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I’m not sure who started it.

Well, actually, it was probably me, because it seems like most of the annoying habits practiced in this house get started by yours truly.

But anyway.

It has become sort of a thing around here to converse in jingles or catchy rhythms from commercials. Sometimes it’s a snippet from a song or some other little melody, but mostly it’s commercial jingles, because they’re so annoyingly catchy. You could walk around in our house for an entire day and hear pretty much everything we have to say to each other sung to the tune of either “Activi-aaaah!” or “Cri-stah-al Liiiiight!”

Clearly, we don’t get out much.

Lately the Allstate commercial has been getting some play. So it was no surprise when the boyfriend bounded up the stairs yesterday to distract me from my work, which has become one of his new favorite things to do since watching curling lost its appeal about 10 seconds in.

He’s all smiles, as he always is when he’s about to do something he knows I won’t like. He wanders around the office for a bit, slides his cold hands up my shirt, and then breaks into song.

“Breaking up is ha-ah-ard too-ooo-oo do!”

Hands drop. He’s suddenly serious, giving me his most deadpan expression.

“Get out.”

He laughs.

“Actually, that was pretty easy.”



It’s common knowledge that when girls get together, all we talk about is lip gloss, guys, and fashion. Right?


Not my girlfriends. When we get together, we talk about the finer points of life: blow jobs, farts, and personal grooming habits of our lady bits.

We’re a classy bunch.

I was lucky enough to meet these ladies about a year and a half ago when I caught an ad on Craigslist for a book club. Really, though, the group was made up of a hodgepodge collection of girls who had recently transplanted to California for a variety of reasons, all of whom were really only looking to make some friends.

It seems I was the only nerd actually looking for a book club.

Anyway, fate threw us together, and a shared love for all things taboo took care of the rest. The “book club,” while still technically operational, quickly dropped in importance and gave way to weekly girls’ nights and the occasional drunken fiasco.

It was truly the best of times.

Alas, for everything there is a season. One of those skeezes up and moved back to Boston six months ago to be with her family. Another followed suit a few months later, trading California for Oregon. Still another is scheduled to flee the country to Greece this coming June.


Needless to say, when we do manage to get everybody back together in the same place, magic happens. Which is exactly what went down last weekend. We had a full four days of everybody back within the same general geographic location. So we made the most of it.

We ate our weight in deliciously crappy food. We had a slumber party. I busted out my lip-syncing skills. We held an impromptu dance-off. We did things in front of each other that no girl should *ever* witness her girlfriends do.

Frankly, I am uncomfortable with the level of comfort we have reached with each other.

But I’m grateful for it. My socially awkward self has found a niche in which my inappropriate and lewd comments are not only accepted but encouraged.

Exhibit A:
(sitting around smoking hookah in a hookah bar – because, yes, we are rebellious 18 year-olds – and discussing the relative merits of anal sex)

Me: Boston loves anal sex.

Boston: Totally, I do.*

Me: I think it’s overrated.

Boston: You finally tried it?

Me: Yeah. Not so into it.

Hookah Guy comes over to refill our hookah, a fact to which I, clearly excited over all this talk about anal, am completely oblivious.

Greece: Maybe that’s because you did it while you were camping.

Me: (offended, and therefore even louder and more boisterous than usual) Dude, we didn’t do anal in a tent in the woods. (pause) We were at a resort!

Awkward silence ensues when I realize to my horror that Hookah Guy is standing in front of us. My friends erupt into hysterical laughter as Hookah Guy gives an amused half-smile and lingers for much longer than necessary, clearly hoping for more dirty details.

I know you’re wondering how these girls could possibly want to move away from all this goodness. Also, Hookah Guy wandered by every 5 minutes for the rest of the night. I am pretty sure I have my picture on their wall now.

* I may be taking creative liberties here. That’s maybe not exactly how her portion of the dialogue played out. But it’s my blog and I do what I want.

I’ve been trying to write a New Year’s post for a couple of days now, but between binge drinking and family gatherings I’ve been a little pressed for time. Also, this is the first year I’m less excited about the New Year and much more apprehensive. 2009 was alright, whereas I’m getting the feeling 2010 is going to feel a little like getting beaten up on a consistent basis. But whether we’re ready for what this year holds or not, it’s coming. Or is actually already here, since I am so awesome at time management.

Anyway, I felt like I should do something to honor the mediocrity that was 2009. I was trying to do this little quiz thing that I saw on one of my favorite blogs, but I was stuck on some of the answers and everything came out sounding kind of lame and convoluted. Plus, I apparently have a very hard time keeping my years straight, because I was trying to dredge up shit from 2007. I am completely lacking a concept of time. Anyway, rather than make you read ALL of my lame answers, here’s just a few:

Q: What did you do in 2009 that you’d never done before?

Oh, so many things! I burned my foot on a fire pit. I sprained my finger in a foreign country. I went camping on an island with no access to any supplies but the ones we brought with us (read: no beer). I puked out the side of a tent. It was a year for firsts.

Q: What would you like to have in 2010 that you lacked in 2009?

Expendable income. A smaller appetite for chocolate and all things unhealthy.

Q: What date from 2009 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:

November 4th – when sweet baby Noah was born. December 15th – for reminding me that life is never satisfied unless it’s giving you the occasional kick in the balls. And December 16th – when my beautiful niece made her debut.

Q: What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Is it sad that I can’t think of anything I accomplished this year? Yikes. Too much partying, 2009. Oh wait. I read 100 books. Which is super nerdy and sort of lame to be my biggest achievement. But that’s what I got.

Q: What was your biggest failure?

Can my biggest failure be that I didn’t really accomplish anything of value this year? Because I think that’s a big enough failure. No?

Q: What was the best thing you bought?

I would say the Wii fit. But I’ve neglected it completely after using it for a week. It now serves as a hiding space for spiders, so clearly I don’t want to touch it anymore.

Q: Where did most of your money go?

Fireballs and porn.

Q: What did you get really, really, really excited about?

See above.

Q: Did you fall in love in 2009?

Only with babies. 

Aaaaand with that statement, I just made it on to To Catch a Predator’s watchlist.

Q: How many one-night stands?

I am way too committed and old to be having one-night stands. So only 5.

Q: What was the best book you read?

There’s really no way to answer that with one, but among my favorites were: The Help by Kathryn Stockett, Hunting and Gathering by Anna Gavalda, The Book Thief by Markus Zusak, and The God of Small Things by Ahrundati Roy. There were other 5-star books I read, but those are the ones that made the biggest impression.

Q: What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 26. We spent the weekend camped on a very windy island shooting warm tequila and wearing our sweatshirts up over our mouths and down over our eyes to keep out the sand. Twas awesome.

Q: Which celebrity/ public figure did you fancy the most?

I have an unhealthy adoration of Jason Segel.

Q: Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2009:

I am far too old for all-nighters. While shooting darts, drinking, and sucking ass at guitar hero until 11 am the following morning SEEMS like a great idea, this is what my face looked like on New Year’s Day.

I swear I looked just like that.

I wouldn’t have minded 2009 staying around a while. We had fun.

We had a baby!

The newest addition

OK, not a real baby … but still. It’s pretty amazing when you think about the fact that we never even knew any of our fish were pregnant. I’m thinking of writing in to that “I Didn’t Know I Was Pregnant” show so they can feature my fish. Although I’m pretty sure she probably knew she was pregnant. But still. Anyway, to be perfectly honest, we were a little late figuring out that this one was even born. I was just looking in the tank a couple weeks ago and saw this little guy swimming around. And for those of you who don’t know anything about fish, the adult fish usually eat them when they’re born if you don’t take them out of the tank. And there are usually something like 6 born at a time. In a litter or whatever the hell you call broods of baby fish. But this one was already this big when I first found him. Which means that I am completely unobservant this stealthy little guy managed to hide well enough to avoid being ingested by the bigger fish or sucked up by the water filter AND find enough teeny food to survive, because you’re supposed to give them special newborn food which obviously we didn’t. So he’s pretty much my hero. We’re calling him Darwin. Sadly, he is the only little guy in the tank, which means his other fishy siblings were not so lucky.

Survival of the fittest.

I am going to be an awesome mom.

***Tune in tomorrow for my very timely New Year’s post. Because what fun is doing things on time? That’s so 2009.***

I wish I had a really good story to tell about why I haven’t posted in a month, like that I got detained on the way out of the Dominican Republic by the Policia Turista (the tourist police, although I have no doubt I spelled that wrong) who all the locals in the Dominican Republic swear are mafiosos. And how they spent days beating me up in a small windowless room underneath the airport until I finally caved and admitted to being a drug mule. But no. Nothing cool like that ever happens to me.

Still, I’ve been busy. I’ve accomplished many an important thing since I last posted. I sprained a finger in a foreign country and spent my last two days there walking around with one bloody, Shrek-sized hand. I lost $200 at the casino conveniently located right next door to our hotel. And I wasn’t even playing with foreign currency, so it’s not like I didn’t know how badly I was doing. I got lost trekking from the all-night pizza joint back to our hotel room because the boyfriend and I got in a fight and he stalked off. Lest you think he was being a douche by leaving me, the pizza joint was on the resort property and I had a room key. Also, it was like our third day there. It took me 45 minutes of drunken stumbling in various directions, but I found our room eventually, thereby illustrating my innate sense of direction. In another moment of personal brilliance, I got a little too confident in my Spanish skills and accidentally told a shopkeeper that me and my boyfriend “are pregnant” when what I meant to say was that we “are drunk,” all whilst he was pouring us something like our tenth shot.

So yeah, good trip. And just so you don’t think all my recent adventures were on foreign soil, I’ve been pretty busy since I came home, too. I had several doctor’s appointment pertaining to the aforementioned sprained finger and other vacation misadventures. I shook off my usual Grinch-y temperament and actually put up decorations. I’ve baked and eaten an obscene amount of holiday baked goods, including two trays of peppermint bark that I made for an event that I didn’t end up going to. I’ve done at least 4 loads of laundry. In a month. I’m sure you can imagine what my closet looks like right now. Most importantly, however, I’ve been busy welcoming this little girl into the world.

BUT, all that said, it’s still been a freaking MONTH since I last posted. And I realize that all four of you actually reading this blog may be tired of clicking on the site to see the same tired post about my feathery crotch. So I’m making it my New Year’s Resolution to begin posting with some semblance of regularity. Until then, I promise nothing.

I’ve been doing some self-discovery lately.

Not that kind of self-discovery, you dirty birds. Today’s post has nothing to do with manual exploration, empowering speeches, and a handheld mirror.*

I will, however, take advantage of the fact that I’ve already delved into awkward territory to tell you about the most notable event of my day. This morning, whilst I stumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom, I looked down and saw – what’s this? –

A feather.

In my skivvies.

It was a mildly disturbing discovery which, seeing as I didn’t hit any strip clubs last night, led me to the only logical conclusion – that Big Bird snuck in my window and accosted me in my sleep. And given the lack of discomfort that you would typically associate with being overpowered by a big ass bird, I couldn’t have been protesting too much. Apparently a sleepy me is a willing participant in just about anything.

But that’s not the only thing I’ve learned about myself lately. Oh no – I’ve been on a fact-finding mission these last couple of days. A few of the other tidbits of wisdom I’ve acquired:

~ I can make an alarmingly large dent in a 3-lb. tub of chocolate cookie dough. By myself. Within a 24-hour period. This after I spent all of last week eating leftover cupcakes from my sister’s baby shower. I’m sure to be bikini ready by Monday.

~ I apparently exude saint-like vibes. Or really devilish ones. I can’t be certain. But for whatever reason, I received a follow request from “Disciples Like Jesus” on Twitter. So I looked them up, and they’re a group that shares tips about how to raise your child biblically or to be Jesus-like or something along those lines. So naturally they would want to follow me. Because clearly I am ultra religious with my slovenly ways and propensity for swearing.

~ I need to stop drinking. OK, this isn’t truly something that’s just come to my attention, but after last Thursday’s two bottles of wine and awakening from a semi-comatose state to discover I’ve been having a very one-sided conversation about “mushroom kitchens”** for twenty minutes while my boyfriend once again questioned why he is still with me, I think it’s time to tone it down. After vacation, of course. Because you haven’t really seen a foreign country until you’ve stumbled drunkenly down its streets.

And that’s all for today’s lesson, kids. Tune in next time for “More Things You Didn’t Really Care to Know About Me and Now Hope Desperately to Forget.”

* Please don’t tell me you’ve never seen Fried Green Tomatoes.

** I’m still fairly certain I was trying to say “mushroom chicken” because obviously I spend a little too much time thinking about food. My boyfriend swears it was “mushroom kitchen,” though, and apparently I then began talking about Mario Brothers, so maybe he’s onto something. All I know is that I regained consciousness to him staring at me and the distinct feeling I had just been talking. Heh. Fail.

Isn’t it funny how the things that annoy us in other people are traits we have ourselves? Is that just me? Like I absolutely HATE when someone is too indecisive to make a decision when I’m asking them a question, and yet I am hands-down the most indecisive person you will ever meet. I’m that girl who spends ten minutes going back and forth between two items in the grocery store and finally picks one only to walk three steps, turn around, and come back to repeat the process. I’m MADDENING. And I realize this. So you would think I would have some compassion for similarly indecisive people. Not so.

There is very little that gets me more frustrated than asking someone a question such as, “Where do you want to go for dinner?” and hearing, “Um, wherever you want,” in response. Or “I’m good for anything.” Those are my answers, people! I can’t even stand to make decisions for myself, so the absolute last thing I want to do is make one that affects you, too. And the worst is, “I don’t care!” Because as soon as you break down and make a decision for someone who’s been chirping “I don’t care! I like everything!” to every question you ask them, you see their forehead wrinkle and their nose kind of curl up like they’ve just smelled day-old unwashed ass (not that I, oh me of little showers, know what this smells like. I’m just sayin’). Because they do care. I mean, I pull this same trick, so I know. They do care about the outcome, they just think they’re being more polite by deferring.

So the moral of the story is, if you have an opinion – say so! And if you actually don’t have an opinion, but you’re talking to me, make one up anyway. Because I’m already on probation, and I don’t need any more assault charges.

That said, I’m going to start replacing indecisive people in my life with ones who will man up and make all my decisions for me. Which means I need to replace the following: 40% of my family and 65% of my friends. Oh, and my boyfriend, because when I asked him what he wanted for lunch today I got a, “Whatever you like, babe,” resulting in the punching of a wall and the writing of this post.

Dude. Could it be hotter here? I think there’s supposed to be some cosmic law that it can’t be over 80 degrees in November. I know we don’t technically have seasons here, but come on. If we’re getting screwed into it being “nighttime” when it gets dark at 4:30 in the afternoon, it should at least be cool enough outside to have to wear long sleeves. I went to the store at 8 pm in a tank top last night. A tank top. In November. And the only reason I wasn’t wearing shorts along with that tank top is because the ones I was wearing before I left my house make my butt look really big. So I changed into pants. Because I’m pretty sure that even the really friendly clientele who frequent the crafts store don’t want to see me looking like I’m wearing a diaper. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, I should probably just throw those shorts away.

Anyway, my point is, it’s supposed to feel like fall. Or fall for Southern California, anyway. Which is at least a cool 60 degrees. We’re going on vacation to the Dominican Republic in a couple of weeks, and if it doesn’t cool down here before then, we’ll be leaving one 80-degree location for another (far prettier) 80-degree location. When in my imagination I totally planned on exiting the plane in my parka and cold weather clothes and being so overcome by the heat that I strip down to my bikini on the tarmac a la Baywatch Airport Edition.

What, you never saw that spinoff?

I don’t want it to sound like I’m complaining because I know most people would kill to do it, but working from home can have its drawbacks.  At least people who work outside of the home don’t have to be forced to engage in basic hygiene. But since I spend most of the day in my house not seeing anyone, the bar keeps creeping lower and lower.

I brushed my teeth today at 11 am. I finally put a bra on at 2:00. The only reason I’m not still in my pajamas right now is because I realized in a panic at 2:40 that I offered to pick my little brother up from school today which prompted a mad dash for jeans and a quick comb through the hair before I ran out the door. And when I got back? Straight back to my slippers.

At least I didn’t put my pajamas back on.