Friday, December 16, 2011

Welcome to the Sh*t Show (Pardon my French.)

Yesterday I experienced my first colon cleanse, and let me tell you—it was not pretty.
I started the awful day off right—with a dentist appointment. Once my teeth were clean, I continued with my all clear liquid only diet.
I had organic chicken broth, lime green jello (any red or purple dye was off limits,) water, Gatorade, and diet ginger ale. All Day. And that was it. Who knew how hungry one could be??
I used the term “hangry” (angry because you’re hungry) quite a few times.
I tried to make the most of the day by getting some errands done in the morning. But I had to stop because everywhere I went smelled like McDonalds (which I don’t even like.)
Luckily, I have a very understanding boyfriend. He brought over butt paste and bought me a magazine.
Around 5:00 pm it was time to take the saline flush solution. 16 ounces of the most disgusting liquid I have ever tasted— like sea water mixed with bad cherry cough syrup and lots of aspartame. I chugged over the sink.
Then it happened.
I was in the bathroom for the next 3 hours. TMI? Probably, but I’m trying to prepare you in case it’s ever your turn. I literally read half of the 2nd Harry Potter Book.
Between the long bathroom sessions and not eating all day, I passed out for an hour. When I woke up at 9:30 it was time for round 2. I didn’t get to sleep last night until around midnight, and I was starving like I have never been. You should know by now how much I love food.
This morning I woke up to grumbley tummy, took a shower, and headed to the outpatient surgery center. My appointment was at 10 am, and unlike myself, I got there 10 minutes early. Unfortunately, it was my lucky day and everything was delayed. I got taken back for blood pressure finally around 11am. By 11::45 I was getting into a backless hospital gown and getting a plastic IV tube shoved into my arm.
At noon I got some oxygen tubes up my nose, and got wheeled into the operating room. By the time I realized my anesthesia has been put into my IV I watched the walls move for a couple seconds, then passed out. I woke up 20 minutes later, had an apple juice, and waited for the Doctor to tell me that I was all clear—both literally and figuratively. Which is nice to hear, but also frustrating, because if problems aren’t solved, and endoscopy is next.
I’m not worried, though. Just inconvenienced. I didn’t have to work today, or yesterday, so that was nice. I’ve been watching the Oprah Winfrey Network all day being consistently served tea and toast by Brian. As soon as I got out of surgery, all I wanted to do was eat—the suggested a light meal first mean before I could eat whatever I wanted. I decided a soup from WaWa would be a good call. Stupid me, I gave into the delectable lobster bisque. Bad choice. Brian later confirmed this by saying, “you went with fish and dairy as your first choice?” Hah. Observant.
It’s after 5pm and I’m still not feeling too hot, but I have the rest of the weekend to relax and do nothing, except attend an ugly sweater Christmas party.
All I have left to say about this experience, now that I’ve considered it all, is this—Once you’ve had a colonoscopy, you will never use the term “hot sh*t” again. Not that I actually ever use that term, but when people use it they’ll say, “Oh, he/she thinks he/she’s hot sh*t.” No. No. No. No. No one would ever want to be that.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Getting Old & Acting Creepy

Getting Old & Acting Creepy

Last night, a girl friend and I decided to have a ladies’ night.

We had high expectations of a Wednesday night filled with drinks and laughs and dancing.

Plans went from a club in Atlantic City to a bar in Somers Point.

Cocktails and cute outfits turned into two tired girls sitting at a table in the corner struggling to finish our one and only drinks over a pile of nachos and mozzarella sticks.

She is a newly, newly wed, so I got to look through her camera and see all of her pictures, which was lovely—she is lovely.

By 9:30, we were yawning and calling it a night; I could barely keep my eyes open on the 45 minute drive home.

Not to say, I didn’t have a great time, because I did. It just made me feel old and kind of lame.

A month ago, I hosted an awesome Halloween party in a house I rented in Ocean City. It was lots of fun, and a lot to clean up and take home, so inevitably Brian forgot his brand new tool box that his dad bought him for his birthday. Ocean City is kind of out of the way, and after a few failed attempts to return to get the box, we’d kind of forgotten it. The owner of the house had already winterized it (I know, because I clean for her.)

So last night, since we had driven to the bar from my lady friend’s apartment in Ocean City, I asked if she minded stopping at the house quickly so I could grab the tool box before I headed home. So we did.

There’s a lockbox on the front porch, and I knew the combination from cleaning in the summer, so I fumbled around with it in the dark, until I finally got the stupid thing open.

I did explain to the owner that I had forgotten something, and would be stopping by the house next time I was in the area to get it. She lives in West Virginia. It’s not like I routinely just let myself into people’s homes.

I open the lockbox, and there is NO KEY inside of it. There’s a guy who lives in a separate downstairs apartment, and his light was on, but he had complained about our bass being too loud at the party, and I didn’t really feel like asking him.

So I get the bright idea to walk around the back of the house to a two story garage that was converted into another apartment. I knocked on the door once and waited. It’s 10pm on a Wednesday night by this point. I knock again. Finally a shirtless guy in his late twenties answers the door to find two lovely ladies standing outside in the dark.

I briefly explained that I had indeed met him before, because I invited him to my Halloween party a month early—“Could you let me into the house, I forgot something?” He briefly explained that he had been to no such party, and that was probably his brother. Oops. I countered with a—“Remember that time in the summer I cleaned the house and you were in there fixing the washer?” (True story.) It worked. The dude put a hoody on, led us into the house, and once I found the light switch, I made my way to the 2nd floor and found the tool box.

On our way back to my friend’s apartment, we concluded that three things could have happened tonight—we could have left empty handed, we could have had good luck and gotten the tool box, or we could have never been heard of again.

I went to bed last night feeling old and creepy.

Friday, October 21, 2011

Making Things, Mending Broken Things

Making Things, Mending Broken Things

I wish I was Martha Stewart.

I mean really? When I want to bake something or make a cool craft—I turn to Martha. I believe I have 3 or more of her books, and if I can’t find it in a book, I find it on her website. She has a whole section in Michaels, as I found out last night while perusing for Halloween party ideas with Gretchen.

So I have this idea, that Gretchen and I should use all of skills: marketing skills, baking skills, nun chuck skills… and make a super company that provides everything from wedding planners to wedding cakes, fashion blog (on her end,) and much, much more. If I were not me, I would buy a fancy cupcake from me, if I were in the right location.

Michael’s had a peacock wreath in the Christmas section: Gretchen said, “Be a peacock for Halloween! Just put that around your neck!” That’s great advice. Unfortunately, neither of us really got much done in all of our perusing and planning last night, and we’re still costume-less. We did, however, buy some awesome cookie cutters and some cupcake liners.

I felt like I was in heaven and spent twenty minutes in Michael’s just looking at the overpriced, but beautiful cake decorating stuff—sprinkles, food coloring spray paint, edible glitter <3 This is such fat girl talk. Did you know that Duff from Ace of Cakes has a line of cake decorating stuff?? Granted, its $20 for a small tub on fondant, but that’s neither here nor there.

The Michael’s trip was a nice finish to what had been one of the worst days in a while. I was running into less than nice people everywhere I turned all day. The day started off bad when my alarm clock failed to go off again—I hate scrambling first thing in the morning. Also, I’m not sure if it’s the weather or my poor hair cut, but I was having the worst hair day ever. I burnt my toast and then my mother yelled at me about it with unnecessary roughness, kind of like she yells about everything. My day was packed with people telling me they needed things done five minutes ago, and I was swamped.

While I sat in my doorless office at work, I listened to an eighty year old man talk smack about me in the hallway ten feet from my desk. (He will be getting a nice email today.) What made it even worse was at that exact moment, I was texting a friend who was calling me out for doing the same thing to her. I literally got sick to my stomach. I had talked about her behind her back, and even though I could defend myself by saying I hadn’t meant it maliciously (which I didn’t) I still shouldn’t have done it. I felt awful, and not just because I was getting called out, which is not fun at all, but also because we haven’t been close in a while, and I had no idea it was because of that. I felt stupid for letting something like that waste so much time that could have been much better spent. I hate knowing I’ve made someone feel bad, especially long after the fact.

I have to say though I was thankful and pleasantly surprised when the conversation ended well, and not with “You know, I hate you, and I don’t want you in my life any more” which I was kind of expecting—maybe not “I hate you,” but still. Even though I didn’t necessarily do anything right, I must not have done more wrong, because it seems like I’m getting another chance here to not be a crappy friend. It was a weight off my shoulders and a weight out of my stomach.

It was nice to have Gretchen to see at the end of the day, because she is awesome. We had plans to make lots of plans (I LOVE Plans, if you haven’t caught on already,) but when we ended up winging things, and aimlessly wondering stores and then the internet without any plan or direction—much like our current lives—we still had a great time. I didn’t even start tweaking like I normally do when tentative plans fall through.

We were attempting to book a room and buy our Broadway tickets for our next Girl’s Night Out (aka High school Reunion Weekend.) Our original game plan was to stay in a 4 star hotel so we could feel glamorous and have a reason to wear obnoxiously high fashion clothes, and hit a Broadway show.

Side note: The only good thing about getting a colonoscopy is that you’re expected to drop like 5 or 10 pounds from the disgusting amount of crap that just hangs out in your system, so maybe I’ll fit into some glamorous New York clothes even better!

Side, Side Note: I ordered $200 worth of sweater-wear from Victoria’s Secret website. I am not naive—I am aware that the clothes I buy will not fit me like they fit the models that are wearing them online. I do, however, expect stuff to be the same color I ordered. I bought the stuff last, and I was so excited when I saw the UPS guy pull up, because it’s only been like 3 business days or something super fast. Unfortunately, when I pulled the stuff out of the bag, it was really disappointing. I bought a sweater dress that was gorgeous online—black with silver gemstones around the color—that turned out to be some flimsy black long sleeve t-shirt dress with cheap looking gold sequins on it. It was $70. I also got a couple of silk/cashmere blend sweaters, and while they do feel luxurious, they don’t look great on me—definitely not good enough for what I paid, so now I’ll be paying $5 to send them back. L This is my luck with online shopping. I don’t know why I still do it.

After looking at prices for hotels in the city the weekend we’ve planned to go, it’s looking like we won’t be getting a 4 star hotel room without a miracle. We saw rooms with 2 single beds in them for $400/night. I still have hope though, maybe we’ll get a breakthrough, or maybe we’ll have to bring a tent and pitch it in a hotel lobby instead. Either way, I’m still confident that we’ll be having a great time. We technically have 4 weeks to finalize our plans, and buy our tickets, but in reality, we have like 2 days since the prices for hotel rooms are only going up with the Christmas countdown.

The imminent count down for me today however, is to Brian’s birthday. He is going to be 27 on October 27th, so that’s kind of a big deal. I finally got a definite head count for his surprise outing this Saturday (Thank You to All who responded, and other choice words for his flakiest of friends) and I bought his present last night. Although I’m sure he does not read my blog, I won’t reveal any more details until post-event.

Monday, October 17, 2011

Festivities and Colonoscopies

Festivities and Colonoscopies

Things I love about fall:

  • Hoody Wearing Weather
  • Neutral and Earth Tone Fashion
  • Halloween
  • All Accompanying Fests
  • Food
  • Planning Brian’s Birthday

I’ve been busy lately—working, trying to get to the gym at least 3 days a week, and planning. It’s so dorky, but I really love planning.

Things I’m currently planning:

  • Brian’s Birthday Outing
  • Our next Girl’s Night (which will be Girl’s Night In this time)
  • Halloween Party and Corresponding Costume (which is not going so well—the costume part, anyway.)

This past weekend was fun and relaxing. I spent Friday night in the Tropicana celebrating my friend Brandon’s birthday. I was the DD, which was fine, because alcohol is off my list until Halloween weekend anyway. We had dinner at Hooter’s which was classy, and we had the cutest little Spanish waitress I have ever seen—accent and everything. I wanted to put her in my pocket and take her home—she really was that cute.

Saturday I went to Cranberry Fest in Chatsworth with the two best men in my life—Brian and Duane.

It was really nice; the weather was perfect, the whole place smelled like kettle corn, and there were blocks and blocks of vendors with crafts, food, and great chintzy stuff. As usual, I didn’t buy anything besides a food—a slammin’ gyro and a bag of the most delicious kettle corn I’ve ever had. I also bought some jelly—thing I would only buy when intoxicated with smells and scenery of a fest. I’m a huge fan of fests. On our way home from the fest we stopped at a few party and dollar stores looking for Halloween party ideas and decorations, and then I introduced Duane to Costco.

I kid you not when I say we spend over an hour in Costco deciding whether or not to get a chicken pot pie for dinner….we decided against it considering it was big enough to feed a stoner Brady Bunch. We bought rotisserie chicken and pumpkin bisque instead; then Duane and I baked an apple crumb while Brian played his new Godfather video game upstairs.

10: the number of times Brian said that Duane and I should get married on Saturday. It could be the fact that we finish each other’s sentences, or that we’re both foodies, but I know that we should at least live in a duplex together at some point.

Countless: the number of times in the past week that Brian has told me he is seriously considering a life of organized crime.

Duane and I are both planning this Halloween party, since we’re renting a house in Ocean City from one of our best cleaning clients in the summer. She gave us a really good deal on the house for the weekend—she made me an offer, I couldn’t refuse. As super excited as I am about this party, I’m nervous because A.) She’s our best client, so I don’t want anything broken and I don’t want to piss off the guy that lives in the apartment under the house (who I only just realized existed.) B.) I’m hosting this party, and I still don’t have a costume! When I invited people to the party, I emphasized the importance of having a black light friendly costume, and so far my only idea has been a black swan costume—which will make me invisibly in the black lights. Other options I’m considering: Sushi, a Mermaid, and actual invisibility. HELP!

You’ve probably noticed the second part of my title: colonoscopies.

Lately my mother has been looking into (and requesting I join her in Googling) good places to get enemas. What the hell do I know about them?! I thought it was gross and mildly amusing, until last week.

Without going into detail, I have been procrastinating going to the doctor for some annoying issues. I finally went last week and these issues became even more annoying when Dr. Dude told me that not only would I need to get blood work done, but I would also need to do a… wait for it…. Take home POOP test. Kill me now. As if that wasn’t the worst thing you’ve ever heard, please consider that I had to do one of those poop kits three months ago for some stupid other thing that ended up being a whopping nothing at all.

It gets worse. Twenty-two year old me needs a colonoscopy. My world is almost over at this point until the doctor tells me he is at least recommending me to a lady gastrologist. He actually told me to “put my big girl panties on,” which was weird. After throwing out some names of alarming condition my issues could be, and seriously worrying me for 24 hours, I called the gastrologist office to make an appointment. The earliest CONSULTATION is November 2nd, which means colon-time will be schedule a few weeks after that—this gives me plenty of time to dread this. It’s also obnoxious because I’ll probably have to take a whole day off for the procedure, as well as half a day the day before because you have to “cleanse.” The nurse told me this “cleansing process” could take all day, which means I’m going to move my TV into the bathroom.

I didn’t tell my mom about that appointment, or the fact that I’m making an appointment for a colonoscopy, because she’ll either worry unnecessarily, or tell me I’m worrying unnecessarily—both of which are annoying.

When I got home from the doctor that day, I found an “Enema in a Box” on my bathroom counter—my mom has been searching for one of those for a couple of weeks—she finally found one at some rinky-dink pharmacy, because real pharmacies must agree that enemas are no longer in style. Last Friday, she asked me if I would take her to her colonoscopy appointment on Halloween. Go figure. I’m wondering if I can actually get this all done and over with without telling her.

This weekend I went to LabCorp (before Cranberry Fest) and got my blood work done. The women there were all incredibly rude, but the blood taker did a good job, and I did not pass out. They sent me home with my own personal poop kit, that I must… complete… and return. It has about 8 million vials, and a thick instruction book that I haven’t had the nerve to look at yet. Let’s see how long I can put that off.

Friday, September 23, 2011

DIY: Spa -- Milk & Honey Face Scrub

DIY: Spa
Despite the fact that I am now a full time working adult, my skin has not caught up and is still teenager disgusting. I ran out of my usual St. Ives apricot scrub and my face was in need of a good exfoliation, so I whipped my easy, cheap, face-fixing concoction – milk & honey face scrub.

It’s super easy, and great for your skin without harsh chemicals, soap, laurel sulfates or any other chemical crap.

I stole a side dip container (see blue cuppie in picture) from Applebee’s a while back—just popped it into my take out box, because I wanted the dip but I didn’t want it to make the rest of my meal soggy, so the cup had to come along.

It’s the perfect size for this, but you can use whatever size container you’d like. For the very lazy of you, however, I do not recommend making a big batch and saving it for future uses, because the baking soda will dissolve more and lose its scrubby-ness.

You Need:

1 tbsp honey (whatever kind you like—organic if you’re fancy and wealthy.)

1 tbsp baking soda

1 tsp milk (optional)

·         Mix all ingredients up in a cup.
(I usually do this in the shower so the steam can open up my pores a little bit more and it’s not a sticky mess on my bathroom sink.)

·         Wet your face with warm water and apply scrub and then scrub like you would normally scrub your face.

·         Leave it on anywhere from 30 seconds to 5 minutes then rinse. It will tingle slightly, if your skin is sensitive then you might want to rinse off sooner than later.

I used it as a body scrub too. It’s good for flaky, dry winter skin too, and it makes you smell awesome. If you want a courser body scrub add a tablespoon of sugar in the raw or course brown sugar (bigger scrubbing particles for bigger areas.) When I got out of the shower, I still had some zits (it is not a miracle worker,) but my face literally looked glowing.

Why it works? Honey contains an enzyme called glucose oxidase, and when you combined it with water, it produces hydrogen peroxide which acts as a mild antiseptic, killing some zit causing germs on your face. In addition to the glucose oxidase enzyme, honey also contains antioxidants and flavonoids that may function as antibacterial agents. Honey is also a humectant, which means it attracts and helps retain moisture, rebuilding the moisture level in the skin without making it oily. Honey has been around and been used for thousands of years—things have been found preserved in crystallized honey, so maybe it helps preserve your young, youthful face?

Baking soda is made up of small grains that aren’t too harsh on your sensitive face, and it’s also been used for a long time as a cleanser (in the washing machine,) as a rash/sunburn soother/calmer, among other things.

Lactic acid in the milk is a mild exfoliate in itself and has been shown to improve overall skin appearance. Try it and let me know what you think!

Monday, September 19, 2011

Girls Night Out Recap

“GNO”  Recap

(A long post, but well worth the 5 minutes you'll spend reading it.. or at least I think so.)

I last left you with a few frustrated words from the first half of my day that would later be “Girl’s Night Out.”

As I sit here freezing, listening to Glee’s Christmas album, I’m laughing out loud thinking back to Friday night.

Let me begin…

Girl’s Night Out (Hereinafter referred to as GNR) was supposed to begin at 4pm. Every one was supposed to meet at my house at 4 so we could all head over to AC together and have time to settle into our room, walk around, shop, whatever before our dinner reservation at 7. As you can guess, this did not happen.

One thing or another caused everyone (including myself—and I LIVE at my house) to be late. It was around 5 pm by the time seven girls were sitting on my bedroom floor sorting their luggage. (And though we are not alcoholics, we were bringing a couple bottles of classy champagne and other things—unfortunately for me the bottles were all sitting in the middle of my room when my mom walked in and demanded to know if they were sparkling cider or not.)

Despite the fact that we would be spending less than a day in Atlantic City, everyone packed a giant duffel bag, like there would be time for 7 outfit changes throughout the night. In an attempt to consolidate space, we had a fashion show of sorts where we all tried out our outfits and tried to unanimously decide who should wear what so the extra clothes could be left behind. 3 out of the 7 girls ended up wearing dresses from my closet which, sadly, I didn’t fit in anymore, which kind of was a crappy feeling, but they did look HOT in those dresses. Multiple outfit changes and some serious convincing later, we had only eliminated one bag, and we still had to fit an elephant sized air mattress somewhere.

Finally, we were ready to go, and slowly everyone loaded themselves into the awkward minivan—this would have been MUCH easier if the door to the trunk wasn’t broken, but it was, so everyone had the heave the heavy luggage over seats and heads and into the back. I have the key in the ignition when Courtney, who is sitting shotgun, starts dumping the contents of her purse on the floor looking for her keys, which are so inconveniently attached to her mini-wallet and her ID. I go inside to help her look, and 10 minutes later we find them under my sister’s bed. Back in the car, ready to go a second time, I realize that my keys are no longer in the ignition. A symphony of groans erupted from the back seats as I ran inside to find those keys. Two minutes later, I’m back in the car—take 3!

 I very slowly start to back out of my driveway that’s on a slight hill, because it’s hard to see whether or not cars are coming in the back alley, when all of sudden there’s  a horrible bang and a loud scraping. I immediately stop (of course at this point Brian has already made his way over and is laughing and pointing) and tell everyone to get out of the van. I put it in drive, move forward 10 feet, and even more slowly, try to back out into the narrow alley with 8 people standing around in my way. Apparently, the weight of 7 girls and 7 ginormo suitcases was too much for the red minivan. Diagonally blocking any potential traffic through the alley, I parked and let everyone climb back in.

Now, it is six o’clock—we were on our way. As we approached the city, we called P.F. Chang’s to see if we could push back our reservation half an hour in order to give us time to check in and bring our bags up before dinner. The receptionist was a certified ditz-wad, who made things extremely complicated when we informed her that we’d be adding a 7th person to our reservation for 6. She told us that this really complicated things, and we could come whenever (but she could only hold our 7:00 reservation for 15 minutes) and then we’d get a buzzer and have to wait because what would be do about the seventh person?!!?

It took us about 2 minutes after she’d hung to appoint the second most… aggressive… person in the car to call back (Obviously, that would have been me, but I was driving) and explain that we would be showing up at seven and we would be sitting down with all seven people—“Put an extra chair at the table, we’ll squish.”

Once we made it through the parking lot maze, we got to PF Chang’s 5 minutes early, and we were sent downstairs to be seated right away. A disgruntled hostess led us to a table for not 6, not 7, but 8 people. She gave us a dirty look as she grabbed the extra chair and said “I guess I’ll just get this out of your way.” Yes. You. Will. Dinner was lots of fun! We ordered about 20 appetizers and were too full for dessert by the time the check came around. Our waiter was kind enough to give us 8 large paper cups for our room party to follow, since we forgot to get any. Let the night begin.

When we left, Angelica realized that we were parked on the wrong side of the Tropicana, since we were by the Quarter and the hotel rooms were on the totally opposite side. We decided to go back to the parking garage, pile back in the mini van, and go down the spiral exit (me holding the brake the entire way down.) When we got to the bottom, the parking attendant said “Ten dollars please.” I calmly explained that I just wanted to go the other parking garage. He looked at me like I was a crazy person and less calmly explained that this was the only Tropicana garage, and I was just going to have to back up.

The lady behind me was not grasping the concept of reverse, despite the fact that she was about 50 feet away when I first put my hazards and my reverse lights on, while waving my hand out the window. One smooth K turn later, we were going back up the ramp, past our last spot on the 5th floor, to a new spot on the 6th. 20 minutes wasted.

Dragging our extremely heavy luggage through the whole casino was fun, but not as fun as what happened next. It was $180 dollars for the room, and the Trop charges another $25/person for everyone staying in the room besides the original 2 people who booked it, so Angelica and I stood in the check-in line when the others kept a “reasonable following distance” from the hotel lobby to the elevator that would take us to the South Tower.

Sitting on a planter ledge next to the narrow hallway that led to the only elevator up to our room was a very heavy set, suited man. Next to him was a sign explaining that every single person staying in the hotel should have their own room key and this guy was there to check and make sure of it. Oh Crap. Angelica and I had the 2 keys, which meant the 5 following at a safe distance would not be able to get upstairs. Sweating, I signaled the other girls to go wait somewhere else, and the two of us went upstairs.

By the time I got to the room, I was in panic mode. I ruined girl’s night out! They’re never going to be able to get up here. I literally started to get nauseous as Angelica and I tried to devise a plan that included somehow getting them room keys, and I could think about were all the movies I’d seen about people trying to cheat casinos and how they always ended up strapped to a chair in the basement getting beat up by a huge dude in black. It also didn’t help that I had been carrying someone else’s duffel and someone else was carrying my purse, with my phone in it, and I had no one’s number but my own.

Almost an hour and a couple sneaky plans later, all five girls made it upstairs with no problem, probably because the guard was busy flirting with some other girls at the time. Courtney, who works at some fancy shmancy restaurant, needed some champagne popping experience, and she got it.

We got ready and had drinks and snacks and laughs in during the next few hours. It took a few trips and some searching and some elevator rides to actually get a hold of some ice, but when we did, we brought a trash can to fill. Ironically, the huge bottle of Gatorade intended for rehydrating use the next morning was used as a mixer.

Replenish your electrolytes while you imbibe. That’s my motto.

Although the club cover charge was some ridiculous $15/person, Shelly knew someone who knew someone who got us on some list. While standing in line, feeling important Angelica’s heel decided it had enough of my one toe nail, and it came down hard with a vengeance—luckily, I had enough silly juice in me at the time that I could barely feel it. I believe someone took photographic proof of the bloody event. The snobby entrance girl said she did not know the friend of the friend who got us on the list, so only 4 of us were free, but splitting the $30 we got charged was NBD, especially since it saved us $60.

The club was the club. Sweaty, loud, but surprisingly not to gropey. I think Shelly was the only one who got hit on—what does that say about the rest of us?! Ha Ha. Somehow a number of us ended up dancing on some kind of elevated circles. Framing my face was probably my best move of the night. We made it back to our room after a 3am adventure for pizza at Tony Baloney’s—otherwise known as Tony’s Baltimore Grille, where it smelled just like a litter box.

The next morning we made it out of bed. There was a mess in the room, blood in my Bandolino’s and everyone was a little sore or smelly or both—signs of a night well played. We got breakfast (and a lot of it) and called it a day around 1pm on Saturday. It was a very successful GNO, and although it took me most of the weekend to recover from my hang over, I can’t wait for the next one! I’m sure there are details I’ve left out, but after reading all this, don’t you want to come too??

Friday, September 16, 2011

Girl's Night Out is Finally Here!!!

IT’s HERE!!!!

Today is officially “Girl’s Night (and late afternoon and early tomorrow morning) Out!”

What started off as 4 girls in a 2 double bed room has now expanded to 7 girls with a couple of air mattresses in the room—and I am so excited.

What should have started off as a relaxing day off of work, sleeping in and lounging, became a caffeine induced nightmare.  Brian bought me a couple of “Happy Pills” from the Vitamin Shoppe. Literally—they’re 2 tablets in a little package called “Happy Pills” that have stuff in them to make you feel good and energized—herbal stuff like St. John’s Wort and caffeine etc.

I needed to go to the bank and then to the post office to cash a money order and deposit a check. News Flash! The bank was just bought over by another bank—my debit card stops working at 3pm today and the new one I get doesn’t start working until Monday. Awesome. Then I go to the post office by my house (it’s a post office money order, so you can only cash it at the post office,) and they do not have the $192 dollars to give me.

I eat a breakfast sandwich, take one of the two happy pills, and head to the gym, frustrated, but not willing to get pissed off on my good day yet. I was told by the manager of the gym that the class I want to take starts at 10:30, so I spend my first 30 minutes at the gym on the treadmill waiting for the class to start. Kathy Lee was on TV talking about Brazilian waxes, and it was disturbing. Then It’s time for class so I walk upstairs, panting, and am unable to find the room or anyone who knows what they’re talking about. 10 minutes later I find out there is no class, so I just hit the weight room instead. Half way through my intense work out, I get dry mouth, and my heart is racing faster than usual. Whatever, I’m just working out extra hard, I thought. By the time I get to my last stations I’m feeling light headed and seeing spots. I quit a few minutes earlier and head to the car—really hot and jittery—then I realize that it was the STUPID HAPPY PILL that is making me feel like crap!! I’m so not happy at that moment. Thank goodness I took 5 dum-dums from the bank while I was there, because I needed the sugar to help me feel less light headed on my way home.

There’s another post office on my way home, so I stop in trying to cash my money order—surprise! They don’t have the cash. Now I’m annoyed, sweaty, and breathing really funny, with no cash in my pocket. I don’t understand why the post office issues such money orders if they never have the cash to fulfill them. I am about to go to the mall to pick out an outfit for tonight and the lawn mower that Brian bought from Sear’s yesterday. I have high hopes for tonight, but I do feel like I’m tweaking a little bit still. WISH ME LUCK!

By the way, did I mention that I traded cars with my mom so we can all take one car for girl’s night? Well, I’ve been feeling very Juno-y all day, because I’m driving around a red minivan that is so much more frustrating to drive than my Jeep. This day can only get better.

Thursday, September 8, 2011


A good friend’s wedding is this weekend, and I am still dress-less. It completely slipped my mind that I’ll be reading the Bible passage during the ceremony, so I need to look good while I’m doing it! Also, I want Brian to see me in this dress and think “Wow, I have a hot girlfriend.”

I went to Marshall’s (usually my #1 store) and found nothing. Then I went through all 3 floors of Macy’s— Nothing. I even went to H&M—some things, but nothing very WOW! I went into BCBG Max Azria in the Walk last night, in the pouring rain, and was helped by a very perky, helpful fitting room drill sergeant. She had me in about 15 dresses, and one stood out.

I really liked this dress when I put it on. It fit really well, and you can never go wrong with B&W.
It was on sale already for $220, and everything in the store was 50% off—so the dress is now $110. I have a few pairs of shoes that will go, so I’m not too worried about that, but I need some opinions. I’ve always tried to put off higher prices purchases (especially clothing) for a day or 2 so I can think about it. If it keeps popping up in my head, then I know I wasn’t just about to compulsively spend money because I was in a store, and then if I go back and it’s still there in my size, I usually get it.  

·         It is hot.
·         It is stretchy (in the top especially, so I can eat fancy wedding dinner, and it will expand with me.)
·         It is camouflaging of little tummy chub, because of all the bandaging allusions. Also, if I eat too much, the A-line puffy bottom pretty much hides everything anyway.
·         It’s a simple color scheme.
·         It reminds me of a cupcake.

·         It is wrinkly. You can’t tell by the picture, but the bottom half is taffeta and it was super wrinkly when I tried it on. The sales girl told me she would steam it for me, and it would help, but as soon as I get into a car or something, it’ll probably be wrinkly again—it didn’t look awful, just not perfect, like in this picture.
·         It’s $110
·         If I buy it, it’s final sale. There are no returns at BCBG.
·         It reminds me of a cupcake.

So this is where you few readers of my blog come in! What’s your opinion?? It’s on hold at BCBG until tonight at 8pm when they close. I have the rest of the day to make a decision. Tonight is my last shopping night, because tomorrow I have the rehearsal dinner (separate dress for that occasion—casual, grey Cynthia Rowley,) and Saturday is the wedding. To buy, or not to buy (and if not, where do I go look for another dress?!)

Monday, September 5, 2011

Three Day Weekend Heaven

Three Day Weekend Heaven

This weekend has been wonderful. Brian finished work on Friday at a decent time, and after taking an extra long shower, shaving my legs, waxing, and giving myself a mani/pedi, I met up with him at his house and proceeded to drink half of a bottle of Korbel [Brut.] I wasn’t going anywhere, I was just enjoying sitting on the couch nursing a slice of pizza, drinking my champagne, and watching his mom show off her new aerobic moves.

The next morning, Duane showed up and we set off for Vernon, NJ to go water parking at Mountain Creek Water Park. The day felt more like fall than a day fitting to splash around in cold, mountain stream water, but Brian and I are alike in the way that when we’re looking forward to something, little can keep us from it. The whole ride up we watched the thermostat in his car fluctuate, dropping from 78 degrees to 76 (oh no, SEVENTY SIX?!)— back to 78, 74(WHAT?!?! Don’t go lower!) and at its lowest, 73(OH MY GOSH! IT WENT LOWER!) Just as Brian was getting really worried about freezing his butt off at the park, we passed a small business that said “SWIM SALE” on a large sign outside. We pulled in, and Brian crossed his fingers, hoping they sold rash guards (He thought they were meant to keep you warm… hence the name—rash guard. Brian is always so cold, he wears a wet suit every time he surfs—no wonder he didn’t know what a rash guard was for.)

SIDENOTE: Anyone reading this who surfs, skates, snowboards, or just likes wearing those sport brand name clothes—if you ever get the chance to buy from this place—do it! It’s a great small business, owned and operated by two guys in the mid to late twenties. Their prices are already competitive, but they’re also open to making you deals. Our total purchase came to $40 (for a new rash guard and a cute winter hat for me!) The owner gave us $20 off our purchase, which was already lower than suggested retail value. Great product at great prices with great service. I’m all about supporting small business, so check this place out if you ever get the chance! (That’s the end of my sales pitch.)

We had a great day at the water park, stopped at Panera Bread on the way home, and I fell asleep early after a good, exhausting day. Sunday we lounged around the house most of the day, after running a couple of errands. I took a dip in the pool to cool off when it got really hot, and set to work on an art project I’ve been planning for a couple of weeks. It got overwhelming, so then I quit. That night we had birthday dinner for Brian’s dad. I split another bottle of champagne [my new, classy drink of choice] with Brian, and went to bed at nine o’clock.

Today was the last day of my three day weekend. I hope everyone else had as good of a Labor Day Weekend as I did. I hung around the house, watched a Denzel Washington movie, stopped at a friend’s birthday BBQ, and finally completed my art project! The only thing left on my to-do list from this week is to buy a dress for a wedding I have coming up this weekend (Yay Jess & Tommy!) QUESTION: What’s the deal with matching your better half at a wedding? Is it too much like prom? Help!

Want to know what’s great about tomorrow? As much as it’s going to SUCK going back to work after a three day weekend, my job recently switched banks, and I think the bank is trying to brown nose us pretty good, because they’re providing us with HOT breakfast tomorrow, and I CANNOT WAIT! It’s funny how something like breakfast will make my day so much better tomorrow. I feel pretty lucky when my biggest complaint is having to wake up at seven am. I’m so thankful for my job, my friends and family—especially the ones I can always count on to show up when they say they will. I’m thankful that my job lets us stay home for a paid holiday today, and I’m thankful that Brian is a hard worker and he woke up at 3:30 am today to go to work without complaining. SIDENOTE: Everyone out there who prays, please keep him in mind! He has an interview for a teaching job this week, and if that doesn’t work out, he’s taking the police academy entrance exam. He’s working so hard, and I just want him to feel accomplished and happy with what he’s doing.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Things I’ve recently realized that I should have known by now

Things I’ve recently realized that I should have known by now:

1. Everything takes work—consistent work, and usually, more work than you think.

            a. It has been over 2 months since I’ve even written a blog entry—something that I thought would come naturally and easily, because I enjoy doing it. Wrong. It takes work to remember to write. It takes work to think of what to write, and even more work to make it sound vaguely interesting. I am making a promise to myself to work harder at this, because I do enjoy it, and I really like reading other people’s work and thinking They are going to love having this to look back on in the future. I read a complete stranger’s blog today (a friend of one of my high school teachers, whom I have never met,) and I found myself in tears reading about her experience with the loss of her baby. I feel awful that she went through it, but her entries were beautiful and real—I felt like I knew her and was really sharing in a part of her life. I don’t have any monumental experiences to write about, but I think that it’s incredible that people can connect this way.

            b. My relationship takes work. Oh my goodness, it takes so much work to be a good girlfriend. I can’t even imagine how much more work it will take to be a wife—maybe once you have the girlfriend thing down, it won’t be as bad. Men really think on this whole other level that is completely incomprehensible sometimes if you’re not trying REALLY hard to figure them out. Brian is always telling me how complicated I am, when in fact I say everything exactly the way I mean it. (Side Note: this bluntness tends to get me into trouble.) I like to plan things ahead of time, and make back up plans to my back up plans, and have dates and times and addresses—this way, no one is ever confused. He doesn’t understand why I feel the need to do that, and therefore he thinks it is complicating. I don’t understand why he won’t just pick a movie or a restaurant or make any sort of plan ever. One would think that after two years, you get it. This does not come easily to me, nor does compromise, but I am working harder everyday to try and really see from other people’s point of view. It is so true that you hurt the one’s you love the most—you’re stuck in the house with your family, or you see your boyfriend and your best friend so often that you forget to filter what comes out of your mouth, and these people who are closest with you end up getting the brunt of your bad day at work. I know I personally fight with my sisters more than I’ve argued with everyone else combined (although Brian comes in at a close second.)

            c. Feeling accomplished takes work. One of my big goals in life is to write an Op-Ed for the New York Times. That’s a lofty goal, so a good runner up for me would just be to get paid to write something notable—something that someone somewhere will acknowledge that they have read, and hopefully enjoyed. That’s another big reason I’m committing myself to being more committed to this blog; I need to improve my writing skills. Everyone can improve, and it definitely puts good ideas in my head reading other people’s writings. Even at my job, which is not glamorous or fancy, I am working to feel accomplished. I hate wasting time, and I don’t like feeling like I’m doing good enough to not get fired. I want to do my best for this company, whether I care about construction testing and inspections services or not. I put together my first real, big bid the other day—all by myself. It felt good to have it done right, and have my boss say “Wow, that’s done already?!” Do whatever it is you’re doing well, and you will never regret it—even if you don’t get recognition, you’ll feel just that more accomplished.

            d. Getting my 18 year old body back is taking A LOT of work. Last time I wrote, I was considering going to the gym. Shortly after, I signed up for a year long gym membership. I have been going every week (with the Exception of the time I spent in Florida, which was awesome by the way!) since I signed up, and trying for 3-4 times a week, even though there have been a couple 2 – 3 times a week weeks. Do you want to know how many pounds I lost? 0. Also known as zero. That’s right! None. I think I’m looking a little… different, if not, less chunky, but my weight has stayed exactly the same according to my digital scale. I believe that muscle really does way more than fat, and I’m gaining muscle as I lose the chunk so it’s all balancing out. We will see how this goes. I could stand to eat a few less fun size Three Musketeers Bars.

2. Just because you’re right, it doesn’t mean you’re right. There’s not much to say on this subject. It’s pretty self-explanatory. Lately, I’ve been right a lot. I’ve been right about what time the movie was supposed to start, and how many times we did whatever, and the definition of whatever word. I’ve been right in lots of petty arguments with Brian, but where has it gotten me? No where. Just because someone is being a huge hussy, doesn’t mean you’re right in telling everyone you know that she is a huge hussy. You get where I am going with this. I realize when I start talking about other people, it’s only because a. I’m really, really pissed at them and if I don’t vent about it, my head will literally explode (not that it’s a worthy excuse) or b. my life has gotten so boring that I need to talk about someone else’s to make myself feel better—both of which sound pretty pathetic. I’m not going to lie though— sometimes a girl’s night full of girl talk is just what every girl needs. This point ties into my last epiphany…

3. Choose your battles, and try, try, try to let go of the ones you decide are not worth fighting. This comes most in handy for my relationship with Brian, even though this takes a lot of work to practice what I’m preaching. There are things worth arguing about, and there are things that aren’t. I’m learning to pick what’s important to me and organize my logical argument into an easy to understand my point mini fight, instead of a long emotional disaster argument. I don’t want to be a nag, so for now I need to learn to lay off Brian for always leaving his wet clothes on the bathroom floor after a shower, and be patient while I’m telling him the date and time of our friend’s wedding that he has not yet requested off of work for, for the nine millionth time. He is a good man, and I don’t have much to complain about, so I should probably stop complaining so much. This goes for friends too.

Nothing gets under my skin as much a flakey friend—some one who says they’re going to do something and bails out at the last moment with lame excuses. I’m sure everyone has copped out last minute at one time or another—stuff happens, but try to keep it to a minimum, please, or else you’re going to drive all of us micromanagers and over-organizers out of our already unstable minds. At the same time, I need to learn to give people a break. Brian is always telling me to “let things roll off my back.” It might be one of my least favorite sayings, because my logic tells me that if you just kept your word, there would nothing needing any back rolling. I have always had high expectations of people, because if I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, you better deserve it. I’m learning to give my friends a break, or at least choosing not to cause any scenes over last minute plan breaking, until they do it so often, I chose to stop making plans with them in the first place.

Thursday, June 23, 2011

#TWEETMYWEIGHT is trending on Twitter.

June 23, 2011
#TWEETMYWEIGHT is trending on Twitter.

I’m pretty sure that’s the worst idea I’ve read.

Tweet my weight? That’s got to be instigating a few easting disorders. It did make me feel guilty enough to think about going to the gym. What really put me over the edge were the bathing suits I bought online from Victoria’s Secret. Online, they’re on super hot, air brushed women, but when they showed up in my mail box it was another story. One I returned altogether –it was supposed to be a “Miraculous” push up top, but really it was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. Imagine a B&W, polka-dotted cantaloupe made out of Temperpedic mattress material; then imagine cutting it in half, attaching both halves to strings, and wearing it as a bikini top. I imagine no one would dare wear it into the water, because it would absorb so much and eventually drown you with the weight.

So anyway, the other suits I bought were gorgeous (and ON SALE,) so I didn’t return them; I just tried them on and vowed to lose at least 5 more pounds before every wearing them in public, and definitely before going to Miami –the land of the thin, tanned, and Porsched.

SIDE NOTE: Only 10 more days ‘til I’m actually in Miami, and I am so excited! I’ll be spending the first half of the week visiting Miami and my awesome friend DB. The second half of the week will be spent in Orlando when I will FINALLY get to explore the magical world of Harry Potter in Universal Studios. I. Can’t. Wait.

            Can I say “Thank God” for my other friend [who happens to also be named] DB. He’s the kind of guy who is super cool and flexible and always down to do whatever. He is also the only person who will actually get my butt to the gym. Yesterday we went to Tilton Gym. It’s a huge gym full of snobs and awesome equipment. It also has a pool, a hot tub, a sauna, and a steam room. We worked out for an hour and then he tried to teach me how to swim—really swim. I give you swimmers props, because it is super difficult to even do a full lap, much less look graceful while doing it.

            I’ve started eating healthier a month or so ago, but now I feel like in order to take the next step, I really need to start working out REGULARLY. Tilton is a bit out of my price range, but they do offer student discounts, and today I found out that my job is actually some sort of corporate member so I’ll be able to get a discount that way as well. BONUS: my job has a fitness incentive—if you go to the gym 28 times in 6 months, they put an extra $60 in your paycheck. Not bad! That might cover one month’s membership costs.


Friday, June 3, 2011

Percocet and Protein Pudding

June 3, 2011
So, It has been quite a while since I’ve written anything  bloggy. I’ve been a slacker, but I must admit, finishing up a 20 credit semester while working two jobs was not easy, and I was actually starting to lose it a little bit. So what’s new? Well, now I am officially a college graduate and I have already quit one of my two jobs. Being a spa PR manager sounded really cool when I signed up for it, but it was on top of a 40 hour a week job and didn’t pay nearly enough for the crap I had to put up with. I didn’t leave on bad terms, so I hope one day I’ll be able to get a good reference out of the guy… I won’t be surprised if I don’t though.


College is over, and I’m working the regular old nine to five type job that pays my bills. Not too much fun going on here. I also realized that I’m losing some of my wit, so I really need to start writing again. Life is no joke—you expect to be able to wave around a piece of paper that says “Bachelor Degree” on it, and magically get your dream job. Apparently, this is erroneous. If anyone has any advice on this matter, I will gladly take it J

Right now, as I’m typing, I’m compulsively scratching my face. Two days ago I got all four of my impacted wisdom teeth extracted, and it has been NO FUN WHATSOVER. I thought beforehand: I’ll get to eat ice cream all day ad be on pain killers and be waited on, Yes! This was not so. I am getting sick of ice cream and pudding, but they are literally the only thing I can get down. My mouth is so swollen, and my friend D compared me to a family guy character. L

I haven’t really brushed my teeth in 2 days, and I just want this all to be over with. My Percocet’s are not fun; they just make me loopy and dizzy. (It is kinda fun telling my mom I’m stoned. Ha ha.) Right now, I feel the percs in my system making me triple check every word I write…. I’m sure there will be some spelling/grammatical errors throughout this – I blame the meds, but don’t be shy about pointing them out!

I hope everyone’s summer is off to as good of a start as mine! Haha. There are good things going on though… D and I are trying to start our own cleaning business, so if anyone knows anyone who needs a shore house cleaner—Please send them our way! I’m counting down the days till B and I go to Harry Potter World in Universal Studious (I’m so stoked!!!) AND B has 2 interviews this week; I’m so proud of him, and hope he finds a job he loves. Things are going and going well. I will try to keep up writing more than once every other month. I need to sharpen my skills, plus I simply enjoy it.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Taxes, Beer, and Asher Roth

This past weekend was one of the best I’ve had in a while; it was also one of the most appreciated, because I’ve been working like a crazy person (One of the reasons there have been sparse new postings on here.) Now it’s Monday, and it’s not even 4pm, but already my day has been insane. I woke up at 6, did home work, work-work for the spa, and then more home work. I had a meeting with a potential vendor at 9:30, but it wasn’t until I was halfway there that I found out he cancelled last second. Not last minute—last second. So, with all my free time—I went home and did more work before going to school (Where I will be until 10 pm.)  I am starting to hate computers; B is usually the person who catches me venting my rage again technological products,  but they’re are such an integral part of my life that I guess I’ll hack it out for a few more minutes a day in order to post my blogs.

Since this day blows so much already, I’m deciding to reminisce about my lovely weekend.

Friday, I rushed from Job #1 to Job #2. I ended up back home around 5:30 after going all day, with just enough time to get ready and meet up with B; we were going to see Stockton’s Spring Concert: Safety Suit, The Maine, and Asher Roth. This was not my ideal line up, but since I’ve been so elderly and reclusive lately, I figured it was something to do on a Friday night. We met up with two of our good friends D and E outside the big, blue gym, got frisked, and entered the building.
If you were wondering where you could go to find a bunch of really skanky girls in one place—if you wanted to go to a show where there were cops ever 5 feet and the stench of bad weed in the air---if you wanted to hang out with a bunch of Hollister-wearing tool bags who start mosh pits during a wordless pop song—if you wanted to watch a bunch of drunk teenagers make out on top of you: THIS WAS THE PLACE FOR YOU!I was in my own personal hell. I’m cringing now writing about it.

*Let’s take a quick break here and talk about bandages.
Apparently, the latest fashion Bible says something along the lines of:
IV. Thou shalt not be cool, unless thee
      and thine girlfriends own bandage skirts.
 V. In addition to thine bandages, thou shalt cut all
     of thine t-shirts in half widthwise!
Bandage skirts (if you haven’t already been afflicted by them) are literally an 8 inch long piece of widely-ribbed stretch fabric that you slip into, and they barely cover your butt. All of these females were wearing the EXACT SAME black, bandage skirts—most with some kind of tank top (despite the 40 degree weather) that they chose based on how much boobage they could show. I just wanted to say, “Excuse me—do you know that I can see your vajay from over there?” Belly shirts were another thing I saw WAY too much of. I felt liek I was in the Twilight Zone. (BTW: for the sake of everyone's eyeballs--this girl below is in way better shape than most of the girls last night, and the skirt she is wearing is TWICE as long as most of the concert girls'.)

The first band came on, and although the lead singer was pretty attractive (or at least, so says B) they’re music was not impressive. At all. I was bored and my ears were starting to hurt. A LONG hour later, The Maine took the stage. They were the only band I was actually interested in seeing, but they too were a major disappointment. The lead singer may have been a decent singer, but the sound man literally had his microphone OFF. All you could hear was mediocre guitar riffs and too-loud drumming. (I also think half of the band members were experiencing extreme gender confusion.) Towards the end of their set, the singer asked, “Can you even hear me?” The audience replied, “HELL NO!” That was funny. He then proceeded to try and talk some mumbo jumbo, but not after Shushhhhhhing everyone a few times, and asking a ghost light controller to turn off ALL the lights in the gym. “Can we turn off all the lights? How about we turn the lights off? We’re gonna get all the lights off! No? No lights off? Ok. Never mind.” I was embarrassed for the dude. They did another song, during which I got punched by a really drunk girl next to me who was shrieking all the words at some obscene decibel. The girls in the bandage skirts started crowd surfing, exposing all their secret places, and I knew I’d had too much. I was too sober to handle that—maybe a handle of vodka might have made that night tolerable, but I guess I’ll never know. B and I left and saw some crying girl about to get arrested by the cops in the lobby. It was mildly interesting, but not enough to get me to stay. As soon as I got in my car, I got texts from both my friends saying “You missed big fight.” That sucked.
The next day…
Saturday, I got my taxes done in the morning, and found out I’m getting over $2,300 bucks back! Oh yeah, baby! Now I will NOT feel guilty at all for spending $6 on a Mickey Mouse ice cream bar when I got to Orlando or ordering multiple glasses of butterbeer. J

After taxes, me and B hopped on a train to Atlantic City to hit up Beer Fest. I ran into an old acquaintance on the train and then again at the convention center, so we decided to exchange numbers and hang out afterwards. Beer fest was so much fun, and so was the rest of the night that we spent with our new friends. They were 2 married couples, which was new to us—most of our friends who start dating stop hanging out and we never see them, much less anyone who got MARRIED. It was nice. I look forward to double dating. I love meeting new people, especially ones who happen o be super cool and lots of fun. It was a great day.
The end is near.
Sunday B and I went to work at Prince Charming and The Little Mermaid at the Carriage House. (For those of you who don’t know, I work for 2 wonderful ladies who own their own small business hosting princess balls for little girls, and it is so much fun!) B was awesome with the kids, and made for a super cute Prince Charming (pictures to follow.) We spent the rest of the day relaxing, eating Chinese and Mexican and watching the movie Conviction (which w as really good.)
I am now counting down ‘til next weekend. Only 4 more days to go.

Thursday, March 31, 2011


So yesterday, I left work and on my way to school I was drinking out of a normal water bottle when some H2O got a little confused and found its way into my lungs. Thank goodness that’s all I had all day, because I threw up all over myself while driving. Not THROW UP-throw up, but water vomit.  It was all over my seat, soaking my pants, and causing some minor discomfort. It dried on my walk to class. In the computer lab, I went to open my fruit cup of mandarin oranges, and it threw up on me. A faceful of mandarin juices—on the keyboard, my hoodie, pants (again,) my phone, and my backpack. (People were judging me, because I was trying to mop it up with some pages of poetry from my previous class.)
What the hell is going on?!
Now that I’ve told you about that, onto more important stuff—B and I are officially old people now. [You may have seen indications of such an aging transformation earlier: scrapbooking, turning down parties or nights in Atlantic City, reading books out loud, refusing to go anywhere past 10 pm.] Last week, B spent time in class doing puzzles with his students; he said they were calmed down, focused, and not fighting with each other and he could also take a breather and “bond” with them. A win/win. Later that evening, we were on one of our usual Wal-Mart dates (a free way to get out of the house when we’re bored and close to killing each other) when we decided to buy ourselves a puzzle and get a new “together” hobby.

We picked a puzzle that’s a glow in the dark picture of the Vegas skyline (the most bad ass puzzle there.) That’s not the lamest thing ever, right? It gets worse. “How are we going to move it from my house to yours?” B asked me—like it was crucial to have the puzzle no matter where we were. There exists a puzzle take-away-er—a large piece of black felt that is accompanied by a plastic inflatable tube allows you to work on the felt then roll it all up when you’re done; it even has straps. That night we spent $20 on puzzle gear. It’s almost done, although I give most of the credit to B, because while he was puzzling I was spending hours on the phone trying to book a flight and redeem my cancelled ticket from last spring semester. (Way too long of a story, but it involves Mexico, drug wars, and Harry Potter World.)
Now, I can’t say that puzzling has brought us together more, but it definitely hasn’t hurt. I have to admit, we’ve had a lot of ups and downs lately—or even since day 1—but this week has been exceptionally wonderful, and even though I am enduring a terrible day full of exploding liquid, I am in a good mood, because I get to see him and puzzle later. YES!
Work is getting to me just a teeny bit. I know I’m stressed when I go to bed thinking about it and wake up 5 minutes before my alarm clock, still thinking about it. I think it will all be worth it when I get my first paychecks, but I am worried that I am gonna run out of good ideas for this marketing jobs. I am open to any and all legitimate suggestions.
 I work for Hand and Stone Massage and Facial Spa in Mayslanding (It’s right next to Five Below and the Movie theater.) My job is to find way to get more customers and members in using social networking services. I need more friends, followers, etc., and then I need those friends to tell other friends; then I need them all to come in and get services from massages (starting at $40 for 50 minutes,) facials (starting at $50 for 50 minutes,) threading (it’s an eyebrow thing, boys,) and waxing. First off, you can all do me a HUGE favor and follow me on twitter @Finessuh, follow Hand and Stone on twitter @HandandStoneML, and “Like” Mayslanding Hand and Stone on Face book (It’s linked on my Face book so it’s easy to find.) Also, keep me posted on your thoughts!!!