You guys remember how I got my hair cut on Saturday? Well, I got my hair cut on Saturday. And I kind of sort of liked it until I took a shower and tried to fix it myself. All was going well . . . the washing, the conditioning, the towel-drying. But then I got to the blow-drying and the brushing and whatnot and I just stared at my assortment of hair-doing tools in befuddlement (aside: Heather Anne, I think "befuddlement" should be added to the list of words we should say more). And the hairdryer, the round brush, and the flatiron just stared back all, "what, you think WE know what to do?" They were no help whatsoever! What I'm trying to say is, this morning was the first day I actually got my hair to look somewhat like what it looked like on Saturday when I left the salon. Which is good, because I was getting really really close to just shaving it all off. I suck at being a girl. SIGH.
Also, you know how it's wedding season? Well, it's wedding season. And while I will not be doing any wedding crashing (unless someone else is up for it, maybe?), I do have two weddings to go to next month. I found this 28-day workout online the other day and then realized that conveniently, I had exactly 29 days until the first wedding. I did the math and I think I have time. So all week long I have been eating super nutritiously (is that a word?) and working out every day and, Internets, my legs hurt ever so much today. Ow, for real. The worst part is that I made banana bread over the weekend and even though my tummy tried to tell me that it was totally healthy because it has fruit in it, my brain said NO! PUT IT DOWN! Every time I start to feel weak and like I want to eat 100 million pounds of chips and salsa, I pull the dress I'm wearing to the first wedding out of my closet and stare at it and think about how awful it would be to have to wear a burlap sack or garbage bag or something because I can't fit into the dress anymore. STUPID WEDDINGS! ALWAYS WITH THE MAKING ME FEEL BAD ABOUT MYSELF! Unmarried, childless, 300 pounds, and SHORT. SHORT! Just kidding, I don't really care about the first two things and I am aware that I don't really weigh 300 pounds and the short thing . . . eh, I've gotten used to climbing on counters for things on the top shelf.
Oh, you guys, Heidi and I had the BEST EVER Conversations With My Roommate last night. I feel like I should give you some kind of warning for this, but I don't know how. Oh well . . .
Me [reading sign in front of a church]: Jesus is right for whatever is wrong.
Heidi: Hmm.
Me: Anything? What about unplanned pregnancy?
Heidi: What about butt sex?
Me: Hahaha. This is total Conversations With My Roommate material.
Heidi: That's for sure.
Me: And you won't sound like Kimmie Gibbler's boyfriend this time.
Heidi: No. I don't think he ever talked about butt sex.
Me: Yeah, I don't think Full House ever had a Very Special Episode about butt sex.
Heidi: They should have, though.
Me: Totally. DJ would have gone to Danny and been all, "Dad, Steve really wants me to have butt sex."
Heidi: And Danny would be like, "Well, Deej, as long as you use some Spic & Span to clean up afterward."
Me: Hahahaha.
Heidi: And then the special music would start.
Me: The tinkly piano.
Heidi: Right, the very special butt sex episode music.
Me: I cannot believe we just had a conversation that included Jesus, Full House, and butt sex.
Heidi: It happens.
Don't say I didn't warn you. Oh wait, I didn't. In any case, I think I'm going to start tape recording Heidi and I at all times because I can never remember all of the inappropriateness. And really, conversations about butt sex deserve to be remembered properly, don't you think?
Showing posts with label weddings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weddings. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Sunday, May 06, 2007
My point is, a penis, when seen in the right context, is the most wonderful sight for a woman. But in the wrong context, it is like a monster movie.
Hello, Internets. How are you? I'm really tired. I had A Weekend. A Good Weekend, don't worry. I'm totally going to do one of those weekend recaps, too, and I'm not going to apologize for it. Because I'm tired, you see. So just shut up and deal with it. Don't be so selfish. Geez.
On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.
THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.
I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!
Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.
OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.
On Friday, a bunch of us got together at a Mexican restaurant, partly to celebrate Heidi and my birthdays (even though they were last week, we like to stretch out the celebration as much as possible) but mostly for the margaritas. We went to that restaurant where I fell into the men's bathroom, but I don't think anyone who works there remembered me. Whew. Anyway, the restaurant party moved to a bar and then moved back to our apartment and I stayed up until 4 AM KNOWING FULL WELL that I had to be up at 8:30. Apparently turning 25 did not make me any smarter. Good to know.
THE REASON I had to be up early the next morning was because some friends (Nancy, Stephanie, and Nancy's mom) and I were traveling to the far reaches of Findlay, Ohio for a bridal shower. And even though this bridal shower was for one of my best friends, I was not really looking forward to it because, well, I hate showers of the bridal and baby variety. I hate them. I hate them hate them hate them with the fire of a thousand suns. I hate being fake nice to everyone, I hate trying to practically fake an orgasm while the bride-to-be opens a set of dishtowels and I ESPECIALLY hate the stupid games you have to play. Like the one where you have to make a wedding dress out of toilet paper? The last time I had to do that I wanted to throw a tantrum and ball up all the toilet paper and set it on fire. I didn't, but I totally thought about it.
I needn't have worried, though, because this was the best bridal shower ever. First of all, the food was SO GOOD. It was so fancy and pretty and delicious, even though I didn't really know what I was eating. Because, you see, I am not fancy. When I saw the spread my first thought was "where are the cocktail wieners?" Even watching The Opening of the Presents was OK because Whitney has fantastic taste and everything she registered for was so so pretty. I'm thinking of having a fake wedding just so I can get lots of presents. Would anyone be interested in marrying me and divorcing me a year later? You can have half of the presents (maybe). Win win (win)!
Anyway, the main reason this was the best bridal shower ever was because there was a martini bar. Also, wine. And somehow my wine glass never stayed empty! It was amazing. And then, after the shower, we went to Whitney's parents' house to eat pizza and, oh, also drink more. I was thinking about it today, and I think aside from a glass or two of water yesterday, I was drinking some form of alcohol pretty much from 2 PM to 11 PM. I think my liver has given up. FINALLY.
OK, Internets, and now I am going to talk about something very gross and inappropriate. Nancy's mom brought this video with her of some show that was in NYC called Puppetry of the Penis. Basically these two guys bend and stretch their penises into all these different shapes (i.e. wristwatch, hamburger, Loch Ness Monster) in front of an audience. That's it. I'm not sure what their intention was, but if it was to make me never want to see another penis again then they succeeded. I think it was The Windsurfer that did it. Oh man, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.
That was pretty much the climax of the evening (so to speak) so we went back to the hotel. Um, The end. I can't think of anything else to tell you. I blame the penises, they broke my brain.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Fact: Bears eat beets. Bears. Beets. Battlestar Galactica.
The other night I had this dream that I came into work and there was a check sitting on my desk. "Who is this check for?" I asked my coworker. "Ha, you're silly," she said. "It's your check! Your tax refund check!"
I'll admit, even in the dream I thought it was strange that my coworker was giving me my tax refund check, but I went with it. Mostly because it involved me getting money and if it involves me getting money I'll do almost anything. ALMOST, I said. Anyway, so I opened up this check and immediately got pissed because they'd given me $200 less than what I'd been expecting. So, I went up to my coworker all angry and red-faced and shaky and waved the check in her face.
"Where's the rest of my money?" I shouted. She stared. I stared. And huffed and puffed and tried to blow her cubicle down but I couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's all there."
"Um, no it's not," I said, and slammed the check down on her desk. "There is $200 missing."
"Ooooh! Hahaha," she laughed, risking me punching her in the face and/or babymaker. "That's because they took taxes out!"
Taxes out. Of my tax refund check. My brain is broken, I swear. I am dreaming of tax refunds. I am dreaming of sweet, sweet tax refunds. Although, hopefully there are no taxes taken out of the real one (seriously?) or I really will be forced to punch someone in the face and/or babymaker. So what I'm saying, Government, is that I could really use that money. If you could deposit that in my account today, I'd really appreciate it. You see, all of my friends decided to get married and for some reason all of the bridal showers/bachelorette parties/weddings/receptions are not being held in Dayton. But Dayton is where I am! And the world revolves around me, right?
OK, I know it doesn't, but it totally should.
I'll admit, even in the dream I thought it was strange that my coworker was giving me my tax refund check, but I went with it. Mostly because it involved me getting money and if it involves me getting money I'll do almost anything. ALMOST, I said. Anyway, so I opened up this check and immediately got pissed because they'd given me $200 less than what I'd been expecting. So, I went up to my coworker all angry and red-faced and shaky and waved the check in her face.
"Where's the rest of my money?" I shouted. She stared. I stared. And huffed and puffed and tried to blow her cubicle down but I couldn't.
"What are you talking about?" she asked. "It's all there."
"Um, no it's not," I said, and slammed the check down on her desk. "There is $200 missing."
"Ooooh! Hahaha," she laughed, risking me punching her in the face and/or babymaker. "That's because they took taxes out!"
Taxes out. Of my tax refund check. My brain is broken, I swear. I am dreaming of tax refunds. I am dreaming of sweet, sweet tax refunds. Although, hopefully there are no taxes taken out of the real one (seriously?) or I really will be forced to punch someone in the face and/or babymaker. So what I'm saying, Government, is that I could really use that money. If you could deposit that in my account today, I'd really appreciate it. You see, all of my friends decided to get married and for some reason all of the bridal showers/bachelorette parties/weddings/receptions are not being held in Dayton. But Dayton is where I am! And the world revolves around me, right?
OK, I know it doesn't, but it totally should.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Hello, Vegas? Yeah, we would like some more alcohol. And you know what else? We would like some more beers. Hello? Oh, I forgot to dial!
February has been a long, strange month. Not necessarily good or bad, just weird. It's OK. I like weird. I got a new job, other stuff happened, good times. Is it weird to say February was long? Because compared to other months . . . it's not. You know? Not TIME-WISE anyway. Yeah, I don't know what I'm babbling about either.
I got an invite to a bridal shower/bachelorette party yesterday. I'm pretty psyched. Not so much about the bridal shower because that will involve a lot of acting like a grown up, but I am all over the bachelorette party. You know, I have five friends who are engaged right now. That is a lot of weddings. Also, that is a lot of wedding dates. I should start recruiting now. Responsibilities for my wedding date include but are not limited to: dancing with me after I am drunk enough to want to dance, getting me drinks, making sure I miss the bouquet toss, picking me up after I fall down, and carrying my heels after I kick them off because I'm tired of falling down. Now that I look at that list, I'm not sure my friends really want me at their wedding. ALSO, if Jake Gyllenhaal or John Krasinski want to be my date(s), they don't have to do any of that stuff. They can just sit there and look pretty.
I also found out that my roommate from college had a baby. A BABY. A tiny lifeform that she is responsible for keeping alive! Scary. I just find it hard to wrap my brain around the fact that the girl who one night got drunk and wandered around the sorority house parking lot wearing one sandal and carrying a trashcan is now a mother. It's so strange that all these people around me are doing grown up things, like getting married and having babies and buying houses. It makes me think I should be doing these grown up things, but I don't really want a husband or a house or a baby. ESPECIALLY not a baby. I like spending my weekends riding mechanical bulls and sitting around in my pajamas watching The Hills (don't judge) and taking long road trips JUST BECAUSE. You can't do those things with a baby. Well, you can probably watch The Hills with a baby, but I don't think it would understand all the drama. I mean, I have a hard time keeping up with all the drama and, while I sometimes doubt my intelligence, I'm going to go out on a limb and say I am slightly smarter than a baby.
I got an invite to a bridal shower/bachelorette party yesterday. I'm pretty psyched. Not so much about the bridal shower because that will involve a lot of acting like a grown up, but I am all over the bachelorette party. You know, I have five friends who are engaged right now. That is a lot of weddings. Also, that is a lot of wedding dates. I should start recruiting now. Responsibilities for my wedding date include but are not limited to: dancing with me after I am drunk enough to want to dance, getting me drinks, making sure I miss the bouquet toss, picking me up after I fall down, and carrying my heels after I kick them off because I'm tired of falling down. Now that I look at that list, I'm not sure my friends really want me at their wedding. ALSO, if Jake Gyllenhaal or John Krasinski want to be my date(s), they don't have to do any of that stuff. They can just sit there and look pretty.
I also found out that my roommate from college had a baby. A BABY. A tiny lifeform that she is responsible for keeping alive! Scary. I just find it hard to wrap my brain around the fact that the girl who one night got drunk and wandered around the sorority house parking lot wearing one sandal and carrying a trashcan is now a mother. It's so strange that all these people around me are doing grown up things, like getting married and having babies and buying houses. It makes me think I should be doing these grown up things, but I don't really want a husband or a house or a baby. ESPECIALLY not a baby. I like spending my weekends riding mechanical bulls and sitting around in my pajamas watching The Hills (don't judge) and taking long road trips JUST BECAUSE. You can't do those things with a baby. Well, you can probably watch The Hills with a baby, but I don't think it would understand all the drama. I mean, I have a hard time keeping up with all the drama and, while I sometimes doubt my intelligence, I'm going to go out on a limb and say I am slightly smarter than a baby.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)