[video]
Menstrual cramps to the layperson.
*Love you Web MD.
(Source: cleverlikewhoa)
My mom says she misses my blog posts, so here are some mini posts to tide her over while I dream up something truly brilliant.
POPCORN
Our videographer just gave us our wedding video. The best part is the moment when you can vaguely hear me yelling at Cory for spilling popcorn on the dance floor. Because apparently, in a marriage, it is never too soon to start nagging.
BOOTS
I feel stupid because I bought some furry boots on sale for $6 and wore them to work today, and my boss’s boss, who never dare speaks to me, awkwardly crossed my path at the soup taste-testing competition cubicle, where she said, “Cute boots! Where did you get them?” and I thought, “She likes me! She really likes me!” and so I replied, “Target for $6,” and she said, “Perfect, I’m going to Target after work tonight,” and when I got to my desk I realized they are not boots, they are slippers, and my boss’s boss is going to realize that as well tonight at Target and have one more reason to find me unlikable. The Chicken Fajita soup won.
SPILLAGE
I recently acquired this bad habit where I leave large cups of drinking water on the living room floor, and Cory really hates it because as a result we are constantly kicking over large cups of drinking water that I place on the living room floor, soaking everything within miles and making our socks wet when we walk in it. But I actually knock them over way more (really) when he’s not even home, so he really shouldn’t be complaining so much. Or should he?
OVERTIME
My employer offers Saturday overtime from 6 to 11am every weekend. I never ever show up. I have better things to do. Then today, someone told me we get to wear sweatpants to Saturday overtime. I signed up immediately. Priorities are funny like that.
Update to Doghouse Diaries’ how to find cups in someone else’s house flow chart, as the ubiquitous pasta cabinet was missing.
I did try. For an hour forty-five.
It’s TOO HARD!!
In 2011 I rang in the New Year in a strange suburb, tip-toed in the Pacific Ocean while Californians bundled up, wandered Vegas for 16 hours, tried my first turkey burger at the giant needle, missed a porn convention by one day, came home to a blizzard, moved, squatted, watched too much HGTV, started wanting a house, started wanting a job, got a house, moved, got a job, ate too many Cheetos during training, cost my company $30k in one day, cried in my cubicle, cost my company $32k the next day, laughed, took dance lessons with my dad, entered marriage counseling, planned a wedding, tweeted some stuff, learned the difference between Steven Tyler and Mick Jagger, got married, danced, bought too many Powerball tickets, ruined the radio knob in da Jetta ‘cause I stabbed it thrice with my car key, stormed a college town on Halloween dressed as an elder with 10 others, won first place at a costume contest, lost all the raffle drawings at work, dogsat, celebrated my first Christmas as a Mrs., found out the word “orgy” is in Catchphrase, thought seriously about getting a puppy, tried to break in to many silver Jettas that I thought belonged to me, and laughed til I cried on many a Wednesday girls’ night.
I am excited to meet you 2012! Don’t be a bitch.
I want to go back to school. I want to get an MFA in Nonfiction Writing or a graduate degree in Journalism and I want to do nothing but sit in coffee shops and airplanes and pin the world down and mold it into truths I can explain and hold it hostage until it promises to change and then go home for Christmas and bring the right kind of candy thermometer this time so my mom can teach me the right way to make her peanut brittle so I can give it to people who say things like “I don’t like peanut brittle, I just don’t know what it is about the stuff,” and make them realize they actually do love peanut brittle and are desperate to have more, as a matter of fact.
I am currently listening to a young Texas schoolteacher, who is spending part of her winter break at a Starbucks in Iowa, talk breathlessly at her lady friend about a dilemma: to send naked pictures of herself to this guy she just met and thinks she kinda likes or not to send naked pictures of herself to this guy she just met and thinks she kinda likes?
In case you’re wondering, she has so far opted not to send naked pictures of herself to this guy she just met and thinks she kinda likes. This decision is not based on anything related to scruples or self-respect. It is because she “doesn’t weigh 110 pounds, but I have started to be more vain since he started asking me for them. I do my hair now, and I dress nicer. And I know he sees regular pictures of me on Facebook, so he can’t be that repulsed by me.” They have not yet met in person.
Is this what dating in 2011 actually looks like? It is so creepy. I hate it. I don’t know how you people do it. Thank God I met Cory when I did—pre-3G, when Facebook was for documenting math finals and weekend parties, way before the “sexting” phenom had yet to materialize.
She just whipped out her phone to show her lady friend naked pictures of her Facebook suitor. I am gagging a little on my latte.
and her status is “I’d slap you but I don’t wanna get SLUT on my hand(:”
Gah.