night.) My other roommate was probably still sleeping at her boyfriend's house. In the hour or so while my friends were chowing down on migas and breakfast tacos, our apartment was violated.

Nothing of any *emotional* value was taken, only underwear. Which, all ladies understand, does have monetary value. Only thongs and sexy-pants. The thief left behind our combined 8 pairs of full-assed granny panties. If this wasn't disturbing enough, dude, we can only assume, took a duffel bag from my roommate's room, emptied the bag of its clothes, folded the clothes that previously occupied the duffel bag, and used the bag to carry off our lady part covers.

I could not stop laughing. For like 2 hours. My roommates? Not so happy about my blatant disregard for the trauma they experienced earlier in the day. My hysteria also might have had something to do with the reenacted scene of my roommate Mary crying on the floor in the fetal position over the cat which took the opportunity to escape the apartment through the broken sliding glass door. Can't say I blame him, he was the only male in a house of 4 moody women. He came back though. No worries.

The event did teach us all a valuable lesson. There is nothing shameful in investing in 2 sets of underwear. Thongs (which are required for ridding yourself of undue panty lines, and for sexy time) and full coverage underwear (for sleeping). Which is what I tell my husband every time he whines about my changing into "ugly" underwear before bed.

Like I could sleep in a thong. Shudder.

Besides, thongs hurt like hell anyway.

It's Hurricane Season Again

2010-07-01T19:28:00.000-05:00

Sorry about our extended absence. I would like nothing more than to tell you we have been busy doing important things, but that isn't the entire truth. Gina has been busy self medicating from the wedding planning crazies, and I have spent the last 2 nights cleaning up the house after the natural disaster.

The weathermen get very excited every year during hurricane season. If a hurricane appears to be destined for any part of the Texas coast, we are doomed and will surely be cursed with flood level rains. Never mind that the Texas coast is like huge, and at best my hometown received an inch of rain during each of the last few hurricanes. We are nothing here in Texas if not dramatic.

So naturally, I wasn't expecting to be cleaning up after a natural disaster yesterday evening.

My house was toilet papered. Interiorly, which is totally a word. It was obviously an inside job. And for the record, this was only equivalent to 1/4 of the total toilet paper I cleaned up. I was a little too angry to reach for the camera until after it was nearly cleaned.

But the *bastard* wasn't done.

We had to glue the metal *life saving device* back on so the treadmill would work. Which means I am totally screwed if I ever fall while running. It is almost inevitable that I will be scalped by treadmill. Exercise really is going to kill me.

I worked my deductive reasoning skills honed by years of crime drama TV and came to the conclusion that the bite marks resemble the dog more than the husband. To be sure though, I called his office and confirmed with his secretary that he was in the office all morning.

But how can I be mad at this face?

He's just too damned cute.
And also he is currently humping his bed. Fantastic.

I promise we will be back in ~~full~~ force during July. With a wedding on the horizon, I foresee tons of blog worthy material.

Life Rule: When it Is Okay To Act Like A Crazy Person

2010-06-23T13:41:00.001-05:00

I am going to preface this post by saying that I am sorry to all those bridezillas out there for not understanding your crazy. Because suddenly I am a crazy person. C says that as long as I acknowledge my crazy and know when it is okay to exhibit my crazy then I might have a chance at living a normal life. See, N and I are in the process of moving in together but at the moment we live about an hour and a half away from each other. And occasionally he has meetings or his phone dies or he works. And this drives me nuts. Because in my head he sees me calling but decides to act all Lady Gaga on my ass.

Here is the exact email exchange between C and I from yesterday:

G: I've completely lost it. I broke up with my “fiancé” over email because he wouldn’t answer when I called, which of course made me paranoid because I’m a crazy person.

C: Here is when I think you have a green light to be super crazy (all methods 100% tested by me):

1. You, Lucy, your house, or either of your families are in danger, on fire, hurt, sick, dying, etc.
2. No one has heard from him in 24 hrs plus.
3. You do hear from him tonight, but after he has a) gone to a bar with friends, b) after he has returned emails and/or sat on his couch for greater than 5 minutes, or c) acts as if he thought he was calling you and does not let on that you have called him.

I liken myself to a complete psycho in terms of the no return call issue, which B is well aware of. I send text messages and leave voicemails. If I know he is out at a bar and doesnt answer, I have been known to call 20 times in a row. You know, just in case he didnt hear the phone before and suddenly the bar noise dropped and he hears the ring. My argument is "what if it was an emergency?" to which he replies, "Was it? So you are the wife who calls wolf?" Equals.
G: Here is why I think I am allowed to act crazy. You be the judge:

Tuesday morning: No call. No answering of calls.

Tuesday afternoon: Still no call and no answering of calls. It has been officially 24 hours. I send break up email and leave breakup message to cover all bases.
Tuesday at 4:30pm: No response to any attempts to contact. I feel fully justified in my decision to break up and begin contemplating sending him ring in mail except I don’t even know where he is working this week or if he is working at all so grand gesture of hatred will likely go unnoticed. Feeling of emptiness ensues.

According to C, I was allowed to act crazy and proceeded to continue to call my fiance multiple times in a row in case he could not hear the phone or he set it down and came back to it for a half second and I happened to be calling at that exact time. And in case you are wondering, he did eventually call me with the reasoning "I was going to call when I got up but you seemed mad so..." Fiance's are the worst.

~Gina

P.S. Yes, now you know my crazy. But being ignored is the one thing I go nuts over and overall I am pretty normal so I think it is allowed.

I'm Back!

2010-06-20T22:04:00.000-05:00

Thanks to C very much for holding down the fort while I was vacationing. I am sorry I have been a terrible blogger person. I have been back for about a week actually but there was so much going on that I couldn't possibly be expected to organize my thoughts in a manner that would make sense to anyone who does not have adult A.D.D. Consider this the first of many posts to update you on the recent haps in my life:

I'm getting married...finally! N and I were on vacation from Saturday to Wednesday and, as we all know, N is not exactly good at keeping secrets so I was well aware that the ring went on vacation with us. Which is why when he hadn't asked me to marry him by Tuesday I had a minor panic attack and sent a few psychotic emails to C who thankfully reminded me that I should probably not attack him with a plastic fork if I don't want my proposal story to end with a trip to the hospital.

We took a day trip to the Bahamas that day and by lunch I was ready to snap and he was nervously rehearsing his lines in his head, which made for a very awkward meal. After I had eaten though, I had come to terms it wasn't going to happen and my blood sugar level had evened out (I get ridiculously cranky when I am hungry). We went down to the beach (which was gorgeous) and I started setting up camp, slathering on sunblock and getting out of my cover-up. As I turn around to offer sunblock to N, I find him down on both knees with the ring I thought he would never give me. The whole week I had been waiting for it, expecting it. He somehow found the one moment I had forgotten all about it. And even though I knew it was going to happen, I still could never have imagined how it would feel to have someone ask you to spend the rest of your life with them and how it would feel to so willingly say yes.

But enough of that...I should be lucky that he didn't run considering the day before I seriously threw a tantrum that would make a sleepy two-year-old proud. We were looking for something to eat for lunch and along the beach there are about 1,000 restaurants all serving the same menu. As you walk along these restaurants they have girls that get all up in your face trying to get your to eat at their restaurant. And its hot. And I'm starving. And there are people in face. Finally, one unsuspecting girl shoves her menu in my face and asks "Can I help you? Would you like to see a menu? What would you like to eat?" And I lose it. I snap. "I.DON'T.WANT.ANYTHING.FROM.YOU. GET.OUT.OF.MY.FACE!" N looks at me like I am not me, but some super bitch from hell that somehow took over my body. At least he knew enough to get me in some air conditioning and put some good in my stomach asap. Which is reason enough to marry him.

Love,

Gina

PS - I promise not to turn this into some type of wedding blog where I do nothing but blog about color palettes and bridesmaid drama and wedding gowns...unless of course it is entertaining.

(Out of thin) Air Quotes

2010-06-13T19:42:00.002-05:00

While we all patiently await Gina's return with real blog worthy material, I thought I would send the weekend off in style with a post inspired by my lunchtime internet surfing. Friday I ran across a post about favorite movie quotes that you have inadvertently incorporated into your everyday verbage.
I really couldn't think of too many, but I did think of some quotes I only wish I had the opportunity to say.
You will notice that my favorite movies below are not necessarily what the *cool* kids have in their movie repetoire, but I love them just the same. As in, I own the VHS and DVD of these movies even though I can quote almost the entire movie from memory. And once the new movie format comes out, the one where you scroll through your movie library on the palm of you hand, I will purchase that version of these movies too. I haven't bought into Blue Ray yet, so I think I am skipping it all together.

Here goes. Let me know if you know the movie. Some are way more obvious than others.

We have weak trees
Monkeys brains, though popular in Cantonese cuisine are not often found in Washington DC
If the hardware store had been open next door I would have bought a knife and killed myself
I'd like the chipper chicken.
Would you say I have a plethora of pinatas?
One plus one plus two plus one. No, it was one plus two plus one plus one.
You keep saying that word. I don't think it means what you think it does
If you care to join me, we are sleeping from left to right tonight
Have fun storming the castle
You don't just dig into a black salad, you got to play with it first
I was thinking later you could kiss me on the veranda. The lips would be fine.
Anyone want a peanut?
Pretty soon, a woobie isn't enough. Then you are out on the street trying to score an electric blanket
It was a life and death situation. After he died, I had a life.
Here lies Walter Fielding. He bought a house and it killed him
If I had known the people on the third floor, I would have gone to visit them
Repent... Recoil...Reverse
My teeth feel soft. I can't make a fist.

There was some decent television on this weekend, so my head was full of my favorite movie quotes. Any additional ones I should add?

Also, GO FROGS!!!!

Funkified

2010-06-06T10:53:00.001-05:00

I am in a funk. Not the Marky Mark Good Vibrations version that can be fixed with an emmy award winning choreographed dance number sung by teenagers about to enter regionals. A real funk.
Filled with an even and overflowing mix of tears and anger, iced with the occassional foul language threaded temper tantrum.
Fortunately, all of the above are playing out in the privacy of my head and not in the real world.
Other than my poor mood and bitter side comments, I have tried to keep my mini meltdown from the world.
Unfortunately, my egg shell is cracking. At least at home.

The good new is, it is a documented law of nature that when either Gina or I tip the emotional scale to either elation or depression, the other is firmly rocketed to the opposing side. So, I can only imagine, and am very thankful that Gina is having an extraordinary vacation where she is feeling waif like and getting a great tan.

I don't know how to snap out of this. But I do promise no more posting from me until I have found my way back to happy.

I am the Robert Langdon in the world of Shoe Dazzle

2010-06-03T21:25:00.001-05:00

Sooooo... I cracked the code.

ShoeDazzle sent me my replacement selection.
And, ohmyfreakingwordhalelujiahpraisebabyJesus they sent me more than one pair of acceptable shoes.

But...

Its ShoeDazzle, so of course there is a but. What, you were expecting success?

The 2 shoes I really really liked were sold out in my size. As were a pair of decent shoes I liked, but already have something similar too. They sent me 3 out of 5 SOLD OUT shoes.
WTF?
What have I done to deserve this?

Moral of the story: use small words related to what you want. Like peep-toe, conservative, casual. Do not use the words tranny, streetwalker, or cork, unless of course you are a streetwalking tranny who favors cork. But be prepared to still find yourself disappointed that the stylists will figure out exactly what you want and offer you the once in a lifetime chance to covet the shoes without the chance to actually wear them.

2010-06-02T20:16:00.001-05:00

I can't seem to form a coherent thought, let alone compose a themed post, so I figured that today we would play "Fun with online news reports."

But first, since we have been failing in our frequency of Shoesday posts, I thought I would do a brief shoe update. I am no longer drinking the ShoeFab ShoeDazzle kool aid. Actually, I am more like binge drinking the kool-aid, so consider June (so far) as a non-imbibing Tuesday. I got crap.

My replacement ShoeFab gave me

of which I am considering, however the website says these are red, but my eyes say these are an atomic shade of fashion suicide, so I am on the fence. Naturally.

I did perform an experiment with ShoeDazzle though. In my "response/comment" section of my replacement email, I decided to only write "conservative." My theory is that our nice little friend from Shoe Dazzle spends his time reading blogs rather than reading comments and therefore a computer program looks for key words only. So when I said "NO CORK!!!" the computer read "cork" and ignored the "no" like a acne ridden 8th grader selling hair extensions at a mall kiosk.

I will let you know what happens.

Anywho, back to the news stories gripping Americans... or just me.

2 Year old Indonesian smoker.

Ya, you heard that right. A fat nugget baby in Indonesia is addicted to cancer sticks and smokes upward of 40 per day. Let's discuss, shall we. Here are my votes for the most *disturbing* aspects of the story:

1. How the F did this kid learn to blow smoke rings? I was an honors high school graduate who couldn't figure out how to inhale properly (granted, I give up on things easily, so I tried like twice) and this baby who can't even tie a shoe or write his name can blow rings? That is kind of awesome in a seriously sick and perveted way.

2. The kid is HEFTY. Like 10 year old weight range fat at the age of 2. What kind of cigarettes is he smoking? I thought smokes caused appetite suppression. Clearly he only smokes when he nurses, and he needs to consider hitting the bottle like no more than 4 times a day.

3. The article says he is a product of his environment. And that environment is what exactly? The 5th ring of hell? This is why you don't bring babies to bars.

4. The Mother doesn't know how to handle his cravings because he goes into a complete shit-fit when she denies him his after-boob smoke. He is going to be a holy terror as a teenager.

Supreme Court on Miranda Rights

I usually abstain from discussing politics, generally because I think most people are stupid and I hate to argue with stupid people. But as I don't have much else to say today, here are my thoughts on this ruling.

My understanding is that after being read Miranda rights, you must verbally state that you wish to remain silent and/or ask for an attorney.

1. Law and Order just went off the air after 20 seasons and has been televised on like 10 channels in the last 10 years. If you haven't seen an episode I don't know what to think of you, but anyone who has watched an hour or so of some of the best television ever knows that you have to ASK for an attorney. Like, use your big convict words and ASK.

2. The cops can question you all they want about whatever crime you are being accused of UNLESS you ask for an attorney *I am like 70% certain of this* so by keeping your mouth shut and not saying anything means they can keep going. If you ASK for an attorney, they shut the hell up. Or get really mad and slam the table while a skinny psychologist gives you the once over from the other side of the two-way mirror.

3. You can remain silent in 2 ways. By actually not saying anything, or by saying you invoke your right to not say anything. Meaning, not say anything more than you are invoking your right.

This is not rocket science people. It shouldn't take the Supreme Court to tell you how to NOT admit to a crime you did or *didn't* do. What is really strange is that I was fairly certain that Adam Schiff and Co. proved this like 4 years ago. Keep up America.

Bethenny Frankel and her unnatural post-baby body

I am not pregnant, nor have I ever been, but I want to stab her for this. Seriously? She looked better at 8 months preggo than I do today.

Speidi separation

Can we say publicity stunt? Yes, it has been 20 minutes since we last heard Tweedle Dumbshit and Post-Op Barbie tried to have one of the 3 people who care arrested for, well, caring, so it comes as no surprise that a press release was written to announce their separation. Oh, and Queen of Plastic has a new reality show filming involving her and a roommate that is not her husband, so it was only a matter of time. Oh oh and she mentioned the Bearded One's propensity to create bad press, so it is only natural to create more press of your own to discuss your bad press. I feel a migraine coming on...

While Google-ing Spencer Pratt to find the link to this article, I came across this.

Someone get that girl some Beano. She is doing asshole yoga in public.

The Bombshell is as dumb as she looks

Cheating puts food on the table.

Also, you say racist, I say tomato...

I must have missed the explanation of why she is called a Bombshell. Anyone?

And on a serious note, there is the oil rig explosion in the Gulf of Mexico which is leaking a truly horrific amount of oil into the Gulf. Born and raised in Texas, I spent weeks every summer at the beach, and granted we have always been on the wrong side of the Mississippi to be blessed with white beaches, but our golden brown beaches were just as wonderful. I am truly heartbroken over these events and am horrified of what this leak may do to my beloved Gulf. As the daughter of an oilman, I can say nothing more than I wish peace for the families of those who died in the explosion, a speedy recovery to the fishing industry essentially shuttered by this disaster, and pray that my beach will heal and be cherished by my kids and their kids for years and years. Also, I hope there is a special place in Hades for the asshat who made the call to continue operations rather than follow procedure and cease drilling when the problem was first found. You sir (or ma'am)... there are no words.

Am I missing any other *breaking news* items that deserve comment?

Oops, almost forgot:

This guy is a douche, and possibly a criminal. Again.

Drunk Girl Thoughts

2010-06-01T22:24:00.001-05:00

I think I had a purposeful post thought out but then I started drinking wine by myself and all my thoughts are scattered about so here is an insight into my ADHD mind:

I cheated on Kimmy K today. Me. The person who is always "oh poor misunderstood KK. I accept you in all your tranny glory." I went into DSW like a woman on a mission. As in I set my purse down, took off my Bandolinos and wandered the store trying on every shoe in the damn store and walked out with THREE pairs. It felt kind of like when you are on a strict diet and then you binge eat at Taco Bell but you do it in your car so you can throw out the evidence in the garbage as soon as you get out so that it feels like it never happened. Please don't say I am the only person who has ever done this. Maybe I will post pics when I don't feel like such a cheating whore. Of the shoes, not my binge eating.

I went swimsuit shopping with N yesterday. I threw my inevitable tantrum but not because I was too fat, because Victoria Secret is stupid and doesn't realize that their demographic of women in need of chestal support does not need triangle bikini tops the size of delicious tortilla chips, we need supportive halter-like lifting machines to hold any size boobage. I warned N it was going to happen but he was still taken by surprise when we walked into a store and then I walked immediately out the minute he naturally gravitated toward the obligatory "man chair." Hello!? You sitting in the chair while I shop is the same thing as just going by myself!

Also, I am a failure. I ate like 5 times this weekend because in an effort to appear like I am a marriable domesticated woman I made paella for dinner for me and my man and now there are leftovers. I have 3 days to not eat solid food in an attempt to not cause nausea while wearing my new swimsuit in South Beach. Wish me luck. My new mantra is WWJE (what would jennifer aniston eat). Yes, it is sacrilege. Get over it. I've been drinking.

Love,
Gina

Desperate Times Call For Drastic Measures

2010-05-27T15:28:00.000-05:00

I had started a whole post about a throwback to when SATC was awesome and how if Carrie wore a ridiculous flower on her sweater or a stupid bird on her head you better believe my ass was at Claire’s the next day trying to find a cheap version ASAP. I was going to go on and on about how I am nervous for the SATC2 movie because I am sure it is going to be awful but I’ve already invested like 10 years of my life in this franchise and am therefore obligated to go watch it. But I am not going to do that because there are more pressing matters at hand.

I just realized that I leave for my South Beach vacation in 10 days. Why I thought vacationing somewhere that has a diet named after it is beyond my reasoning right now. All I know is that I am going to have to be in a swimsuit in 10 days and things are not looking too pretty right now. This calls for drastic measures so today I started the Master Clease, also known as the Lemonade Diet or the Beyonce Diet. Yes, yes, yes I know my digestive tract will hate me and I’ll probably be reduced to wearing a butt plug on my vacation but as long as I lose like 5 lbs it’s totally worth it. I just started this morning but I’ll let you know how it goes without going into any toilet discussion unless it’s absolutely necessary.

My biggest challenge is keeping myself busy during this time. I’ve done it once before and I realized how much eating consumes my life because I got so bored that I started inventing things to do and places to go. Which is how I got my dog. So I have a whole list of things on my agenda for the next 10 days: Spanish lessons, making homemade karaoke CDs, fashioning a championship belt for N’s birthday party, etc... Wish me luck.
Hungry hungry hearts,

Gina

My Dream of Becoming a Mexican Princess

2010-05-24T20:30:00.000-05:00

Apparently N and I are moving to Mexico for two years. Let me make some disclaimers. I know Mexico is NOT the most ideal and exotic place to move. Also, while we got the word today we are going, it won't be for a few months.

Anyway, while deciding whether or not we should accept the offer to move if we were to get it, we had to do a list of pros and cons which I will share with you:

Pro - I wouldn't have to be an accountant any more and my only job would be to stay home and be a Mexican princess.
Con - I might get kidnapped because that's what people do there, like a hobby or something.
Pro - We have never lived outside the great state of Texas so this could be a fresh start.
Con - I can never drink water from the faucet. Like ever. For like two years.
Pro - If I were to accidentally drink said water I would probably get violently ill which we all know = Skinny Gina.
Con - If I want to do anything like get a job or go back to school I'll have to learn Spanish fluently, which is virtually impossible since I have been trying to learn this damn language since I was about four.
Pro - Our moving bonus would cover our wedding expenses (yes, the wedding that will follow the ring that I have not yet received).
Con - Did I mention the kidnapping? And the rampant carjacking incidents?

So while the possibility of getting kidnapped and carjacked would deter most people from moving to a country where they don't know the language, I am choosing to see this as an adventure. A very scary, very nerve-racking adventure. And from what I hear most of the scary stuff is limited to people who are involved in the drug cartels so as long as I don't decide to become an entrepreneur or get the wrong tattoo I would say my chances are good. And if I still don't feel safe to leave the house, I could always have a baby to occupy my time or just come home and live with my mommy for a few months.

Nervous mexican princess love,

Gina

C is for Cheater

2010-05-23T17:42:00.000-05:00

Our facebook status reads: It's complicated.
Well, it would if TNB and ShoeDazzle were on facebook.
As I posted last week, I am continuing on with my tough-love stance with ShoeDaz, but really hoping KK takes the necessary steps to repair our broken love. Kim on the other hand, apparently was hurt by my comments and she decided to play hardball. Last week I got the following email:

Hey love, Happy Birthday! As a birthday gift to you, I consulted the stars for a shoe that a ~~two faced B~~ Gemini like yourself would want for your birthday and I found them. Hope you adore them to pieces!

Kisses, K

The F? Are you kidding me?

And then it hit me. She knows.
I haven't been entirely faithful to Kim either.

It started out innocently enough. I needed emergency shoes for a wedding, so I made a quick trip to DSW. I knew KK would be forgiving because our complicated relationship is also a long-distance one, and I needed shoes that day.
So I found these.

I ESP-ed an apology to KK as I scooped up the box and was almost to the checkout when I spotted these.

The emotional affair began here I guess. Backup shoes for when the wedding spills over into the late night bar scene. I don't want to ruin perfectly good heels, so a cute flat pair is really a necessity. And sweet baby Jesus, they only cost $19.99. It's like they are paying me.
I rationalized the entire shopping trip as a one-time-only excursion. But the lure of a real life shoe store kept bringing me in. While buying the Hus new work shoes at Stein Mart, I saw these babies for $49.99.

And these:

But I looked down at my Gracie's and remembered I was a committed woman.

Until yesterday. I don't know if it were the really awesome Louboutin black and red flats that whispered, "she's not really that into you," or the Manolo black pumps that screamed, "wtf is wrong with you, the patent leather is soo much shinier on our side," but something stuck. And I caved.

I am truly in love. It is like I don't even know myself anymore. Flats? I have been a heel whore for years, but I guess everything changes. (My Mom bought them for me as a birthday gift and took them home to wrap, so no real close up pictures yet.)

So Kim, I am sorry, I really am, but you have some really tough competition. You need to get your act together immediately or I am going to run off with someone else. Maybe not Nieman Marcus, but Nordstrom has a Rack even you can't top. Please show me some effort this month, or I am officially turning you loose.
Scorned love,
C

Disclaimer - I can't remember the prices of the shoes from DSW exactly, but I know I didnt spend very much, and the above was my best estimation

It's my birthday and I will stay home and watch Lost if I want to

2010-05-22T19:12:00.000-05:00

Sunday is my birthday. My last birthday in my 20s. For some reason, I think turning 30 will be better than turning 29, but I have no rational thinking to back that up.
About 3 months ago I went semi-vegetarian. I gave up meat for Lent, and have since rarely eaten any meat (chicken, beef, pork) and found that I am pretty ok with my new diet. I have my reasons and I wont bore any of you with them. No worries. So my Husband scheduled a birthday dinner Friday night with friends. At Fogo de Chao. A churrascaria (all you can eat meat on carved from a stick). He has been dying to go. I had the $20 salad bar. It was a fantastic salad bar, but $20? A little steep. I think it is subtle payback for setting our wedding date and subsequently our wedding anniversaries 3 days prior to his birthday.
Also, I have felt teterribly guilty all week long. I can't for the life of me come up with something to ask my husband for as a birthday gift. He has a stellar reputation as a great gift giver, and he is really tormented by my lack of participation in continuing his streak. Any other given month I could probably think of at least 5 things I wanted to go splurge on, but this month? I can think of nothing. I hate to waste a good opportunity, but I am truly stuck. How can I convince him the best birthday gift ever was given by ABC in scheduling the Lost series finale on my birthday?
I do actually have a wish list in mind, but I don't think he will be rushing out the door to purchase:
Liposuction
A semi-permanent housekeeper
An all you can eat mac and cheese buffet that appears nightly and cleans itself up
A gnome to drive my car to the washtub once a week
A baby to hold and squish and love (but not actually my child, preferably a child I can hand off to someone that owns it when they cry)
Chips, queso, and a margarita... actually, he may be able to come through on this one.

ps... I may have cheated on ShoeDazzle and ShoeFab, but KK cheated first... to be updated tomorrow with pictures!
Happy weekend everyone!

C

Open Letter To My DVR

2010-05-21T09:49:00.000-05:00

Dear DVR,

I am sorry for whatever I did to make you treat me this way. When you didn’t record Glee on Tuesday, I was only slightly upset. And even though Doogie Howser was guest starring and the next day everyone was saying how this episode made them cry, I thought to myself, It’s okay, anyone can have a minor slip up. I love my DVR unconditionally even through all its faults.

But last night, DVR. Last night was experienced a serious setback in our relationship. When I take my boyfriend out to celebrate his work accomplishments on the same night as the 2-hour season finale of Grey’s Anatomy, I expect you to be there for me. I trust you. When I sneakily check my FB on my phone during dinner while N is in the bathroom and everyone’s status reads “OMG THIS IS THE BEST GREY’S EVER!” I put faith in you that soon I will be watching this epic episode. Sure, maybe I was the first to break the trust when I checked to make sure you would be recording said episode before I left the house, but I never expected you to tell me such a boldfaced lie. I can still hear you mocking me “Oh, you want me to record this show right here? The one highlighted in red? Well joke’s on you!”

I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt that you have not been planning this sabotage for months and purposely skipped the biggest episode of the season. I am hoping this is just your time of the month and next week we will back on good terms. I still love you, but I don’t like you very much right now.

~Gina

P.S. Yes, I realize I can watch it online but sitting at my computer for 2 hours sounds miz.

P.P.S. I will stab anyone who writes any spoilers in the comments. Thanks!

Shoesday Late Edition

2010-05-19T21:23:00.001-05:00

You know the stages of a breakup?

1. River of tears and depression

2. Denial

3. Drinking

4. Anger and more depression
5. Rebound relationship
6. Total body awesomeness makeover
7. Total life awesomeness makeover (or drugs if your name rhymes with Minsday Mohan)

I am thrilled to announce KK has DASHed her way through and is firmly in stage 6, with a minuscule corner of a stiletto heel back on the yellow brick road to stage 7. Clearly, someone introduced Kimmy to a corner and she is thisclose to turning it. I don't know if it is the rumored new man-friend, her new post-diet body, the fear of US teens brought on by really angry Bieber fans, or her ex-husband spewing stories that have whipped her into shape, but it is almost like the Kim of old has returned. After our many near-breakups, KK has realized ~~she will never do better than me~~ I am serious about this shit and she put forth an effort to save the relationship. Or, our Shoe Dazzle friend had a Jessica Simpson Chicken of the Sea moment and realized that women who work and *working girls* are not one in the same. Either way, I was thrilled with my 6th and 7th shoes in my may selection. (Side note - WTF? Shoe Dazzle? You send me 5 shoes. I say no, and then you send TWO more shoes? If you sent them all at one time, I might be tempted to take our relationship further, if you know what I mean.)

The Poppy. Totally work appropriate, and I am secretly dying for some red shoes. But I am not crazy about the tan tassels. This is totally my fault though, I had no idea I needed to include tassels in my Absolutely Not list.

Then, I received this.

The Nancy. I was super tempted by the total adorableness of this amazing shoe, but it is tan (which I am trying to avoid as I have too many) and it isn't quite work appropriate for me (lots of walking across parking lots from one building to another, it kills cute heels). Also, she threw in the philanthropy plea, buy this and we donate x% to charity. So now I am a B for choosing not to buy? Great, I love guilt.

Although I was completed taken by surprised by KK's effort this month, I decided to stick with my tough love approach until she can completely commit to this relationship. I am no shoe whore.

I did however get my new Shoe Fab shoes in:

I apologize for the weird sized pictures. New computer. Can't figure out how to work the photo editor.

Sorry for the late post.

Life Rule: A Ring Is NOT A License To Be Bat Shit Crazy

2010-05-13T12:10:00.000-05:00

Today is supposed to be Throwback Thursday but guess how much I don’t care. I have more pressing matters. I need you to virtually slap me in my face and tell me to get my shit together because I am seriously sub-consciously sabotaging N’s proposal.

See, I have been telling N that I need a vacation and he hasn’t had a day off of work in like 9 months or something ridiculous so FINALLY we are going somewhere. Also? He and I both know that he is going to FINALLY give me the ring that is currently residing in my sock drawer (I never said I was marrying the slickest of men) so he has actually taken total control over where we are going, when we are going and how long we are staying. Swoon, right? Wrong. Because I have issues. This was our conversation yesterday:

N: How does June 7-9 sound to you?
Me: Oh... I thought we were going on a real vacation. That’s just a long weekend. And it doesn’t even fall on a weekend so….
N: Well for a real vacation I want to go somewhere like Cabo.
Me: Well then why are we even going to Miami if you don’t want to go there???
N: I thought you wanted to go to check out places for the wedding.
Me: But this is your thing, you should do it where you want to do it and not let me control it! Just forget the whole thing! I don’t even want to go anymore!
N: ……….. Um, what just happened?

It’s like I know I am being an unreasonable bitch and I can’t do anything about it. Help.

Sad Bitchy Quasi-Bridezilla PMS Hearts,

Gina

Deep Dark Confessions by C

2010-05-12T21:12:00.000-05:00

I have a confession.

I have a massive crush.
An obsession, really.

You know the feeling you got as a 5th grader when the first boy you thought was cute smiled at you?

Or, as my new ~~favorite~~ nemesis Ke$ha would say, makes my heart beat like an 808 drum? If I had a basement, I would be all over slumber parties with it.

What is this wanderlust I speak of, you ask?

Office Supply Stores.

Seriously.

It is my candy store and I am an unrestrained kid. With a credit card and an endless supply of ~~crack~~ staples.

It is something about the smell, and the shiny plastic report covers that make me, well, ahem, happy.

And mutli-colored gel pens, and bright super sticky post-its and I could go on and on.

The worst part? I am the least organized, messiest accountant known to man. Ask Gina. I subscribe to the more papers makes it look like I am busy theory. Part method to my madness, part where the F did I just put my pen chaos reigns supreme in my world.

Gasping for air under the leaning tower of various SEC filing drafts on my desk are shiny, metallic paperclips and my coveted white-gum eraser.

Because everyone knows the white erasers are far better than the pink school erasers. Right?

Please, please tell me this happens to other people?

Shoesday Tuesday: HUGE News,,,well, sort of...okay medium-sized at best

2010-05-11T17:10:00.000-05:00

Today is Shoesday and we have some huge news here at 2NB. Ready for us to blow your mind? We received an email from none other than ShoeDazzle. I am not delusional, I swear. And it wasn’t one of those “Your alternate street-walking shoes are ready!” emails. It was a real email and here what it said:

Hello,

I am a representative of SD (i.e., a close personal friend of Kimmy K I am sure) and I came across your blog. I have to say you are one of the funniest and awesome writers ever, and Kimmy is super sad you are not pleased with the shoe selections she sent you. I mean she is basically a mess over this. So, while I think KK’s tranny shoes are amazing blog material, she wants me to ask you what exactly do you want from us. So, why don’t you give me your *real* email info and name and we’ll see what we can do about getting your feet into some mid-heel, semi-conservative, non-boot, non-wedged dazzle, mkay?

Well, you can’t fool me Mr. I-know-Kim-and-she-doesn’t-find-you-amusing-whatsoever. I just know the second I send you my info you are going to sue me for libel or slander and I’m not sure what the difference is but I know I won’t like it. But that’s not all. We also received an email from some lady at myshoesarebetterandcheaper.com (by the way I just made this up and am totally going to see what’s at that address when I am done with this post). This lady was all “Hi I am so-and-so and this site has shoes that are better and cheaper.” So not only are people reading us, they want us to be happy with our shoes. And it kind of makes me a little warm and fuzzy.

For the record, I heart Kimmy K and her love for all things woman-of-the-night. However, I did not purchase any shoes this month and it makes me feel empty inside. Kimmy, if you are reading this, please come back to us and bring your once-amazing and dazzling shoe style with you.

Mixed shoe emotions,

Gina

P.S. The SD guy was actually super nice and probably won’t sue us but we aren’t taking any chances.

How Much Do I Love Airports?

2010-05-07T05:25:00.001-05:00

Warning: What you are about to read has been written out of frustration. Please bare with me, I know it is long.

While the rest of America focuses on health care reform, I am proposing reform in what is often perceived as the Country's largest cess pools: airports.

For my plan, let's call it the *Protection of the Sanity of Seasoned Travellers*, the benefits will extend not only to smart people like myself, Gina, and you, our readers, who, I assume are smart if only by association, but also to non-travellers, old people, and general douche bags. I am not saying old people are douches, please don't send me hate mail.

My proposal is as follows:

All airlines are to join a database in which every ticket purchased by traveller A is logged for a period of 5 years. When traveller A purchases a ticket, he is automatically placed into a particular security line (high speed, regular, remedial, leisure, family). If A has travelled extensively in the recent 6 month time period, he is automatically bumped to the high speed security line. If he has only travelled occassionally, he is sent to the regular security line. If traveller A is familiar with airport practices and is designated the regular security line, but feels he is qualified to move up to high speed, he must take a 5 question online quiz and present his 100% passing score to the check in agent in order to be allowed acces to high speed security line.

See, I understand that some people are perfectly capable of moving through airports with ease even though they may only fly occassionally. I am probably in this category, so I think a move up option should be available to those that deserve it. My quiz would be structured somewhere along the lines of:

A) Do you need your photo I.D. when entering the security line?

B) Do you need your boarding pass when passing through the metal detector?

C) Can the following items be worn through the metal detector without causing a line hold up? {Belt, jacket, shoes, wallet chain {wallet chains should be outlawed in general, but I will ignore it that fact for now}}

D) Is it permissable to send a laptop computer through the x-ray machine in a bucket with other items?

E) Can you enter the scanner prior to your bags being sent through the x-ray machine?

Then, if completed correctly, you must sign over your first born as a promise to abide by these rules. Till death do you part, except hopefully not brought about by a plane crash.

Other security categories would be determined based on flying history noted by previous check in times. If you continually arrive at the airport more than 2 hours prior to your scheduled departure (as noted by a time stamp at security) you are designated a liesure traveller and must pass through security in the leisure. (There may or may not be someone working the security line when you arrive, but you have plenty of time, feel free to hang out in the beach chairs provided in the liesure security line.) If you have never, rarely, or often fly but fail and continue to fail the high speed access quiz, you are sent through the remedial line. You are designated a helper who will ensure you get through security, but will likely yell at you until you either learn better or are further frightened of flying and decide to take only car trips and cruises from here on out.

And families of course get a line to themselves. I wouldn't leave you out, but seriously, you remember life before baby and how much easier it was to do things. In your own family line, it should be so much better! I think and I reserve the right to change my mind on this matter once I have children as well.

I think I have set forth a flawless plan to remedy the world from the complete aggravation of airport nightmares, on the human traveller side at least. I can say nothing about the airlines themselves other than they.all.have.problems.

Next month, I tackle steriods in sports and the BCS playoff issue. This congress doesn’t go on holiday.

I am officially running for President in 2020 assuming the whole end of the world 2012 debaucle blows over.

Throwback Thursday: Wearing Matching Everything

2010-05-06T20:36:00.000-05:00

Today's Throwback Thursday is sponsored by Kaepa.

Not really, because that would mean that somebody actually sponsored us. On our free blog. Which is dumb. Anyway, when I was in junior high, these shoes were all the rage because, get this, you could SWITCH OUT THE TRIANGLES TO MATCH YOUR OUTFIT! I mean, this is effing gold. I don't know why people still don't make these but with high heels or something else useful.

Anyway, in junior high, all my fashion acumen came from my mom who totally knew what was up because she had a perm and wore t-strap high heels in every color. So if my mom said that orange shorts overalls with a purple t-shirt and purple slouchy socks were the style, of course I would believe her. Also, if she said Hey you should also wear your Kaepas because guess who got you new orange and purple triangles! of course I would do it. And you know what? I would wear this ridiculousness proudly and with confidence like I was some sort of McDonalds character. And I know this outfit sounds made up but I absolutely do not have the imagination to make this shit up.

I'm lovin' it,

Gina

My Ace of Cakes Phase

2010-05-05T08:00:00.001-05:00

You know how I told you I go through all these phases because I ~~have no life~~ am super creative? My current phase is baking. Which is weird because I don't even really like dessert (I know, I'm a freak of nature). Oh and it's also weird because I never baked before in my life. Whenever we have cookie exchanges or birthday cake rotations at work, I always would buy from the grocery store and wouldn't even bother to put it in my own container and pretend I made it myself.

But I had a GBFF who would make all these amazing cakes and because N was always working out of town he was all "You should totally help J make cakes because you like to watch Amazing Wedding Cakes and the Cake Boss and it will keep you busy while I make it rain." So I called him and we started making cakes and we will probably have a show on Bravo soon. Look, I'll prove it:

Here are the reasons I think cakes are my ticket to fame and red hair and really big feminine but awesome flower tattoos on my arm (oh you didn't know? this is what I picture myself to look like when I open my own bakery. I call it Punky Crocker.):

1. J is a total flamer. Like Damien in Mean Girls except he thinks he can totally pass for a straight man and he lives with two other gays.

2. We argue all.the.time. Like about everything. And they can turn into huge blowups. "What do you mean we are out of sugar?! We're a fuckin' bakery!" "Of course we have to make the monkeys edible and not just use the ones from your Barrel of Monkeys!" "It has too much crap on it already, stop trying to add fuckin' butterflies!" This is reality TV gold.

3. Our cakes are not terrible for us only doing this for a few months. Yeah we should probably shoot for something better than "not terrible" but whatev.

Anyway, I am pretty much over this hobby and ready to move onto something else making homemade pinatas or some shit but unfortunately I dragged J into this and he wont let me quit now. Oh well.

Gay tantrums and reality tv love,

Gina

P.S. If George Lopez has people sing Total Eclipse of the Heart on his show one more time I am going to find him and stab him in the face. That's my song dammit!

P.P.S. It is perfectly okay if Lea Michelle sings it on Glee and her rendition may or may not have given me chills last night.

Where Am I?

2010-05-04T21:00:00.000-05:00

Quick mini post here.

Scene from my living room two minutes ago:

I just got home and am laying on the couch and have turned on the TV
Husband from doorway: Lost is on tonight
Me: I know, but there is only 5 minutes left, so I thought I would watch a little bit of Glee and see what all the fuss is about.
Husband: Oh, Glee, ya, I have been wanting to tape that.
Me: crickets...

My question is, who kidnapped my husband and replaced him with the guy who is currently in the shower? I am not sure I am complaining, but I need to know whether I should sleep with a weapon nearby...

Shoesday Edition: 1st Court of Appeals

2010-05-04T07:00:00.002-05:00

Saturday as I was fancying myself up for a wedding, yes another wedding, my ~~personal assistant~~ blackberry alerted me to an very important email from Kim Kardashian. My May selections of shoes were in! I stifled a squeal and waited what felt like a decade for my tiny screen to display five shoes designed especially for me and my goddess like feet.
I shook the phone, turned on and off the power, but yet, the fuzzy and blurry picture didn't improve with focus. Behold:

Actually, I kind of liked the first pair of shoes, but I was holding out for something work appropriate, and I am also *trying* to stick to a budget and they would require new clothes to go with the cute strappy sandal and explaining that to my Husband would be like talking to the proverbial brick wall. Worse actually.

Also, TWO bright yellow shoes in a selection of 5 Kimmy? I have heard you make all sorts of statements regarding what is and is not the new black of the summer, but unless you want this strappy piece of sunshine where it isn't supposed to shine, you best pick me out something on the outer edge of the rainbow. We won't go into the blue.gag.cork.gag.wedge heel or he suede (really?) boot because if you have read any of my previous Shoesday posts you have been fully apprised of my issues with both. Unless of course you were classmates with any of the Kardashians in which case you too quite possibly had a good portion of your brain cells removed during your anti-cellulite procedure years ago.

I found a way to muster through the burning tears and click, send me a new selection and was about to go back to primping for the upcoming wedding when I decided to tempt fate and check my Shoe Fab selection. If you recall, Shoe Fab was notified of its current probation in April and was in current danger of pulling a Lohan by violating the agreed upon email notification clause in our contract, when the I realized that my shoe selection patiently awaited my judgement. As the appellate court got under way, I was presented the following:

Ok, we have some possibilities here. I haven't been completely persuaded by the Gladiator look, although I fully intend to embrace it about 6 months after it is no longer in style, so option 1 was out. Option 2 was a no go for obvious reasons stated over and over again. Seriously, why cork wedges are continually sent to me could qualify as the 9th wonder of the modern world. Option 3 is not bad, but I already bought black sandals with a heel, I want something different. Option 4 is an improvement but it's like the Twighlight saga for me. It's better than the first, but its still a wedge heel covered in wooden laminate flooring. I seriously considered option 5, but I can't get past the zipper. I kept imagining myself attempting to seduce my husband by ever so slowly unzipping my shoe. And then I would laugh at myself. I couldn't get past that imagine of the seductive shoe removal, so I passed.

Fortunately, Shoe Fab gives you 6 options per month, and so as not to tempt fate, I decided to take a chance on these:

I needed some new brown summer shoes, and I think these look fun. And the best part was that I had a shoe credit from Shoe Fab, so I saved myself $39.99 this month.

Sunday afternoon I was alerted that my Shoe Dazzle replacement selection was available. I assumed the speed racer response was a sign from the shoe gods that Kim was humbled by my parting message of: I need WORK shoes. In neutral colors please. No gladiators, or shoes with 4 inch heels or higher. My job requires walking through unpaved parking lots occasionally and stilettos are a little much. Sorry about the bad breakup with the Reg, XOXO C

Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned Reggie.

She is trying to imprison my ankles now?

Speechless

More Gladiators? Really?

Oh look, ONE pair of flats for work. Oh, nope. these puppies have rhinestones AND fake pearls. They should take my junior league meeting from daywear to clubwear, no problem right? Barf.

Girlfriend needs a new boyfriend, or therapy, STAT. Clearly.

So as of Monday morning I was ready to give my verdict. Shoe Dazzle you are Out. Shoe Fab you are In. Again. Until next month when one of you mindf*cks me again.

Calloused and bunioned love,

What? Us guest-post? Why don't mind if we do!

2010-04-30T09:44:00.000-05:00

Becky Mochaface asked us to do our very first guest post while she is off in some exotic tropical adventure. So, while she is sitting by beach with an drink with an umbrella in it, we shall discuss why we think we might be getting old. (Sads.)

Throwback Thursday - Musical Edition

2010-04-29T07:25:00.000-05:00

Yesterday afternoon as I rolled around in the green fields of cold hard cash, aka my new job, I realized mini angel me that resides on my right shoulder was humming a lovely little diddy in my ear. I recognized the tune but couldn't quite place it. I wasn't sure if it was because my hearing has been permanently altered by mini devil me from my left shoulder constantly yelling the mantra "your soul belongs to this cube," or if it had just been a decade or more since the song was last played. Anywhere.
An hour or so later, my subconscious had written lyrics to the song and it went something like this:

*I, I got a new job*

*You would hardly recognize me I'm so glad*

*How could a person like me work for you*

My mind had reverted back to the last time I was truly, deeply, happy. I lie. I am actually a generally happy person, and for some reason, my mind's musical stylings today were from 1993.
**side note** Clearly something horrible happened to me in 1993 which I have blacked out and potentially need shock therapy to resolve. Ooh! Or couples therapy... I could bring the husband and torture him with weird misplaced memories of my youth. That would be amazing!**
I digress.
How amazeballs were Ace of Base? They were so much more than a three-hit-wonder. They were the 90's version of ABBA, who I so knew nothing about until I saw Mamma Mia in Vegas in college. Who knew the theme song of my career would be played by a Swedish Pop Group? At least I know my Mom wasn't a reformed bed-hopper who couldn't identify which Dude she puked on and got horizontal with that eventually fathered me. That was the premise of that story, right? I couldn't see the movie because to me Amanda Seyfried will forever be a tween actress on AMC and I am sure that I would keep waiting for Adam Chandler to be revealed as the paternal donor sperm donor for Meryl Streep. Gross.
What the heck happened to them? AofB, not the Chandlers. Remember their CD Da Cappo in the early 2000's? Ya, me neither. I swear. I stopped listening to AofB around the time they came out with Living in Danger.
However, based on yesterday's musical inspirings, I have decided that all big decisions/milestones in my life will forever be commemorated in songs from my childhood. Last night I gave my husband a DVD of our wedding pictures and set the background music to Hootie and the Blowfish's Only Wanna be With You. He wasn't impressed, but likely because I scared him into thinking this date meant something.
I fully expect to throw out All That She Wants at our next anniversary. Should be classic.
I am off to make a radio dedication to tape the last song on this new mix tape.
C

Why Texas Rocks

2010-04-26T21:45:00.001-05:00

Sorry for the no-post Friday. We couldn't be dragged away from the requisite beer drinking, fried food eating euphoria known as Fiesta.
And...it was also my last day at my old job, so I spent the day celebrating with my two new besties, Marg and Rita. We had some serious quality time. It continued into the morning.
Also, for the record, Marg & Rita have a serious out-of-no-where sucker punch that causes migraine like pain many hours later. Don't say I didnt warn you.
Back to Fiesta.
Last week I worked the Armadilla Egg booth at NIOSA, pronounced {n-eye-o-sa}, if you say {knee-o-sa} we can no longer be friends. NIOSA, to tourists and ticket holders is the crowd equivalent of hell, outpopulated only by the ticket booth at a Bieber concert pre-sale. Don't believe me?

And this is only a small portion of the 4 square blocks of booths and madness. Seriously, its a claustrophobic nightmare. And the best thing ever.

'Dilla Eggs come from the vag of armadillos. See picture below:

If it is true that happy cows make good cheese, happy armadillos make some damn good eggs. And what sombrero wearing 'dillo is anything but lovin life?

Just kidding about the eggs being pushed from the vagine of senior felicitades here. 'Dilla eggs are fried jalapeno poppers, and are quite possibly the lifeblood of most South Texans.

Note, it was really the Armadilla egg booth. We Texans like to uncomplicate our words and spell phonetically. Arm A Dill A.

Fiesta in general has the world's best food, and NIOSA didn't disappoint. Basically, anything you have ever wanted is battered, deep fried, and coated with powdered sugar.

Or salsa

You gain like 5 pounds the moment you buy your ticket. And you smell like beer for at least 3 days. Like I said the.best.thing.EVER.

But, in case you are somehow not completely entranced in an alcohol induced coma, and you dare to think NIOSA is a poor man's version of Mardi Gras, you would be wrong. Stupid wrong. We got class, baby. Like blinged-out class:

Cartier and Tiffany encrusted 80 pound trains and crowns and sparkly fabulousity. Beer smell included.

Seriously, if you haven't already booked your trip to Texas for the 4th week in April 2011, you are missing out. I will save you a sangria slushie... maybe.

Cholesterol laden hugs -
C

Throwback Thursday!

2010-04-22T11:16:00.000-05:00

Its Throwback Thursday again, where we visit things that were once amazing but are now weird or embarassing. Today’s topic: Fraggle Rock.

If you don’t remember Fraggle Rock you probably had an empty childhood. Or you just didn’t have cable since during my Fraggle Rock research I found out that it only came out on HBO. Maybe this is why I have such a strong affinity for HBO. If I am going through a poor spell I would rather go without things like solid foods or vehicle maintenance or going out than to give up my HBO in fear I might miss something epic. Fraggle Rock ran from 1983 to 1987, which was a time where I was barely forming a memory so you know this was good stuff. I am pretty sure the Fraggles are the inspiration for the movie Avatar also. They could share and enter each other’s dreams and thoughts, they were a euphemism for prejudice and other profound matters, and they were strangely colored. Its practically the same program but in caves rather than jungles. Anyway, no one really cares about the story. The best part of Fraggle Rock is the theme song, which has been in my head for days now and will now be in yours:

Fraggle Love,

Gina

Shoesday: Shoe Fab vs. Shoe Dazzle part deux

2010-04-20T15:43:00.001-05:00

April 1, 2010 was supposed to be a day of redemption for the folks at Shoe Fab. I wated anxiously for my selection of new, to be coveted, shoes to be delivered directly to my inbox (via internet link, of course... how hard would it be to send me my selection without having to click on the internet, really?). About 10am I was angry. No shoe selection. So I logged on to the website, and low and behold, there were 6 *shoes* staring at me from my boutique. Apparently Shoe Fab was hiding in shame and hoped I would let this month go by unnoticed and not bear witness to the following atrocious craft projects masquerading as footwear:

Also, Rebekah, as seen bottom center:

(I left the selection at 3, no need to terrify anyone else.)

Boots? You gave me f*ing boots in April? I live in South Texas for the love of monkeys. Boot season in South Texas is known as January. So in my completely depressed and deflated state of mind, I swiftly hit, *New Selection, Please!* and awaited a new set of six new shoes.

Meanwhile, I decided that maybe Gina was right. Shoe Dazzle was the way to go. If nothing else, Kimmy K and I share the ~~burden~~ gift of full figured bottom halves, and everyone knows big booty women all think alike, yes?

So I logged on to Shoe Dazzle. I began the survey... which outfit do you like best? Well, none of them seem *real world wearable* but whatev, my tendancy to lean towards outfits without neon fur and with at least mid-thigh coverage obviously will direct the masterminds behind the shoe cult towards the perfect shoe for me. Perfect being, work appropriate, but also wearable with my weekend uniform of jeans and various tops. Perfect not being tranny, bedazzled, corked, or hippie - ish in any way.
*Wow, we need a cold shower. The shoes we have selected so far today have left us hot. Please try back later.*
Come again? Your site is overloaded so you can't possibly determine which of your 80,000 shoes is the missing piece of my wardrobe? Fanf*ingtastic. I will wait.
Three days later, I get a Shoe Fab email. I think to myself, Oooh, an email? They must have found the holy grail of shoe happiness. Must.see.shoes.now...

This shoe was already sold out?!?! The shoe people didn't even line up the heel with the side of the shoe correctly, but it SOLD OUT?P

Tears. Actual tears begin falling. I asked for WORK shoes. Like I have a job with business suits and a laptop and everything. I can't wear SANDALS!! Shoe Fab, you are fired! Well, on notice, since I have a shoe credit I need to cash in.

Three more days pass, and Shoe Dazzle finally comes through:

The first shoe isn't awful, but I am not sure about the trapezoidal wedge heel, and also, I can't wear it to work. Second shoe almost made me quit Shoe Dazzle. Seriously, did you consult my Mom? Third shoe is ehh, but cork and I said no to cork in my surveys.
However the shoe stars aligned and Shoe Dazzle also selected the Gracie in midnight blue. Behold:

From my cube at work.

I decided I like them. A lot. Like, enough to want to go shopping for things to wear with midnight blue shoes, like them. This shoe cult habit is going to bankrupt me. Don't tell my husband, please.
So after much internal deliberation, followed by many many emails to Gina discussing the merits of flats and whether or not tranny is the new black, I have made my final ruling. Shoe Fab is out, Shoe Dazzle is in. Until the May appeals process. Or until I begin my career as a Nocturnal Maiden of Joy. It could happen.
~C

I swear this is not a weight-watchers blog. A back fat blog maybe, but not a weight-watchers blog.

2010-04-19T17:34:00.000-05:00

I was going to do a whole post on back fat, otherwise known as breadback, but I think we write an awful lot about body issues for this not being a Weight-Watchers blog. So, that being the case, instead I will just give you a summary of my weekend:

Friday: Our oldest and dearest couple friends invite N and me, as well as two other couples, to the lake for the weekend. I am thinking "what a perfect setting for an impending proposal". N is thinking "woohoo, finally some man time, and by the way I wonder if Gina would mind just meeting me there so I can go up early and bond with my buddies?" I am not sure he realizes that him buying a ring and me not immediately wearing it is cruel and unusual punishment. So in preparation for the weekend, I perform all kinds of soon-to-be wifely duties, such as washing both of our clothes, making sure to pack his swimming trunks since he will without a doubt forget, and going swimsuit shopping for myself to make sure he remembers how hot I am and what a catch I will be. Well, we all know how all swimsuit shopping ends (me being in denial and trying on several suits that are too small and then eventually trying on and buying one the right size and then going home to eat a whole box of Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches because only food will make me feel better but it also makes me fat so at least this food has the word “skinny” in the title) so we won’t elaborate on that shopping experience. We drive up to the lake where it is raining monsooning and end up drinking in the condo with the other couples until all the ladies retreat to their rooms and its just the guys. Since we decided to go at the last minute, we end up having to sleep on the pullout couch, which means I can go to bed as long as I don’t mind listening to four drunk guys talking about steaks or boobs or whatever men talk about. It is around this time that I decide this would not be the perfect setting for a proposal and abandon the idea at once.
Saturday: Still raining. N and I decide to cut our losses and head back home. We end up sleeping all day to recover from the night before and make plans to go out and have a nice dinner but somehow ended up at a comedy club. Same diff. N finds out I have been telling people he bought a ring and that I have been showing everyone from my recruiter to Lucy’s vet the picture of a picture of the ring I took with my phone. He says I am ridiculous, which we all know means I am amazing.
Sunday: N has to work so we part ways (he lives an hour away from me, hence the recruiter). I try to convince him to mow my lawn (this isn’t a euphemism, I am talking about my real actual grass and weeds yard) but he says it can wait. I am all about being an independent woman, but I HATE being outside. I mean, why would I go outside where there is AC and DVR’d episodes of Top Model and Modern Family inside? Plus, I have gone 28 years without having to mow a lawn and I am not about to start now. So even though I have a mini-rainforest going on right now and the HOA is p-i-s-s-e-d and Lucy has to dodge alligators and red-butt monkeys every time she has to pee, I am determined to wait it out. I ended up going to a jazz festival where apparently I was all the rage because people kept telling me I had beautiful eyes and giving me free beer. Oh yeah, and I had a pork chop sandwich. So all in all it was a good weekend.

Wishing you pork chop sandwiches and mini-rainforest eco-systems,

Gina

Pictures Are The Devil

2010-04-16T10:13:00.000-05:00

So I had an entire post written for today about how I quit my job last week and how I keep promising people in current job that I will work as hard as I can for these last two weeks, when in reality I have no intention of doing any substantial work. And how I fear this attitude will cause Karma to bitch slap me with adult acne followed by a plague of crickets and maybe I will even be struck by lightning. But last night, who am I kidding, yesterday, during work while I was on facebook I had an ugly realization. I am the human equivalent of this:

The view from straight ahead gives the illusion of width Kate Moss would envy. The building, not me obviously, although my baby boobs blow hers out of the water any day.

Then you change the angle slightly and BAM:

The backside is like the Kim Kardashian of buildings. You never see it coming, but you can't escape it walking away.

Exhibit A and B:

I am pleased with these two photos as A) my spray tan looks decent, B) I don't look as intoxicated as I really was and C) a world class Carnie Weight Guesser would probably put me at something near my actual weight.

Exhibit C:

WTF happened here? Let me point out a few *problem* areas I was completely unaware of:

1. Arm fat. Seriously?

2. No, I am not pregnant. I may eat like I am with child, but I am not. The good news is, my friend R said he thought every single one of us were pregnant as we walked down the aisle in this dress. I choose to blame the dress as well.

3. That? Is my ass. Just like the Flatiron, I have quite a lot hidden back there. My ass applied for its own zip code this morning, although seeing as the IRS says they don't know me, I assume the city will deny my zip code application as well.

So this is what I have learned. I am perfectly fine with my self in real life, but I think Kodak has it in for me. It appears as though I need to take a class in the *diva stance* in order to maximize my assets and minimize my ~~ass~~ flaws.

Somehow though, I just don't think it is realistic to stand like this in wedding photos:

Apparently my only *good* side is the front side.

Chunky hugs,
C

Throwback Thursday Edition One: 1993/1994

2010-04-15T10:25:00.002-05:00

Gina and I realized that while we may not have anything jaw-droppingly interesting to post about on a daily basis, we have a combined 56 (Holy Crap!) years full of odd and embarrassing episodes we can write about to bring you up to speed on our particular brand of crazy. Se we hereby dedicate all Thursday posts as Throwback Thursdays. So slip on your saddle oxfords and tighten up your scrunchies, because today we are heading back to 1993/1994.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times. Scratch that. 7th grade was just about the absolute worst of times for me... Searching the memory vault for a good time...

...still thinking...

...moving on. Let's be honest, what 7th grade girl isn't on a collision course with Xanax when she is 1 foot taller than 90% of the boys in her class. AND, how much does this girl hate life when her mother teaches 7th grade history at the same school? You get the picture. I was a medicated giant. The muse for Lewis Carroll's Alice Grows Too Tall for the Room.

7th grade is the time in a girl's life when fashion choices begin to matter. Not like elementary school when we are all pleasantly surprised to remember to put on underwear. What this didn't happen to you? Deodorant was starting to become a necessity and Seventeen Magazine advertised Sun In as the *it* product of the year. ** side note - I was completely ignorant to the fact that Sun In was permanent. Major Orange Hair Fail.**

As I mentioned before, Mom taught 7th graders at my school, and had been teaching there for years, so you would think that she would have her fingers on the pulse of 7th grade fashion. Screw that, her classroom was in the middle of the 8th grade lockers, she was certain to be fashion forward, right? Wrong. But I didn't know this yet. And I wouldn't figure this out until it was almost too late. There is a bad memory involving me, leather, and high school that will certainly make an appearance on Throwback Thursdays, stay tuned.

During the fall of that year, my Mom took me on a shopping trip to buy new pants. I had a ridiculous growth spurt in September of 4 inches in 30 days, which also led to the 3 year use of bright blue knee braces. My pants had become capris before capris were *in style*. We went to the Esprit store in the outlet mall and I ended up leaving the store with the 1993 equivalent of the following:

Stylish *rust* colored jeans

Bonus! Second pair of olive green jeans as well!

Textured paint shirt to match both pairs of jeans. And by textured, think *puff paint* with a little less emphasis on the *puff*

I was da bomb (too 1998?). Or, at the very least, I stood out from the crowd. Which is obviously what I wanted to do in 7th grade. Thanks Mom. And I wondered why I sat around my house waiting for this bad boy to ring:

Embarrased and humiliated,
C

Is drinking a glass wine after a workout the same as drinking a glass of water? I'm going to say yes.

2010-04-14T11:42:00.001-05:00

So I have a busy day today but I am taking a second to give up a very important message about Zumba. I’ve been working out about once a week and it seems to be confusing my body just enough to give me a decent weigh-in on Fridays. Go me.

Yesterday my workout of the week was Zumba. If you haven’t done Zumba I totally recommend it. Zumba is the love child of Jane Fonda and J. Lo. And maybe Richard Simmons. It’s like aerobics to the tune of Pitbull. The problem is that the class is full of old ladies who have amazing rhythm while I, on the other hand, have the rhythm of Liz Lemmon if I am lucky.

Plus I think I am not proportioned correctly, like I have ridiculously long arms and freakishly long legs and a regular sized torso. So while all the old ladies and the instructor look like Shakira during all the pelvic thrust moves and whatnot, I look like Gumby.

!!!!

Guess how much I don’t care? This Gumby got a one hour workout and successfully did not hit anyone in the face with my wayward hands and feet. At least not on purpose.

Gumby hearts and post-workout glasses of wine,

Gina

Shoesday Tuesday: The I Owe You Chewed Up Shoes Edition

2010-04-13T09:45:00.002-05:00

I have new Shoedazzle shoes, which I love and I will get to, but they are boring and black rain cloud shoes, so I decided that in addition to my boring and black rain cloud shoes I will do blog-version of a montage of shoes that my puppy has attacked. You might be wondering what the hell is my problem that I can't keep a 30 lb. beagle in check, but she is one determined super ninja shoe-seeking dog. So when I leave her alone during the day (and sometimes at night if happy hours are involved), she gets pissed off and goes after my most prized possessions:

These shoes actually had real furries on them like a real leopard. *Tears*

Purple leather with fabric rosettes. They were going to be my new neutral shoes. *Heavy sigh of sadness*

The infamous silver shoes

The shoe-seeking culprit after a long day of tearing up my heart. And my shoes.

The new soon-to-be victims...

I am sorry the pics suck because I am too lazy to drag out my real camera and prefer to use my phone camera instead. And I did not take pics of the shoes on my cavewoman feet because for some reason my camera phone makes my legs look like tree stumps and I don't want to be unfairly judged for distorted cankles.

Also, I am watching Sex and the City and they just showed a trailer for Sex and the City 2. I am thinking they jumped the shark with this one. Vacation in New Delhi and bringing back Aiden?? I am worried that Sex and the City 2 is the equivalent of that Karate Kid movie with the girl or Legally Blonde 2: Red, White & Blonde. I mean I'll probably still watch it, but I'm just saying.

Love,

Gina

P.S. Super excited about our new theme day - Throwback Thursdays. We decided our collective lives are not adventurous to provide daily material, which is depressing for us but hopefully entertaining for you.

Wedding 1 : Me 0

2010-04-11T15:55:00.002-05:00

Afternoon interwebs, hope you are all feeling better than I am right now. I am curled up on the couch watching DVR-ed tv from last week trying desperately to type this post without having to sit up.
Last night I was a bridesmaid in one of my oldest friend's wedding *event*, and it was a night I wish I remembered. Well, actually, I do remember most of the night, what I don't remember is the moment the ghost of my drinking past showed up and inhabited my body for the remainder of the night. Last night I thought I was 22 again, and drank like I had never even heard of such a thing as a hangover. I tried, I really did, but I think it is time I officially bury 22 year old me, and fully embrace mostly boring and sober 29 year old me. Thoughts?
I showed up at the reception site yesterday, spray tanned to perfection and makeup-less in preparation for an entire afternoon of hair coiffing and eyeshadow applying entertainment. I wish I could say the metallic taste of the 12 cans of hairspray I inhaled yesterday was no longer affecting my food choices 24 hours later, but it is. Also, I really wish I had asked what mascara they used, I cannot get this stuff off my eyes! After being fully transformed into one of 8 Stepford Bridesmaids, we headed to the church and performed our maidly duties of smiling with the occassional oohing and ahhing thrown in for good measure.
Cocktail hour begins and this is the time I hear the 4 words that sealed my drinking destiny: Seated Dinner Drinking Game. Never heard of it? Neither had I.
Seated Dinner Drinking Game is all kinds of awesome. The table number determines the drinking schedule. Table 6 drinks at 8:06, 8:16, 8:26, etc. Higher numbered tables are modified to use only the ones digit, so table 24 drinks at 8:04, 8:14, etc. The slap in the face part of the game is when the clock strikes the actual table number, say 8:24 for table 24, you have to finish your drink. Last night, it was virtually impossible to keep a half empty glass on the table. I think the waiters were on to our game, or maybe just super awesome, and continually refilled my wine and my husband's drink. So once an hour we were slamming a full drink and then every ten minutes after we were socially drinking. About 2 hours into the dinner, I was cross-eyed. About this time, I heard the band playing Don't Stop Believing, which I am pretty sure began the next 3 hours of socially unacceptable gyrating and persitent storming of the stage to display our (the entire wedding party's) singing abilities. I am pretty sure there are about 200 black-tie clad socialites who may or may not have gone to church early this morning to pray for the sins of today's youth. For that I am thankful. Clearly, God intended for me to spend the morning in bed followed by a hangover induced food orgy of queso and Huevos Rancheros, conlcuding with another 2 hour nap. I will take all the prayers I can get. And more sleep.
Hope the weekend was good to you all!
C

Zombieland

2010-04-09T16:20:00.000-05:00

Its annual review time here at the office, which means right now I am supposed to be filling out my self evaluation before the end of the day. It’s been a while since I had to do one of these and I am not really feeling it today. C is not at work today since she has the wedding with the bridesmaid from hell to deal with so I don’t even have my friend to send random emails about nothingness. Super sads.

The highlight of my day today was going to my favorite burger place with my girlfriend J. Yes I realize that burgers are the enemy of Biggest Loser contests but I have had a busy week and to me eating a giant gooey burger at lunch is the equivalent of having a box of wine after work. So while J and I are catching up on her visit to NYC and my possible move to another city, I notice that I am being stared at. I look up and my eyes meet those of another girl who is about 17 and looks like the wiccan surrogate from Baby Mama and *she doesn’t look away*. I mean her seat isn’t even facing me so she literally has her head turned my direction and is staring like she means it. This is some scary shit.

Me: J, do I have food on my face or something?

J: Why? Because that girl is staring at you?

Me: YES! I thought it was all in my head but you see it too.

J: Yeah it’s weird. It’s like that movie The Crazies.

Me: What if she attacks me?

J: Here, you can use my plastic butter knife to defend yourself.

Throughout this whole exchange and my entire burger this girl continues to stare, which for some reason is really starting to anger me now. I mean, who does this chick think she is? Why is she blatantly staring with no shame? Wait a second. Wait just one second. There is another woman blatantly and purposefully staring at me from a different table. Now I am really freaking out and am certain that I have somehow wandered into Zombieland. I start looking around, seeing if anyone else sees this and if there are other zombies that I need to watch out for. I even look behind me to make sure there isn’t some kind of ninja zombie sneak attack going on.

And that’s when I notice it. Behind me there is a big digital number thingy that shows your order number when it’s ready. These chicks were staring because they were hungry and wanted their damn burger, not because they wanted to eat my brain, and here I was ready to stab them all with plasticware. I guess it’s a good thing they weren’t zombies because I am sure my brain is mostly mush at this point.

Super unprepared for zombie apocalypse sads,

Gina

Freaks & Whores High School

2010-04-08T12:41:00.000-05:00

By Gina

I am planning my 10-year high school reunion. I don’t quite remember exactly how I became the reunion coordinator but I know it makes me want to stab people. Not just any people. I want to stab all these bitches I went to high school with. I mentioned before that I went to an all girls catholic high school. It was awful. And since there were no boys around to impress, I frequently went to school looking like a bag of trash – no makeup, no blow-drying of the hair, no plucking. It was gross, I know. And I know I am not making this all up in my head because I actually ran into a girl from high school about a year ago and she hugged me and said “Gina! You got pretty!!!” I am not sure her level of surprise was necessary.

Anyway, back to the Freaks & Whores High School reunion. We have a FB page for our reunion, which means I had to friend these bitches so I could invite them to this stupid page. I have set up meetings, asked for suggestions, and requested songs and pictures for a fucking slideshow. Aside from 2 girls who showed up to one of my meetings, I have gotten zero responses. Zero. Finally yesterday I had enough. On Monday I sent an email to all the members of FWHS Class of 2000 asking for mailing addresses so I could send them an invitation to a reunion that I don’t even want to go to. I got 20 responses out of 120. Now I sent this email over FB and, since FB is conducive to stalking, I couldn’t help but notice all these bitches got on FB to update their statuses. Here are a few examples:

“Can’t wait to go home and play with my baby! My baby is the light of my life! I want to cuddle with my baby!!! BABYBABYBABY Aaauuuggghhhh!!!!!” (Just so you know, I am not anti-baby. This chick literally updates her status about 14 times a day talking about how much she loves her baby. Dude, we get it. You love your baby. Congrats.)

“Tonight I am making roasted rosemary ribeyes, smoked gouda macaroni & cheese, sourdough bread and chocolate mousse!” (Holy shit, you have time to make all this crap on a random Tuesday and you can't respond to a five second email???)

“Please send me cows and pigs and chickens and fertilizer!!!” (Need I elaborate?)

So, since it was obvious that these hoes were ignoring me, I tried a different tactic. I sent a follow up email yesterday.

Ladies:

Thanks to the 20 of you who responded. For the rest of you, if you do not respond by this weekend, then I will assume you do not want to attend and will not send you an invitation. Thanks!

I’ll let you know how it goes. In the mean time, I am having a block when it comes to music I use to listen to in high school. I mean, I remember it was music that was awesome at the time and now embarrasses me, like Creed and Christina Aguilera. So I am asking you, my internet friends, please help me remember what horrible music was cool 10 years ago. This is me begging for comments.

Internet stalkers are creepy, don't you think?

2010-04-07T13:45:00.003-05:00

I went to college in the days of AOL Instant Messenger, Yahoo Mail, and Napster. My dorm room bed was lofted above my desk and my roommate and I strategically placed a mirror across the room so that we could determine who was trying to reach us via email or IM without leaving the comforts of our bed where we sat watching actual music videos on TRL. I set my Yahoo Mail up to *moo* while my roomie set hers up to *oink* when we got a new email. We were the shit. {Gina: Please tell me you are kidding and that you and your roomie did not have coordinating farm animal notifications.}

{Me - Dead serious. The Guy who yelled Yahooooo sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard and my only other option was a chime... The chime could be muffled by MTV, and then it was possible to go 20 minutes without knowing someone was emailing me. I mean, what if there was a *real* emergency and I missed it because I wasn't alerted instantaneously?}
I wasn’t in college when MySpace was a big deal. In fact, I knew nothing of My Space’s existence until 2007, and by then, it was a little late to join the club.
And when Facebook became all the rage with my friends, I abstained. I knew a girl at work who was distracted by it all day and never got any work done and I just couldn’t see the appeal. Then, one night after one or five glasses of wine with the girls, someone blurted out “Did you see so-and-so is married with a baby on the way, and he is still commenting on his ex’s wall?” First, I was all, “Whoa, he is married? And is expecting a spawn?!?” And then I was like, “commenting on her wall?” Is this some new sex thing I don’t understand? WTF is happening?
Then, one of my fav girlfriends grabbed her laptop and introduced me to the world of Facebook. I was enthralled. Obsessed. But not enough to have my own Facebook page.** See I am really scared of super creepy internet stalkers. Not just the crazy pedophile axe-murdered types, the ones who troll friends of friends on Facebook all day to see what kind of karma was bestowed upon the popular girl in high school who had all the boys and treated everyone else like crap. See, I know these people exist because I am one. Not the popular girl with boyfriends galore, the creepy internet stalker.
No worries, I am not preying on your children or your husband or your mom or whatever. I am merely trying to make sure that what my Momma said was true. “They may be popular now, but it will be a shame for them when they wake up after college and realize their best days are over.” And so far, my Momma is the smartest person on the planet. She is also on Facebook, which kind of scares me. But you know who else is on Facebook? The skinny B from the neighboring high school who got knocked up in college, hid the baby bump from her family and only admitted it while in labor at the hospital and on the phone, long distance, to her ex and baby daddy. And she friended me. Karma may be a bitch, but so am I. And I have access to all her pictures. It’s creepy.

Also, from here on out, I will be going by C. I am not creative and am getting tired of being referred to as NB2 when there is no longer anyone referred to as NB1.

Most importantly, if you don't already read www.thespohrsaremultiplying.com, you are crazy. but please head over there and give them some love. One year ago today was tragic for this family, and they could all use some internet hugs!

Warning: I Am Stabby Today

2010-04-06T13:22:00.001-05:00

by Gina

Today is supposed to be Shoesday Tuesday but I may have to postpone it. I know you are all *super* bummed that you were not greeted this morning by pics of my cavewoman feet but I have a good excuse: I am in a terrible mood and it may or may not be PMS related.

First of all, I have to do actual work today. Instead of just emailing NB1 all day talking about nonsense such as NB1’s paranoia about bald spots and what ugly shoes Kimmy K is trying to convince me to buy, I have to do boring things like “accounting research” and “writing technical memo’s.” Dear lord, I hate my job.

Secondly, I put on my silver heels this morning to wear to work only to discover once I get to the office that my dog has chewed off all the silver and the heel of one of the stupid shoes (I was in a hurry this morning due to my wine and cheese induced coma from the night before).

Third, I have to bake and ice 3 dozen cookies for a baby shower by Thursday and then make a cake for 200 people by Saturday. This is due to my “I want to own a bakery” phase that I haven’t told you about yet, which severely conflicts with my current “I want to do nothing when I get home after my painful job” phase. I don’t even really care for cookies and cake, or any dessert actually. At the end of a meal, I’d much rather order something savory, like a plate of exotic cheeses, and when I say exotic cheeses I really mean nachos or jalapeno poppers, but that really isn’t socially acceptable. Anyway the thought of spending every night this week baking and decorating sweets is making me extremely stabby at the moment.

Lastly, I volunteered to make invitations for my high school reunion. I don’t know why I volunteer to do these things. I went to an all girls high school and hate everyone I went to high school with. I didn’t even buy a damn yearbook because I was all “I don’t ever want to see these freaks and whores again.” You know, because everyone in my class was either a freak or a whore. This is probably why Toxy and I ended up being friends, because we were the only non-freak, non-whore bitches in the school. We went to N*SYNC concerts while the other girls went to mosh pits or dirty rapey parties.

Anyway, maybe I will take a picture later of my shredded silver shoes and then we can all count it as my Shoesday Tuesday post. Deal?

Happy Easter!

2010-04-04T19:28:00.003-05:00

by Gina

So I know the day is practically over, but I wanted to wish all 7 of our readers a Happy Easter!

Also, I wanted to brag. See, my not-so-smooth, super-mega-cheap boyfriend N FINALLY bought a ring. No, I am not engaged yet. I know he bought it though because he ordered it online (this is me crossing my fingers that he did not buy it on eBay) and had it delivered to my house on Saturday. I was all "What's in the box?" but he oh-so-slickly replied "Noottthhiinngg...." like a 5-year-old. I begged him to let me see it so he flashed a picture of it that came with the appraisal. From the millisecond flash I think I made out a gorgeous emerald cut diamond solitaire. That'll do N. That'll do.

So even though I am not officially engaged, I am pretty sure I am now justified in all those hours spent watching Amazing Wedding Cakes, Platinum Weddings and Bridezillas, as they can now be counted as wedding research.

Also, it's amazing what a diamond ring will let a boy get away with. In fact, when we got ready to go to my parents' house for Easter and he emerged wearing this:
I just shrugged and said "Well, that's true and at least you finally have something in common with my dad."

Wanted: A 4 Day Stomach Flu

2010-04-02T21:45:00.001-05:00

Last year, Gina and I were on a self-imposed diet consisting of dehydrated food particles and yogurt. True Story. This is an actual picture of an actual meal we convinced ourselves was “pretty decent. Almost like real food.”

This is the Three Cheese Pasta. The smell alone made me want to vomit when I took the picture today. Gross.

Yes, we ate this on a daily basis. Actually, here are the two favorite meals of which comprised almost my entire 30 day order. Yes, math geniuses, this means I had each meal 2-3 times a week, at least.

OMG, my throat just closed up out of sheer fear that I would go down this dieting path again. Ugh.
Well, actually, as gross as it looks, I lost like 8 pounds in 3 weeks, which is super amazing for me. I typically go on diets and lose 3 pounds then hover at the same weight until I forget I am on a diet and go onwards and upwards from there.
My personal reason behind the diet was my wedding which took place last spring. The diet did its job, but it should have come with a warning label that read CAUTION: by consuming real found in nature foods, such as enchiladas and margaritas, will cause you to gain back at least 2 times the weight you worked so hard to lose through this diet. Which brings me to my current dilemma.
Next weekend, I have to shove my spanx clad rolls into this dress:

Picture this in a shiny taupe color

Actually, this bridesmaid dress is actually fairly forgiving, but I can’t take a picture of me in it yet because it is currently being re-altered to fit my ginormous bazongas. No really, for the first time in my almost 29 years my boobs are causing a problem. They have grown a whole cup size which is like 3 whole sizes for normal people boobs, and they have hurt like hell for two straight months. So painful in fact I was convinced I was pregnant (the adult onset acne also caused several friends to convince me that I might be with-child), which I am NOT according to EPT, but for some reason I feel like they weigh an extra 10 pounds and have kept me from sleeping on my stomach for most of 2010.
*Also I refrained from a real life pic as the dress is about 1 shade away from my twilight inspired skin tone, and until I go visit the creepy man with the spray tan wand next week, you are better off not seeing me in this dress.
Anywho, I can spanx my way into this dress for the actual wedding, but I really want to wear this dress for the rehearsal dinner:

I MS Painted the COPS-eque blacked-out eyes. Sorry for the rough version. Also, I am not Gigantor, the cutie next to me is my niece.

I wore this at my rehearsal dinner. (is it tacky to wear it to another rehearsal dinner? Side note: I have been sworn away from shopping for a month, so no new clothes) I got a ton of complements on the color and the dress, and haven’t worn it since. I love it. The problem is that the above picture of me was taken post diet last year. A whole ten, *cough*sixteen*cough*, pounds ago. Right now I look like this:

Please don't judge. And don't stare too long at the pasty white skin tone, it causes cornea searing!

No bueno.

So basically, I am begging you for ideas of where I can find a temporary magic pill. Or a tapeworm. I am willing to consider almost anything.
Also, I took this picture today at Baskin Robbins (which I know is the reason I need a miracle right now, whatev). It’s called the Double Header cone. Seriously.

Chat Roulette Part 2

2010-04-02T09:19:00.003-05:00

Okay, remember when I was all "Dont do Chat Roulette! It's full of weirdos, creeps and awkward conversations!"? Yeah, me neither. Which is why last night, when I was bored during Grey's Anatomy, I remembered reading an article at work that said Ben Folds is on Chat Roulette like all the time. I wouldn't mind chatting with Ben Folds and Meredith and Derek are making me throw up in my mouth, so I went back in.

I didnt want to end up on bestofchatroulette.com or anything though, since I am a semi-respectable lady so I took precautions this time

So armed with the Mardi Gras mask I won by dominating a musical chairs contest, I logged back in and started chatting with some random guy:

Me: Nice beard. (He was wearing a long black wig and a bandana, but he was drinking a beer so I thought we at least at that in common.)

Osama: Thanks. Nice mask. Can you show me your boobs? I am playing Chatroulette bingo and I still have that space open.

Me: Oh, that's probably not going to happen. I'm a lady (he doesn't know better).

Osama: Eh that's okay. You can't blame me for trying. (He's got me there.)

Me: yeah (this isn't awkward at all)

Osama: What about a dog?

Me: You want to see my dog's boobs? Because she's spayed so they are pretty unremarkable.

Osama: No, one of my free bingo spaces is find a dog.

Me: Oh! Here ya go! (Lucy makes her internet debut and is P-I-S-S-E-D about it. She's all WTF, mom?! Where's my GD mask, you selfish wench?)

Osama gives me a virtual high five and we move on. I land on another guy (that's what she said) and he immediately tells me "I'm not going to pull my pants down, so don't bother asking." Mmmkay....Next!

What happens when I click the Next button is the reason I will never. ever. in my life again. be visiting Chat Roulette. It's a erect penis. Like a close-up of a penis. So at first I am all "what is that? it looks a little like...OMG." There doesn't even seem to be anyone attached to this penis. And it is standing up all on its own. At first, I am totally grossed out. Then I am impressed in spite of myself and wondering how long this person has been standing in front of their webcam like this. Then I returned to grossed out. This all happened in about 4 seconds and then I quickly shut my laptop, unplugged it, hid it under my sofa and took a shower where I scrubbed my skin until it was red to try and erase the image from my mind.

You win, Chat Roulette. You win.

-Gina

P.S. If you need me I'll be huddled in the fetal position in the corner of my office.

My Project Runway Phase

2010-03-31T21:12:00.012-05:00

I may have a problem. What is it called when you see something cool on TV or on the internet and then you tell yourself "I can totally do that" and then you decide that this thing will be like your new hobby for life and will define you in years to come? {I think it is called inspiration. But I could be wrong. It doesn't happen to me often} I am sure it is something in between watching-too-much-TV and being-totally-awesome-and-creative but I can't decide.

I am left-handed so my theory is that I spend my days being boring and counting crap so I need a creative outlet. In reality I may have adult ADD but I can barely remember to take my birth control pills so adding more pills to the mix would just confuse me. I'll give you some examples. (There are a few so if I get bored in the middle of writing this, I'll probably just make this a series and pretend that's the way I intended on writing this post all along and we will all deal with it.)

Project Runway Phase:

For Halloween the only couples costumes my boyfriend, N, would agree to were for us to be Fred and Wilma Flintstone. This is not the creative part, obvs. Especially since I really wanted to be Super Mario and Princess Toadstool. Anyway, I couldn't find any suitable and reasonably priced Flintstone costumes and was really into Project Runway at the time, so what do I do? I go to my favorite place in the world (Target) and buy a sewing machine for $29.95. I even go to the fabric store and buy some fabric and, get this, a pattern. In my head I am all "Holy shit, I am going to make my own costume and it's going to be amazing and people are going to ask me to make all their costumes. Well, if those bitches expect me to make their costumes they better expect to pay me for my services. I don't F'ing work for free. Those whores." In the middle of all this N calls me:

What are you doing?

I'm at the fabric store. Which do you think more closely resembles animal fur: felt or velvet?

Why are you at the fabric store?

All the costumes at Party City were overpriced and totally unrealistic. As if Wilma would ever wear a poly/nylon blend with those huge rocks around her neck. Anyway, I'm making them instead.

Isn't that alot of trouble? Do you even know how to sew?

Well, there are instructions in the box. And I am trying to be more domesticated. I mean, after this, we won't ever have to buy clothes again. I'll just design and sew all of our clothes from now on.

You're ridiculous. {You are my F*ing hero is what you are. Seriously, when you learn how to hem, I can keep you in business for like a week or two}

In my head, every time someone says something is ridiculous, I assume they mean amazing. I told N all he had to do was show up and since N is super mega cheap and completely uninterested in Halloween, he goes with it. Here is the result:

I've blacked out our eyes to protect our privacy like they do in COPS.

Please don't make fun of my f'ed up boob and less than flat tummy.
And if N looks like he hates life it's only because he was in the military reserves in college and apparently they teach them that smiling in pictures is equivalent to terrorism, and it's most definitely not because he is wearing a large felt sack.

I have not used that damn sewing machine since. {I will give you $10 for it? $15 if it includes lessons, or the very least the original directions. Maybe its time for me to go into phase - project runway? Currently, I am in phase - be more domestic, which includes ironing and baking and actual dirt removing cleaning. It sucks, I need a new hobby.}

-Gina

How My Mom Ruined My Engagement Story

2010-03-31T16:16:00.002-05:00

Well not so much ruined, more like spoiled.

A little background: My now husband, then b/f, likes to be the grand master gift-giver and HATES to not know exactly what you want before he buys. I know, he is awesome. This carried over into the engagement arena as clearly he wasn't picking out a ring without my prior approval. Fine by me, surprises be damned.
Also, he has enough respect for my parents to know that although they didn't need to give their permission, they would think all the more highly of him if he asked. So he made the call to my Dad.
My Dad, in turn, calls me and says. "That b/f of yours just called and said he wants to go to dinner. Does he want to marry you?" Cat, meet outside of bag.

So anywho, the story goes as follows:
My b/f sets a date for a random Tuesday night with my parents. As usual, b/f is on time when my Dad answers the door and leads him into the living room. I don't really know the details of what happened next, only that Dad says yes, and they are 5 minutes into the evening. next order of business, he asks Mom for the name of a diamond guy (who I would meet weeks later when b/f sent me to approve of the diamond before the purchase). Now b/f is completely out of conversation topics, so Dad says, lets call C and have her meet us for dinner. So I meet them for dinner, its awkward because I am fully aware that my Mom is planning our wedding in her mind and my Dad is having visions of me wearing ponytails and playing basketball in the driveway, even though we didnt have a basketball hoop set up at our house and I prefered a ponytail over pigtails. Grand.
The next morning, I am sitting at my desk at work at 9 am when my office phone rings and its my Mom. Mom says, "Honey, I took your Dad to the hospital this morning. He is having heart problems. It may be another heart attack. Please don't worry, but try and get here as soon as you can." My. Heart. Sinks. I grab my purse, head out of work and call b/f who doesn't answer, what a surprise, so I call his secretary and tell her to please find him and tell him it is a semi-emergency.
Phone rings 5 seconds later (his secretary LOVES me). I tell him what is happening and he replies "He could have said no," as though his giving the approval to marry me caused the heart attack.
Later that day, at the hospital, my Mom gets good news from the doctor and replies, "oh thank God, now you can tell b/f that it wasn't his fault". Doctor gives Mom a strange sideways glance, and she proceeds to tell him how b/f asked to marry me yesterday and then thought that was what brought on the drama. Doctor laughs and my Mom decides this is the best story ever. And goes on to tell at least 15 people that day how b/f asked to marry me and isn't that great, but then Dad got sick and b/f thought it was his fault, yada yada.
Until I cry.
Mom gives me the sideways glance, and I have to explain to her how b/f proposed to them, but hasn't yet proposed to me. See, I hold up my left hand, no ring! Mom then continues retelling the story but in a hushed whisper on the phone, which I guess she thinks makes it better.
My Mom is amazing, but her engagement story with my b/f is better than mine. Mine involved a parking lot. No, not like that.
I bet she could really block-out other bridesmaids in pursuit of the bouquet back in the day.

Chat Roulette

2010-03-30T18:31:00.004-05:00

Everyone has heard of this Chat Roulette business by now right? Where you are randomly matched up with random people and if you dont like their face or if they are boring you can click "next"? Well, since I have no life I decided it was my responsibility to give all 8 of our readers a first-hand account of my experience. Which means I have to actually experience it. So here we go.

When you first go to Chat Roulette, they give you the rules. They are as follows (no lie):

Rules:

• 16+
• Please stay clothed
• Please click "Report (F2)" if you don't like what you see

You would think this would be enough to deter a mild mannered accountant. I mean, I don't often go to websites where they have to explicity tell the user to stay clothed. But like the pioneer woman I am, I trudged on. Here we go:

#1: Girl lying in bed. Looks depressed. I have my own problems. Next.
#2: Guy smoking cig. "Oh look how cool I am with my truckers hat from last season and indoor cigarette smoking." Lame. Next.
#3: Fat guy dancing with his shirt over his head. Now we're in business. Hmm, how shall I initiate conversation? Should I wave, or just type a friendly gree-.....OMG. I just got nexted by Fat guy dancing with his shirt over his head. New low? I think yes. {NB2 comment - you probably weren't weird enough for him. I assume you were looking straight into the computer, jaw-dropped and normal looking? Not karaoke-ing in your bathing suit? Right? Please?}
#4 Nice normal guy from rome. Super nice and kinda cute, but I am not here to hook up. I am here for the weirdo's. See ya later nice normal guy from Rome. {He probably cried after you hit next}
#5 - #8 Shirtless old guys. Gross.

This whole process took less than 5 minutes, during which time I came into contact with one normal person out of eight. So, basically, my review is this:

If you are not weird and don't really like seeing old guys not wearing shirts, you will probably be freaked out by this whole thing. I will definitely not be making this a new hobby of mine because I think it's kind of creepy that random people can look into your room, but I am still glad that I did it so that I could see for myself what the buzz was all about. {I thank you for taking one for the team. I have ZERO desire to get onto this site. I don't think my ego could take someone next-ing me.}

Love,
Gina

Shoesday Tuesday

2010-03-30T17:20:00.006-05:00

It's SHOESDAY! I know this only because NB2 has reminded me about 16 times within the past two days. {NB2 note - it was only 4 times. I have the emails to prove it.} I think she is jealous because I took a half day from work. {True, I am jealous} But I promise it wasn't for anything exciting, unless you call taking my dog to vet so they could stick a finger up her butt exciting. If you do, I am not sure this is the blog for you.

Back to the shoes. Ah glorious shoes. I am a Shoedazzle girl. I absolutely love it. I am ridiculously excited for the first of the month because instead of being just "mortgage day" it's also "new shoes day," and not only do I get to live in my house for another month, I get to choose and own a pair of beauties like these:

Don't even think about making fun of my bowlegged-ness. Or my left cankle.

Here is another angle, in case you couldn't imagine all their shoesy glory in the first pic:I just realized I have a slight obsession with gray and black. I swear I'm not depressed. I think.

Anyway, I am happy with my choice. Even if they do feed my obsession of living in and dressing like a rain cloud.

P.S. I am currently watching Julia & Julia. Has anyone else watched this? Is it me or is there an insane amount of masticating and chewing noises in this movie? Am I crazy?

P.P.S. I think NB2 should be named Boo after her two pets named Boo. Not that she is an animal. Or that she makes me want to say "boo" as in "boooo, NB2! boooo!" Hmm, maybe not. Back to the drawing board.

Two lies and a truth, or why you should never send texts or voicemails if trying to cheat on your spouse

2010-03-29T09:35:00.006-05:00

My mother always said there were two sides to every story, and then there was the truth.

Take, for example, the recent headlines of married celebrities having affairs.

One side, the celebrity: I am so sorry, it was a mistake, I have an addiction, I never thought I would be exposed (pun intended), yada yada yada.

Then the other side, the mistress: He told me he loved me, he was divorcing his hot, rich and successful wife, I truly cared about him and thought our love was real *cough-BS-cough*!

And then there's the truth: Man meets hooker/porn star, Man sleeps with hooker/porn star, Hooker/porn star saves voicemails and texts, Hooker/porn star decides she wants to be famous and calls the Star to sell story. It is truly the American love story. {*edited to add: Also, really, Star Magazine? When did the Star become the place where people told the truth? It reminds me of a scene from one of my fav movies ever:
Charlie: Hey mom, I find it interesting you refer to the Weekly World News as *the paper*. The paper contains facts.
Mom: This paper contains facts. And, this paper has the eighth highest circulation in the whole wide world. Plenty of facts. 'Pregnant man gives birth.' Thats a fact.
Oh, and little did she know many years later, that too would be true. But still disturbing altogether. Name that movie anyone?}

Here is what annoys me. I am more than willing to watch an hour or so of coverage on your exposed affair for the pure entertainment value of creating an office pool of how many days apart mistress 4 and mistress 5 appear in the media. But, I am human, and a married woman, so I do feel bad for the wives you completely screw over. So I turn off Access Hollywood every time your name is mentioned on day 2. But the worst part, the absolute most horrible part to me, is that you think I am an idiot. This morning I read how the tatted up woman in the Jesse James scandal apparently thought she was an item with James until watching the Oscars. What? You did not you stupid wench. You knew you weren't an item way back at the Golden Globes when Sandy (Ok, that's weird, I prefer Sandra) was gushing about how hot he was from the podium upon accepting her award. You just waited until everyone was talking about how amazingly wonderful she was to completely crush her world by exposing your affair. Don't act like you were Blindsided (hehe) by this.

And the 2 dozen women with Tiger...saving text messages? You don't save text messages for a year when you are in love with someone. You save text messages because you know one day you will use them to your advantage to gain 15 minutes of fame. And saving voicemails? What a horrible thought. Each time you call to check your voicemail you hear "No unheard messages, 324 saved messages." You saved these to use as blackmail. Don't deny it. You were never in love.

The cheating men are just as dumb. If you text or leave a voicemail, of course it will be saved. You have money and fame, while they don't, remember? Stupid.

Don't try to make yourself the victim. No one believes it. And it insults my intelligence, which granted is continually deteriorating based on the hours of TV I watch weekly, but still.

Also, I need a new name, any thoughts?

Note to Self

2010-03-28T21:19:00.002-05:00

Dear Me,

You are not 22 years old anymore. In fact, you haven't been 22 for quite some time. Even though you think you are still young and vibrant and resilient, you are not.

And so when your friends call you up to say "Would you like to play in a sand volleyball tournament on Sunday?" you have to remember the following things:

1. You have not played volleyball since middle school, which was 14 years ago. That's a shitload of years ago. And yes, you may have been the tallest of all the girls and therefore the best player back then, but that's because most of them were still going to puberty. You, on the other hand, had full grown knockers (yes, I said knockers) by the age of 11 and tried to hide them from your mom so that you wouldn't have to go through the embarrassing task of bra shopping and instead chose for them to flop around during gym class until they started hurting your back.

2. You should not under any circumstances dive for the ball. This is not negotiable. Not only will it take you weeks to get the sand out of your ass, your ankle has still not fully healed from the karaoke incident. Your team sucks anyway and diving for the ball will just cause you more pain the next day for no reason. I understand there is beer involved, but that only numbs the pain while you are drinking it and you cannot drink beer perpetually until your wounds heal because that is socially unacceptable.

3. You have not gotten off of your lazy ass in about a month and your diet consists exclusively of boxed mac and cheese. How you are winning your Biggest Loser contest is an effing mystery and has absolutely nothing to do with how in shape you are (or in this case how in shape you aren't).

Since you have failed to acknowledge the above, you will without a doubt be sore and tomorrow you will not be able to walk around like a normal human, but like one that does not have control of her bowel movements and just shat her pants. In fact, you know that throbbing you feel in forearms and groin? That, my friend, is early onset soreness reserved only for the laziest-ass-sittingest of people and is punishment for thinking you are some kind of volleyball all-star. Please remember these items for the next time you want to act like a competitive bitch.

Thank you,

Gina

Life rule #3 Never Assume Someone is Pregnant

2010-03-27T18:55:00.001-05:00

We have all heard the stories of women just a few months post baby that are asked "when are you due?" The best part of these stories are when the accused woman is holding, carrying, nursing a tiny newborn. Life is not a soap opera, you can't be pregnant with one baby and get pregnant with another months later while still pregnant with the 1st. One pregnancy at a time. (If I am wrong, please God, don't ruin it for me.)

Anyway, this rule is not about identifying that you may be an idiot who says stupid things. If you are dumb enough to ask someone when they are due, you wont find help here. We can only do so much. This rule is for people who are observant enough to notice weight gain, a familiar motherly gesture, or a glow on another unsuspecting woman. I don't care if it is your daughter, your sister, or your friend. Never.Ask.If.Someone.Is.Pregnant.Ever. Unless maybe if you are an emergency technician who needs the information to perform emergency care. Then, I guess it's ok.

This has happened to me a lot lately. Yes world, I have gained some weight. And yes, sometimes I wear shirts that are loose around my stomach, and yes, sometimes I choose to order a club soda at the bar (normally because someone has to drive my drunken husband home). But I am NOT preggo. I will tell YOU when I am pregnant and want you to know.

Recently, crazy excel-genius client of mine looked me straight in the eye and said "Oh my gosh, are you pregnant?" I replied no, but she thought I was lying. When I repeated that I was definitely not pregnant she says, "Its the way you are standing. You look pregnant."

The F?

I am off to go spend some time with my treadmill. Apparently our relationship is suffering.

Why I Am Scared of Oompa Loompas

2010-03-27T12:15:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine is getting married. Woohoo for her! Run and hide for the rest of us who must be forced to spend time with Oompa Loompa bridesmaid from hell.
Oompa Loompa is just that; awkward, pudgy to the point it keeps her from having a normal gait, and tinted an unnatural color of orange.

Do you want this standing next to you at your wedding? Didn't think so.

Recently at a shower for Bride, we were treated to Oompa Loompa in all her glory. You see OL contributed to the truly fabulous shower by A) acting as a director of the party by dictating who got what piece of cake, seriously, and B) providing a total of 4 folding chairs. Anyway, the chairs were fully functional FOLDING chairs. You know the ones you fold for storage in a dusty closet somewhere until your husband decides to start a poker group on Tuesday nights in your living room? I believe they were the Target brand, and I know this because I heart all things Target, with the deep cherry wood colored veneer to make them look more grown up than your average post college furniture. The party wraps up and the rest of us are helping Hostess clean and return her gorgeous house back to its pre-party state, when the Hostess exclaims she is going to start moving the chairs outside to be packed in someones car. You would have thought she said she was going to place someones new white Jimmy Choos in a mud puddle for safekeeping the way OL came unglued.

Scene:

Hostess: There is room in C's car so I am going to start taking these chairs outside to be loaded.

OL (mumbling to herself, which only I overheard as she was solidly within my personal space): Leave the chairs alone, they scratch very easily and I don't want them ruined

Hostess (never hears this) goes to grab chairs and folds 2 of them and heads to front door

OL: Put the F*%&ing Chairs down! I said they scratch easily and you will RUIN them

Hostess: They are folding chairs, I haven't hurt them, but whatev, sorry

OL: You will scratch the wood and I did not bring them all this way to ruin them, unless you are planning on buying me new ones

5 minutes later the rest of the crew are done doing the dishes and in their drunken state come over and decide to move the chairs out of the living room.

Wash, rinse, repeat:

OL: Put the GD F*%$ing chairs down. You will scratch them. Hostess, I will need clean towels to use as covers for the chairs in order to move them!

Hostess: What?

OL: Clean towels. You know, to put in between the chair and the chair back to prevent scratching? I will wash them and mail back to you if it is a big deal.

Hostess: Where are the towels you used to bring them here?

OL: I didn't need them on the way here because I packed them myself, and I know how to properly fold and load them. But I can't do any folding and loading now because my shoes are causing blisters and I cant go outside in this neighborhood barefoot, so your friends will have to do the loading. And they obviously can't be trusted to move anything.

I kid you not. And I get to spend this entire weekend with her at the bachelorette party. Let's hope she comes down with the swine flu today.

P.S., Apparently her family owns a rental company...

Irrational Fears, Devil Children and Vaginas

2010-03-26T12:37:00.001-05:00

I have had this irrational fear that I smell bad for about 4 years.

It all started when my friend Maria and I were babysitting her 4 year old evil niece. We were all sitting around watching Top Model (because 4 year olds should know early on how to smile with their eyes). Out of nowhere, Devil Child comes up to me all innocent puppy eyes, sniffs me, and says:

“You smell like gina.”

That’s right. Like vagina without the va. I was horrified! Who says things like that?! .

Okay NB1, I tell myself, don’t freak out. This is a child and, although she is clearly the long-lost spawn of Shannen Doherty and Scott Disick, I surely must have misunderstood, right?

Me: What was that sweetie? This is me trying to butter up the Devil Child.
DC: You. Smell. Like. Gi. Na.

I full on panicked. I ask Maria if she agrees but she is laughing so uncontrollably that she has started crying and both of them at this point are jumping up and down, pointing their fingers, chanting “You smell like gina! You smell like gina!”

I hadn't been this humiliated since 3rd grade when I wanted with all my heart and soul to hairspray my bangs so that they fanned out oh so coolly like Kelly Kapowski and my mom wouldn’t let me b/c she said I would appreciate it later in life and so then all the girls made fun of me for having boring straight bangs.

I decided I should just go home at that point because if I stayed any longer I would bite that child’s face off and, although it would probably be a totally understandable crime of passion, that damn Nancy Grace would be all over it.

Fastforward to last year when I went to a party where all of Maria’s family was invited. Mind you, ever since this dreadful incident I have showered at least twice daily, I carry deodorant with me at all times, and I have a Costco-sized supply of Summer’s Eve in my bathroom (Too much information? No? Good.). So we are all at this party and Maria tells the story of how DC stole my confidence in one statement. I have heard Maria tell this story several times over the life of our friendship. This time though, DC’s mom is there, laughing at her obviously hilarious and witty child to the point where there are tears in her eyes. Then she says something that changed my life.

DC Mom: There’s a girl in her class whose mom is named Gina. Yes, she pronounced gina like vagina without the va. Who names their child gina?

Me: Seriously? Her name is Gina as in vagina? I needed clarification.
DC Mom: Yes.
Me: Oh………So…what does she smell like?”
DC Mom: Cucumber Melon.

This liberated me. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my armpits. And although some habits are hard to break, like carrying deodorant and showering like a maniac, I have learned to relax a bit and not be so self-conscious. At least about how I smell.

I have also decided, as I was writing this post, that my new alias will now be Gina. So from here on out NB1 will be known as Gina as in vagina without the va.

Love, Gina

SHOESDAY

2010-03-22T19:29:00.001-05:00

Tuesday is Shoesday here at Two Non Blondes. We are so excited about it, that we are posting our first ever joint post!

NB1: Fairly recently we both joined shoe clubs. I joined Shoe Dazzle because I love Kim Kardashian and NB2 joined Shoe Fab because a nasty rumor was spread that Shoe Dazzle is out and Shoe Fab is in. (By the way, we promise we are working on better aliases. NB1 and NB2 makes us sound like reject robots from Short Circuit. Remember Short Circuit? Number 5 is alive! I love that movie.) So anyway, yeah shoes. So the gist is you pay $40/month and shoes are selected for you based on your *style*, you pick a pair and they are shipped to you. Genius.

NB2: The most amazing part is that these clubs have hired professional shoe designers complete with real degrees in shoe shopping, and are all successful business venture peeps who HANDPICK your shoe selections each month. Like a real life personal shoe shopper that I don't have to pay but knows exactly what I like and what I need at exactly the right time. Or so I thought.

To get started you fill out this in-depth personality quiz based on your fashion dreams and inspirations. These quizes are the insight to your personal shoe style fabulousness. Below are some of the *actual* questions and responses from the Shoe Fab quiz I completed to join:

SF (Shoe Fab): Which of the following three shoe styles would you wear to the Grammy's (insert 3 very different shoes, details only semi-important)?

Me: 1st picture looks great but I don't particularly think a nude pump screams Grammy Awards. 2nd picture looks way more *Daytime Emmy* than Grammy Awards, and why would they put a huge yellow flower on bright pink stilettos? Picture 3 is all kinds of awesome and totally worth building an outfit around. I choose picture 3

SF: Who is your style icon: Gwen Stefani, Fergie, or Anne Hathaway?

Me: Well, that totally depends. Gwen Stefani today or circa 1995 Spiderweb? I like Fergie, but not too big on her clothes, or her shoes for that matter. Anne Hathaway? Uh hello?! The very same Devil Wears Prada and Awesome Chanel Boots and Bride Wars Teacher Chic Anne Hathaway? Yes, please!

SF: Which heel hight do you most prefer: flats, mid-height (3-5 inches), or super stripper corked wedge 8 inch platform heels?

Me: Again, this also depends. I have nothing against flats, but I am afraid if I *prefer* flats, I will be sent a selection of birkenstocks and other geriatric type shoes. Also, I am of the belief that wearing flats too often is broadcasting that you have essentially given up on life. I love me some heels but I dont need 12 new pairs of heels within the next year. And 5 inches is considered *mid* height? Ordinarily, wedges make me want to barf. But what else would possibly be appropriate to go out in here in South Texas but innappropriately high wedges which are obviously the new must have shoe? I.So.Need.Strippper.Shoes. Obviously I go with the 8" wedges.

So then I sat back and awaited my first shoe selection from the awesome and not at all confused shoe stylists. My selection arrived and apparently my shoe style is super-slutty-domanatrix-murderer (the heels on these shoes can kill, literally) - meets - hospital chic. Bleh. One particularly disgusting pair was reminiscent of a straight jacket for your feet, in prison grey, no less.

I made the wisest selection I could, and settled for these beauties:

NB1: Since I love shoes and figured the more stylists helping me out the better, I also tried ShoeFab. I, too, had this irrational fear about getting nothing but flats so I for some reason answered all the questions as if I moonlight as a 5’2” drag queen. (Side note: I am not actually a drag queen and I am about 5’7”.) I am also not against flats. I have zillions of flats for every occasion. I just figured I am not that style-deficient that I need a personal shopper to tell me which $40 flats to buy. To make a long story short, the stylists recommended 6 pairs of tranny shoes with heels >5” which would put me right at 6’0”. No thanks.

I then sent them an email saying “Hi, can you please send me shoes that an accountant could wear out on the town but could also wear at work and maybe also to that club that all the young kids go so that I can blend in? Thanks!” This thoroughly confused the people at SF and two days later I received 6 pairs of $40 bedazzled flip flops in my second selection as retaliation. Hence, ShoeFab and I are not friends, but I am happy for NB2 and her new warm and fuzzy relationship.

Life Rule #2 NEVER Steal Another Girl's Bouquet

2010-03-22T17:16:00.000-05:00

I went to a wedding this weekend. It was probably one of the most fun weddings I had ever been to. There was nothing particularly extravagant about this wedding other than there was an open bar and great music.

Anyway, as all weddings go, it eventually came time for the bouquet toss. Now I am not one of those trample-over-my-own-mother-for-the-bouquet kind of girls. I am more like hey-if-it-comes-my-way-and-I-happen-to-catch-it-with-my-super-long-fingers-so-be-it kind of girls. So before my friend, let's call her Maggie, throws the bouquet she tells this story. Apparently she caught this very same bouquet at a wedding a year ago and two weeks later her boyfriend proposed to her so it has like special powers. So after Maggie tells this amazing story about this magic bouquet, she very obviously points the magic bouquet at me and winks like “I’m totally aiming for you” which was awesome b/c I have never in my life caught a bouquet, let alone a bouquet with special powers, and not even best frenemy aimed for me.

Then, as if in slow motion, without even bothering to fake throw it for the photog, Maggie tosses the enchanted magical special powers bouquet and its heading right toward me! As if in slow motion, I ready myself, so excited that she would bequeath this special gift unto me and thinking about how after five years I might finally actually get married and that it will happen before I turn 30 and how when I do get married I will toss this very same bouquet and tell the story of Maggie and her generous heart. Suddenly, out of nowhere, some "sturdy" {NB2 edit - this girl was NOT me} girl in a yellow dress jumps from the other side of the group of girls and totally boxes me out and steals my bouquet! WTF??!! She stole my magic powers, enchanted, superhero bouquet of all bouquets that was purposely tossed to me! I just stood there. Stunned that this girl would have the audacity to do such a thing. I felt like crying. Over a freaking bouquet of fake flowers. (I mentioned the open bar, right?) To make things even more appalling, she doesn't even have a boyfriend (yes, my classy friends went over and asked her).

All of my friends (and most other people at the wedding) agreed that I was totally robbed and tried to devise ways to steal it (grab it while she was dancing), win it (challenge her to an arm wrestling competition) or to get Maggie to do a do-over, but I told them it just wasnt meant to be. I just sincerely hope that if that bouquet-stealing, boyfriend-less sturdy wench gets married before me, she will invite me to her wedding so I can claim what is rightfully mine.

Quote of the Day

2010-03-22T16:43:00.000-05:00

Actual email from NB2 to NB1:

"When you dont return emails (which I understand, I know you have a real job and all) it’s like I am driving without my cell phone. It doesn’t affect my drive any, but it happens to be the time when I realize I want to make like 50 calls. It throws me off. "

What not to say to a person on a diet

2010-03-19T12:45:00.000-05:00

NB1 and I are 2 people in a much larger group participating in a "Biggest Loser" challenge (Larger as in number of people, not necessarily in pounds. Although we do have the lowest BMI's in the group. And we both lost the most during week 1. Being skinny is extra important to us.). Today marks day 7, and thus a weigh in is necessary.

This morning began like most other mornings, I was hit with the urge to stay in bed and face my true calling as a TV show critic, but unfortunately I remembered I had a real job and as I got out of bed, I noticed my stomach flattened out just a little bit more than usual. There may or may not have been a small but tasteful celebration in my mind which included a multicolored fireworks show. I tend to overreact. Then, I remembered it was weigh in day, and suddenly I felt as if my entire body expanded and I suddenly resembled the Fat oompa-loompa bridesmaid from hell I encountered this past weekend (story to come on this crazy bitch in a later post) and I realized today was probably not the day my scale and I became BFFs.

I moped to the bathroom, stripped myself of anything I thought could add extra weight (my watch could totally weight 0.5 pounds, its old and made out of like steel or something) and stepped on the scale praying the number at least didn't go up. I held my breath and looked down, and holy balls I lost 2.5 pounds. I totally could have lost 2.7, but my scale measures in 0.5 pounds, so I assume if I lost 2.7 pounds, it would round to 2.5. I am an accountant, I round numbers all day long.

Anyway, 2.5 pounds was like winning the lottery. I was so excited, I did a little happy dance and jumped in the shower.

Later, after Husband had finally woken up, I stood before him and proudly pronounced "I lost 2.5 pounds, Bitch! What do you think about that?"

Husband replied with a very confused stare, probably because he knows I am not a morning person and rarely even speak before I have a cup of coffee, or large Diet Coke. And then he said the words any wife wants to hear: "Good job, honey that's great. But I never thought you were fat."

Me (in my head) - God I love you. You are so sweet....wait, are you still talking?

He continues with "You are just sturdy." What. The. F. (I totally had to edit NB2. Insert curse words of your choosing here.)

Seriously men, stop when you are ahead. Your response to your girlfriend/wife/mother/any female acquaintance who is openly dieting should be "You look wonderful, why would you want to lose weight?" And when they tell you success stories "That's great, but careful, don't lose too much, you look fantastic as is."

Never. Ever. Use any synonym for fat, including sturdy.

NB2 Response to Toxy McFrenemy Post

2010-03-19T09:05:00.000-05:00

I have heard this story before, plus other stories a la McFrenemy, and trust me, she's a certified loon. But what I really want to talk about is the returning of used clothing items. GROSSNESS.

I have returned my fair share of clothing, but I can assure you the clothes I returned were never worn in public. It completely creeps me out that some cheap ass may have previously bought this shirt, worn it to a bar, Febreezed it, and returned it to the store.

But what really, really disturbes is this video from the Today Show. Watch it, and you too will learn what disgusting secret's Victoria has been hiding all these years.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/03/03/victorias-secret-blooming_n_483941.html

Also, McFrenemy, it was a $20 dress. How cheap are you?

The Adventures of Toxy McFrenemy: The $20 Dress Scandal

2010-03-18T13:08:00.000-05:00

First off, I am super excited about our first follower, George’s Mum. It is such a warm and fuzzy feeling knowing that someone else is reading our nonsense and that NB2 and I are not just writing to amuse one another.

Okay, so I have this “friend” whom I have had since we were freshman in high school. So that’s, what like 14 years? God I am old. Anyway, we had been BFF’s for forever, but recently she has turned into a toxic friend (I shall call her Toxy McFrenemy). I thought this was just a rare occurrence since she was getting married and turned all bridezilla on everyone. In fact I am fairly sure she quoted one particular WeTV Bridezilla without even realizing it. (Side note: If you have never seen an episode of Bridezillas I strongly recommend it. It is mindless, make you feel good about yourself entertainment at its finest. I wasn’t kidding when I said I spend all day watching Wedding Sundays marathons.)

So anyway, I figured once she was FINALLY married she would get over herself (seriously, she talked about this wedding non-stop and it wasn’t even all that great. Not at all like NB2’s amazing wedding, where she had a mac and cheese bar and the groomsmen were taking shots at this super nice country club-like place). **NB2 - Aww, thanks! Mac and cheese is awesome, how could I not serve it at the wedding?!?! **I was so wrong. So rather than go on and on about how psycho Toxy is, I decided I would every now and then give you an example of the Adventures of Toxy McFrenemy and you can tell me if I am making this up in my head or if I should somehow sever this 14 year “friendship.” Also, I am not a mean person. I just think some of the things she does are too good not to blog about. Here we go.

Scene: Two other girls and I have thrown a bachelorette party for Toxy in Vegas. After a few hours of drinking in the room and playing games, we are in our hotel room getting ready for our night out on the town.

Me: I am not sure I like this dress I brought. I feel kind of like a cow/slut. Thoughts, ladies?

Nice Friend 1: You could totally pull it off.

Toxy: Umm, I don’t like it. Here try this one that I brought.

Me: Well, okay. (Tries on dress, fits nicely. Notice the tags are still on so I tuck them in the $19.99 dress to get the full effect.) What about this one?

Toxy: Yes, you should wear that one.

Nice Friend 2: Yeah it’s super cute.

Me: Okay, thanks!

Toxy: Why do you still have the tags on? Take them off.

Me: Are you sure? Ok. (happily continues getting ready)

(As we are leaving)

Toxy: Did you throw the tags away?

Me: Yeah I think so. Why?

Toxy: WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?! I was going to return that dress! Are you going to pay me back for it??!!

Nice Friend 1: Um but you told her to take them off.

Toxy: I MEANT THE HANGER TAGS!!!

Me: Um, that’s fine, I’ll just pay you the $20 for the dress.

Toxy: You better. Plus tax.

Oh Toxy McFrenemy. How I love your snobby cheapness.

NB1: One-Third Life Crisis

2010-03-13T09:58:00.000-06:00

I am having a one-third life crisis. I guess it would help to have a few deets about me to understand this crisis here. I am nearly 30, have an actual grown-up career, and have a b/f. My crisis involves an internal conflict between the ready-to-settle-down-and-wear-a-white-dress-and-be-domesticated-me and the hey-I’m-still-young-and-so-I-better-do-all-the-cool-things-young-people-do-before-its-too-late-me. **NB2 note - I HATE conflict, so I accepted my husband's marriage proposal 2 years ago and am now happily without internal conflict, but with 2 times the laundry, 3 times the grocery bill, and 16 pounds of extra weight. I am an accountant, but even I cant figure out that math. But hey, now I have an excuse to avoid the "cool things young people do."**

Now it may seem like this is a pretty harmless crisis. Its not like I am going to go chuck my b/f of five years and date a 22 year-old, b/c frankly I can’t stand 22 year-old boys and the thought of dating makes me want to vom. Oh yeah and also because I heart my b/f. So what’s the problem, you may be asking. I mean, it doesn’t really affect my day-to-day life until I go shopping. That’s when these two bitches inside me really start going head-to-head. Part of me is like “oh I’ll just go to J Crew and pick up a polo or two and maybe I should get it monogrammed too” and the other part of me is like “Ooh, jeggings! Omg and red snakeskin platform heels! And didn’t Kim Kardashian mention that the nautical look is going to be hot this spring?” It’s exhausting and I hate conflict so I end up buying everything in sight. Oh, and I’ve developed an unnatural obsession over Kim Kardashian within the past month. Probably because of her shoe dazzle fabulousness. I think that’s it. Oh and on Sundays I flip between ANTM marathons and Platinum Wedding Marathons. While doing online makeovers and researching places for my pretend destination wedding.

And yes, I realize I have no life. Whatever.

The worst songs in America: Why I listen to the easy listening station

2010-03-13T08:19:00.000-06:00

**NB1 here. I just wanted to clarify that I do not particularly agree with NB2's views noted below. I happen to love Lady Gaga and her catchy melodies and lyrics and, although I sincerely hope Kesha is saving her earnings since she will probably not be famous for very long, I can't help but dancing in my seat. And also I refuse to succumb to a life of nothing but Phil Collins and Sarah McLauchlan. Okay, passionate qualification over. Enjoy!**

***EDITED TO ADD: I obviously listen to the repeat station including Lady Gaga etc, since I happen to know the words. And I don't particularly like Phil Collins. But repeats of Bad Romance make me want to die a slow death.***

My commute to work is somewhere between 20-30 minutes. I am lucky, I know. But I am also cheap, and decided against purchasing XM satellite radio. So whenever I get in my car, I turn to the radio to provide a distraction from my increasing road rage issues. Over the last month, I hear the same 6 or 7 songs on the radio all day every day. And when I pay attention to the words, I want to swerve my car into the 18 wheeler in the lane to the right of me. Either that or forget to look in my side mirrors and crash into the woman who has comfortably snuggled into my blind spot while putting on her makeup.

I am ok with ridiculous songs, but some are just AWFUL. I can’t take it anymore. Here is what I mean:

Lyric:Response

Sexy B*tch (aka Sexy Chick), by Akon

They say she low down, it’s just a rumor and I don’t believe ‘em: Dude, rumors are normally right on. You should totally believe them.

She’s nothing like a girl you’ve ever seen before: oooh, does she have a 3rd boob? or maybe a 2nd nose? Cause, as a girl, I doubt there is something she has that I don’t

Nothing you can compare to your neighborhood hoe (actually lyric finding website, I think the correct lyric is whore): Well, probably true since my house is surrounded by people in their twilight years. No offense to the elderly, I am sure some find a way to keep it sexy

I am trying to find a word to describe this girl without being disrespectful: Too late. You basically called her a whore already. But just in case, other words you might use would be street-walker, lady of the night, Ru Paul, or hooka, unless you find these words disrespectful as well.

Moving on -

Tic Toc by Ke$ha – was the “$” necessary?

Wake up in the morning feeling like P Diddy: sucks for you girl, waking up feeling like a man

Put my glasses on, I’m out the door, I’m gonna hit this city. Before I leave brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack: Um, gross. Morning breath + Jack equals certain fire hazard.

Cause when I leave for the night, I ain’t comin back: wait, you are leaving for the rest of the day and night? Wow, you have serious energy. You just said it was the morning when you woke up. I am confused.

Boys blowin up our phones, phones: well, it was that or talk to you in person, and you brushed your teeth with Jack. You should have used Peppermint Schnapps

Ain’t got no care in the world, but got plenty of beer: Are you saying beer is only for pensive people with borderline depression?

Ain’t got no money in my pocket, but I’m already here: So the club lets you bring in beer? Wow, I am sort of jealous. But where are you storing it all night? Carrying it around until you “see the sunlight” might make for a bad night

But we kick ‘em to the curb unless they look like Mick Jagger: Do you know who Mick Jagger is? Have you seen Mick Jagger? Didn’t think so.

Now the party don’t start ’til I walk in: Clearly, you are bringing the beer.

And finally -

Telephone, by Lady Gaga/Beyonce

Hello, hello baby, you called, I can’t hear a thing. I’ve got no service in the club you say, say (or see, see): Fact: no service=no call. What you meant was you can’t hear because you are in a club with music. Which makes me wonder how you heard the phone ring.

I cannot text you with a drink in my hand: wow, she is being responsible and not condoning texting while drinking. It’s great to see a pop star being responsible

Stop callin, stop callin, I don’t want to think anymore: Stop answering.

Not that I don’t like you, I am just at a party: Um, I am thinking you don’t like him

And I am sick and tired of my phone ringing: Turn. It. Off. End of problem.

I have these conversations in my head almost every time I hear these songs, which is 5 times an hour on the radio. Which is why I listen to soft rock, the best of the 80’s, 90’s and today. It’s awesome and plays everything from Sting, to Meredith Brooks, to the guy that won American Idol. And I don’t think they play the same song more than 1 time a day.

NB2

Rule #1 - Never Share a Karaoke Stage with a Couch

2010-03-13T08:16:00.000-06:00

Hi. V here. Let me tell you about my weekend.

On Saturday, my aunt decides she wants her b-day party at a karaoke bar that is in the non-classy side of town (I come from a long line of karaoke’ers from the non-classy side of town) and I’m like, yeah I’m down, whatever, and I entice a couple of friends to join me with promises of not staying very long. To our surprise two burly men drag a couch onto the stage and all of a sudden the karaoke bar turns into a strip club, complete with a stripper named Diamond. I could not make this up if I tried. Half of me is like, “woohoo! two bars in one!” because I love a good deal. The other half of me is like, uh, I hope this doesn’t cut into the karaoke rotation b/c I really want to sing.

Anywho, after the trainwreck named Diamond is over, a couple people sing and then its my turn. The joy and adrenaline of hearing your name called at a karaoke bar is like none other, by the way. So I go up and give it my all. I am in the midst of an extremely passionate version of “Total Eclipse of the Heart” when I engage my power stance. Yes, a power stance. Don’t act like you don’t know. So somehow, while in power stance initiation, I manage to catch my brand new Kim Kardashian Shoedazzle hotness on the stripper couch, which I guess Diamond was too lazy to haul off with her. I hobble a bit but power through the end of the song with not a hint of struggle in my voice. I felt like Kerri Strugg or whoever that Olympic gymnast was that broke her whatever and did the flips and won the gold. Go me.

Anyway, turns out I sprained my ankle. Badly. And here I am sentenced to wearing unflattering flats everyday to the office as if I have given up on life. I wish there was happy ending but no. There is however a Life rule: Never share a karaoke stage with a couch. And a stripper named Diamond. On the non-classy side of town.

P.S. I lied. I was singing “What’s Up” by 4 non-blondes was in the middle of the part where she says “Yeah yeah yeah! I said he-ey, what’s going on?!” Don’t judge.

What are we doing here

2010-03-13T08:11:00.000-06:00

Welcome to Two Non Blondes. We are, in fact, two girls who are not blonde.

Nonblonde 1 (or V) and myself (Nonblonde 2), are perfect skinny (in our heads and only in the morning when we are laying in bed and the fat lays flat. By the way, the smart ass in italics is NB1 ) brunettes who spend a good portion of our day emailing about the truly important things in life (see life lessons/rules below) and other random thoughts. Since we are nice people (the term “nice” is used loosely), we thought we would share with the rest of the world.

A recurring theme in our conversations: basic rules of life. Most of these are based on actual persons or events witnessed by one or both of us. Some recently noted rules include:

1. You should date someone who is bigger in stature than yourself, because you automatically look smaller when standing next to them. Same theory applies to surrounding yourself with people less intelligent than your self. Who doesn’t love being the smart one in the room? (And being the person who makes the most money. Shallow, yes. But rewarding. When feeling down just surround yourself by people who majored in something interesting and now make nothing. Life is better just like that.)

2. Hand sanitizer is not an acceptable alternative to hand washing, i.e, using soap and water, after using the restroom, even if it is made available in public restrooms. Yes, I am talking to you woman on the second floor, and I am fairly certain that if I wasn’t standing at the sink, you wouldn’t have even bothered with the Purell. (Gross)

3. On the topic of public restrooms, likely the last stall is the handicap accessable stall. If there are four stalls are available, use the first or third stall. No one wants to be forced to use the handicap stall if they don’t need to, and no one wants to pee directly next to you. It’s proper etiquette, not to mention required personal space. The same goes for urinals, I have been told. (Yes, several of our life lessons involve bathroom etiquette. It needs to be preached.)

4. Join an online shoe club. Even if you never purchase a shoe, the “personally selected shoe styles” are delivered monthly and are a source of great entertainment.

Ooh, Millionaire Matchmaker is on. That show makes me feel like a genius.

NB2

P.S. I know you are all like, oh two chicks, double the reading pleasure. This is most likely not going to be the case. In actuality, we are just each twice as lazy as a normal person and therefore can only maintain a blog if two people perform the task of one. Whatever. Please keep reading. Please. Hearts, NB1