Making friends: the creep-free method.

So. We moved into a new neighborhood in December. There are like a million people in our neighborhood with toddlers and fetuses, so we fit right in, but we don't really know anyone yet. I feel like friend-making is so time-consuming and scary. It's like dating in high school, but worse because your sanity is in jeopardy if you fail. Are there friend-making websites? Like, where I can put a profile and what I am looking for? It would look like this:

Twenty-something female seeking gal-pal that takes the time to spell out entire words when texting, will compliment me a lot, is roughly in the same socio-economic class, understands the basic functions of the government, will make me food, understands my Costco thing, has a good marriage (so she doesn't try and steal my awesome husband), is also wearing fat-pants, and watches the Colbert Report. Interested parties should provide me with a resume and oreo-flavored dessert.

...But instead I am going to try and make friends the old-fashioned way. I searched trusty-ole pinterest  to find printable valentines. I found lots, but not ones I wouldn't feel weird about giving to strangers/adults. Frankly, I don't want Dave and I to accidentally lead someone on and then break their heart. So I just made my own. And then I was thinking, how can I be the only person that wants to give other adults treats and cards for valentines and not creep them out? Here you go, internets.

So click on the link that will take you to my dropbox to download the front of the card, and then the back.
Now have a wonderful, friend-making, non-creepy Valentine's Day.

P.S. the fonts I used were The Skinny and KG Eyes Wide Shut, in case you also want to download them for free from dafont.com.

Stupid Things I Hear on The Train

Passenger 1: How did you get your phone to work? I am having lots of problems with logging onto my facebook with my droid.
Passenger 2: I don't know what to tell you.
Passenger 1: It's probably the government. I just bought a tricked out new sig [gun] so they've probably taken it over.
(later, still talking to Passenger 2)
Passenger 1: I used to make tons of money doing modeling, but I didn't have a car, so I couldn't keep it up.
Passenger 2: What do you do now?
Passenger 1: I work at a pizza place.
Passenger 2: Well, you can thank Obama. He just upped minimum wage to $10.10 [FALSE. Only applies to certain federal employees]

Then an unbelievable conversation followed where Pass. 1 detailed exactly how much he makes, his last break up, and how his mom pays his cell phone bill. Oh yeah, and then he started telling Pass. 2 about how he needs a woman he can cuddle with for two years, because he doesn't need intimacy (but he doesn't know the word intimacy. He used different terms).

Seriously. I couldn't stand this. It kept going. On and on. About everything. I finally had to put in my headphones and crank up my skrillex station on pandora. Let's move on.

Passenger A (50-something in a very fancy suit. Has been discussing his stock portfolio for like 5 excruciating minutes already): So, are you going to watch the State of the Union tonight?
Passenger B: I don't think I can stand getting any angrier.
Passenger A: I know. Did you hear how Obama is going to pass a bunch of laws this year by himself?

FALSE. You sir, with your fancy suit and wads of money, are an idiot. The Executive branch cannot legislate. The legislative branch does that. That is information you learn in the first five seconds of your high school gov class. I was sitting there reading my American Congress textbook as he was spouting this falsehoods two feet away from me. But instead of correcting him I just resented him for making so much money while being so dumb.

So. That was today.

Martin Van Buren is a classy fool.

I won't stay here long.

Because I shouldn't be here at all.

I should be writing a paper (that is already late). It's about Martin Van Buren, so obviously it's going to be the most interesting paper ever.

Yes. Yes. I will post it here. Stop begging. 

That is if I ever get it written. 

Which seems likely (ish) because it's only 11 PM. 

And I'm already exhausted. 

But I wanted to show you how I am fighting my body's natural tendency to sleep for 12 hours a day.

And I wanted you to know how classy I look while doing it. 

The classy part is the fancy cup for my white-trash drink. Also I am in a hoodie, so that's not classy.

Just look at the champagne flute and ignore every single other thing that betrays in the picture that I am not classy. 

Also, one of my eyes closes more than the other. Pretty sure the (actual) classy people have special doctors for that. 

But I wanted to show you how much fun I am having pretending to be classy. Mostly because I don't have a facebook, and my husband is sleeping and won't give me the "yes, you are classy" feedback I am craving.

Also because I have a sneaking suspicion that this paper on MVB might prove to be just as terrible to write as it will undoubtedly be to read. Which is why I am taking pictures and worrying about cups and writing this stream of consciousness blog post. 

Sigh.

Gonna fill up my cup and visualize them handing me my degree to get through this.

I'll go ahead and visualize some dollar signs too, since people that get their degrees in history have so many of them.  Let's do this.

an open letter to people without kids

hey dudes. so, you don't have kids. That's cool. There are lots of reasons people don't have kids. Maybe you don't want them. Maybe you can't afford them. Maybe you haven't gone through puberty yet. But some of your friends have kids, and suddenly there is a disconnect. You always promised you'd be BFFs, but now you guys just don't have the time to hang out, and sometimes (let's be fer realsies), you don't want to hang out with them. Here I am, to tell you everything you should know about your friends who have kids, and how to navigate the murky waters of maintaining that friendship (or, if you prefer, the quickest way to not be friends with them anymore).

she gets her creepiness from me

You liked them when they were pregnant (side note: if your friends are a couple that are deeply in love and are both committed to raising this child, THEY are pregnant. Don't be nit picky about "No, only that chick is pregnant." Especially to a hormonal pregnant woman). Anyway...you liked them when they were pregnant. You might have felt the baby kick. You feigned excitement at seeing the ultrasounds. Hopefully you bought them stuff. But now there is a rift. Because you don't understand that:

1. We are obsessed with our kid. Seriously. Put your bieber fever away, because you have no idea what obsessed is. Every phase in their development is the most fascinating thing we have heretofore experienced. Holy shiz, our baby squeaks! What a prodigy! Look how small her feet are! Every nuance of their personality is adorable, and we want to shout it from the mountain tops. Like, right this second Reese is reclining in her old infant car seat singing and hugging her bear (which she has named bob). ADORABLE.

What can you do with this? Well, take an interest in our kid. Maybe you're not a kid person. So what. But you are a friend person. And our kid is just an extension of us in a way more hilarious form.

2. We want to hang out with our kid 5000x more than we will ever want to hang out with you. Yeah, sometimes we need a break, but honestly, we get those pretty seldom, so maybe break time should be husband wife smoochy time. Not your time. It's expensive, but mostly nerve-wracking to get a babysitter, so we don't really want to do it that often. Don't ask us to. We know that we're not your only friends, and hopefully you can deal with the fact that you'll never be as cool as our kid, so really, it's unnecessary for you to invite us to things that we logistically (or otherwise) can't involve our child in. Want an example? Unless our kid is over 8 and we are going to see a disney movie, don't invite us to meet you at the movie theater. You might fall into the trap of having some successful movie trips a first, when baby is still immobile and pretty much just needs liquid to be satisfied, but it won't last. If we took Reese to a movie, she would be happy eating popcorn for..say..12 seconds. And then she would want to run. And snoop. And eat crap off the floor. NIGHTMARE.

What can you do then? Well. We can go to a restaurant with you. As long as it's not too fancy and we won't be kicked out when our kid throws a fistful of artichoke dip on the floor. Basically, we can go anywhere where we can actually allow our child to be a crazy monster and it won't be too disruptive. Because restraining our kids from monster behavior is A. Horrible for us and B. Horrible for our kid. Whom we are obsessed with.

3. don't point out weird things about our kids unless we do it first. Example: a family member always "reassures" us that Reese will grow into her ears someday. Which makes me want to drop-kick them into North Korea. Reese is freaking beautiful. And perfect. And, hot dang, she's a genius. So don't criticize peoples' kids.

I feel that I have more to say, but I must end here for now. Hopefully this will get you started on the path to keeping your friends with kids.

P.S. We never mention how weird you are about your dogs. but you are.

why being poor makes you better than everyone else

You may not feel better than anyone else, poor people. especially the people driving range rovers. but you are. Don't believe me? I will enlighten you. Because enlightenment is free. And not the kind of "free"where they ask for donations at the end and you have to act all aloof like "i wasn't really that enlightened" but inside you're all "spending my remaining $.17 on food is better."

But, first order of business is that we need to define poor. There are a lot of wannabes and posers out there. So we're gonna define this a la Jeff Foxworthy. You might not actually be poor if you couldn't afford this  year's cruise because you spent all your money on a beemer instead (I don't care if it is three years old and used. Does. Not. Matter.) You might not actually be poor if you think the markdown bins at the grocery store are gross (they aren't. I just paid $4 for like a thousand pounds of salmon, so you're the sucker here. Not me.)You might not actually be poor if you own pretty much any apple products. Because poor people are all like,"No, this banana is just as good." You might not actually be poor if you look towards tax season with angst. Trust me, tax season is amazing. I think this year we will just cash our return and let the aroma fill our home. You might not actually be poor if you have never wanted to throw up at the store. Because sometimes spending money makes me want to die. You might not actually be poor if you have never let your husband trim your hair. Who wants to spend like $15 for some barely-passed-beauty school girl to screw up your hair when your husband can do it at home for free?  You might not actually be poor if everyone in your family has their own bedroom, and you still have an extra. You know, for like an office. Or a craft room. Or something else equally ridiculous.

Do we feel sufficiently segregated? Then I shall continue.

Being poor makes you better than everyone else because:

1. You can do anything. Seriously. If we can pay all our bills and then also still have some leftover to waste in our gas tank for a two hour drive to wherevers with our zero dollar paychecks, I can't even begin to imagine the mountains we could move if we made like, actual money. Give us $30,000 a year and we could buy a mansion and then also tour europe for a month. Because we are unstoppable.  Fake poor people are pathetic, with their I-make-forty-grand-a-year-and-my-life-is-so-hard-because-I-am-paying-five-hundred-dollars-a-year-on-a-gym-membership-I-don't-use-so-now-i-can't-afford-to-buy-all-these-things-i-want-from-pampered-chef problems.

2. You are so level-headed. Being poor really makes you ask "why should I buy?" For me, the answer has to be puh-ritty compelling. No impulse shopping on this side of the poverty line. My shopping usually goes something like this:
Pants: You would look great in me
Me: Of course I would, but that is true of pretty much everything (glasses, anyone?) so you're going to have to do better than that.
Pants: I would go with all of your other clothes
Me: Yeah, but that's not that uncommon either. There's not a lot you can't pair with jeans.
Pants: You need me.
Me: Need? I have like, two other pairs. Which, if I switch off and wash them in the sink between trips to the laundromat, work just fine.
Pants: I'm on clearance.
Me: Sold.

3. You are above materialism. Well, you are, whether you want to be or not. Stop being a sad poor person and just own it. You're friends will all be like, "Whoa, that poor person really doesn't let materialism rule their life like we do. They have morals and will leave their mark on this world while we are all busy standing in line trampling people on thanksgiving." You might want to consider recycling and going vegetarian to reinforce how moral you are. But don't be ridiculous, we both know that you can't afford to eat organic.

4. You are such a hard worker. I work with a lot of teenagers (do I therefore work a teenager's job? Hmmm) and, quite frankly, not that many of them naturally have great work ethic. But I do! Mostly because I can't afford to suck. Because no one is letting me live in their house, or letting me eat their food. We poor people work hard because if we don't we might literally starve to death. It's this kind of thing that will make us all not poor someday. Keep it up, sweatshop children.

Just remember, you can take the person out of the poor, but you can't take the poor out of the person. See you in europe!

it's nice to finally meet myself.

I am sad for you, dear reader(s?), when my head is full of serious things. Because this blog is my nerdy little pensieve, like in harry potter. Where the only way to get my brain to shut up is by writing it down. To give my thoughts somewhere to breathe and live outside my head. So that's what today will be.

I feel like my life has been flipped upside-down and then pummeled so hard that it has become unrecognizable. Which makes it sound, of course, far more dramatic than it appears. But to me it is that dramatic. Something has happened inside me. I've finally noticed the little mist of melancholy that has settled over my heart over the last few months. Don't get me wrong. My family is wonderful. Dave is such an amazing father to our Reese. And Reese, well, she pretty much is the greatest thing on the face of the earth.

My use of melancholy is not some sneaky way of saying depression. Because it is not that. It just seems like discontent has been slowly creeping into my life. And I have been staring it in the face everyday, but everyday I saw this stranger and wrongfully named her Tiredness, Stress, or Distraction. She never corrected me. She wanted me to figure it out on my own that her name is Discontent, and her friend Change is on her way over.

I'm glad she came, but her stay is almost over. She made me think about every decision in my life. She asked a lot of hard questions.

Which is why I got rid of my smartphone. I read a few articles waxing poetic about the beauty of a simpler smartphone-free life. Those appealed to me, but when it came down to it, not having a smartphone is inconvenient. Then I read a couple articles on how having a smartphone makes you a sucky parent. Hmm. I get where they are coming from, but I also think that smartphones allow us to be out of the office (aka with our family) more overall, so I am not completely buying that. What really did it for me was watching the news, when the iPhone 5 came out. People were so absorbed in what they were doing once the doors opened (uh, sir, you're still standing in line)that the news anchor couldn't even get anyone to speak to her. The first customer to purchase one came sprinting out (wanting to be first, of course) and when he was interviewed he said something like, "omgitssoamazingitsfasterandsleekerandiloveit,ohyeahandihaven'tactuallylookedatityet." That was the rice that tipped the scale for me. Who are we? So I told a flabbergasted Dave that night in bed that we needed to dig out my ole dino phone and go to the verizon store. Because Discontent reminded me that I don't need that in my life. She reminded me that I love to get lost. And sometimes I just want to be completely alone. So I opened the door to Change, just a crack (Bonus: cheaper phone bill!).

I've been a Business major for quite a while now. Preceding that, I have been History, Poli Sci, Art (? I am an idiot), and Business Multimedia. Business is practical. Highly employable. Dave just got his degree in Anthropology, which is a one-way ticket to grad school. At a bachelor's level, there are not many people interested in hiring anthropologists. But it's okay. This is what he wants. He loves learning. He loves anthropology. Which means that I need a more employable degree for us to always fall back on.

Wait. What? Why has that been my mindset for so long? I believe in a God that loves me. I also believe that He wants me to be truly happy. While my family is a huge part of that, I think that for me to honestly find bliss is to use my talents and have accomplishments and satisfaction outside the home too. So, while I have complete faith that the Lord will bless Dave for  pursuing an education in something that he loves, I am now realizing that those rules apply to me too. How liberating! I have been in a tumultuous on-again-off-again relationship with school. Everyone makes jokes about how I will never get my degree. Maybe it's because I had been so focused on what will get me a job that I won't completely despise. Which is like inviting Discontent to move in with you.

It's like I forgot that everything in my life was a choice, and it took discontent to remind me that happiness is not one-size-fits-all. I think this is the beginning of something beautiful.

"don't be fat," said the rhino to the cat

Basically, this post is going to tell you how to not be fat. See, the problem here is that I may not be the best authority on the subject. Which makes me the rhino. And you the cat. Is that gonna stop me? Uh, has lack of expertise ever stopped me before? (or anyone else on the internet?)

So, before I gross you out let me give you some perspective.

This right here is pretty much my body status quo from age 13 up until the time I got pregnant. Not tiny, not huge. Just spastic and normal sauce. Also I suck at bowling. Which is weird, because I feel like my technique is solid.

So then I got pregnant. And I got fat, but like pregnant-person fat. It doesn't count as normal fat unless you can't tell you're pregnant. 

So, that was like 10 days before the longest hospital stay of my life (aka the beautiful and life-changing birth of my child). I was....ready. I was definitely rounder in places I hadn't been before (look at my arrrms), but I'm still chalking this all up to being pregnant.

And then here we are like a week and a half after I had her. Which, as coincidence would have it, was my 11th birthday.

And then this happened.

Yeah yeah, I know most of those are the same day. But I don't really have cause to take pictures of myself all the time, especially when my kid is hanging around being so photogenic. Gahhhhh. It's awful, isn't it? I was having so much freaking fun on that tire swing. Probably because I had more momentum than I had EVER HAD IN MY LIFE. Omgosh, internet. I am about to be so honest with you that I might throw up. I was sitting at about 160-165 in these pictures. Which isn't that much, unless you're only FIVE FOOT ONE. Anyway, on the day I had Reese I was about 167. Soooo. The reason most of these pictures are the same day is because I was travelling for work and we had nothing on our schedule for a day, so we went a-sight-seeing. And holycrapbatman, these pictures were a shock to me when I saw them. I think I am like the opposite of an anorexic person, where when I look in the mirror I see normal kaitlin, but the rest of the world sees the "ilovefood" kaitlin. 

When I got back from my work trip, I realized that those people I met and worked with don't know that I am actually normal-sized and what they are seeing here is like a temporary  "Please pardon our dust while we remodel" type situation. They think I am the rhino. And why would they think anything otherwise? It's not like I was really doing anything about it. Once I had Reese, I thought it would all melt away, especially since I was nursing, and I would be back to status quo kaitlin right quick. NOT. I got fatter. Which I did not realize. Until these rude pictures slapped me in the face.

So I got really motivated. I went running everyday for like two weeks straight. And then I got busy. In like one day I ruined a newly-forming habit. So then I really got strict with my yoga routine. For a while. Needless to say, working out two hours a day is just not a luxury I can afford.

And then I accidentally lost weight. Dave is such a good budget-teer, and I am more of a "it will all work out" type. Which is NOT a useful attitude towards money. Anyway, he sat me down one month and said, "We need to tighten up our finances. We have x amount of debt that I want to eradicate as quickly as possible, so we need to get back to budgeting and sticking to our budget." And I was like, "cool." So we did. He would just give me a a budget every week with no instructions on what to spend it on, but it was for any/all non-bill expenses. Gas, grocery, clothes, Tiger Beat magazines. So when I was at the grocery store, if I only had $40 that day to spend, you can bet I was not going to be sucked in by the guiles of a $4 package of oreos. Instead of being lazy and just getting whatever was quick, I ended up buying things that were cheap and would go far. Like chicken, rice, potatoes. So now, not only are we never eating out, but our food takes actual human time to make. So it's basically impossible to eat solely out of boredom, because you have to spend 30 minutes making it first. 

People have been asking me a lot lately what I have been doing to lose weight, and I mostly just grunt in response. Because it's not an exciting story. I have gone on workout binge after workout binge since forever and not really seen weight loss results. It's all about what I eat, apparently. We are also not psychotic health nuts. We don't count calories or only make the "skinny" versions of recipes. I even still drink soda (gasp).We just make food, eat at meal times, and try not to be sitting all day. We have both accidentally lost about 30 lbs each. Which is cool, because now that I don't wake up with achy shoulders, I actually want to rock the house with my mad yoga skills. And I look less like I will eat your family. 

therapy on the cheap

I am gonna start by shocking your pants off. People. I hate spending money. Even if I HAD money to spend, I don't think I'd be able to spend it. I have "genetic spending paralysis". Well, let me rephrase. I am genetically programmed to throw up on things that aren't on clearance. "On Sale" is just a fancy term for "not clearance". I don't think Dave has any idea how lucky he is that I have this defect.

But sometimes, life gets to me. I like to have direction and a plan, even if it is vague. Right now I don't. We thought the next step in our lives was this PERFECT grad school. When we visited to check it out (a billion years ago), the professor was oozing with how much he loved Dave and thought he would be a perfect fit. We (read: I) felt so good about this! The town seemed perfect, the program was spot on. Then he got denied. Which is not unthinkable. Grad programs are so competitive, and it's silly to think that the first (and only, so far) one that he applied to would welcome him with open arms. But I was so sure. Anyway, now I feel a little lost. I feel like our future is like The Shining, where you keep waiting for it to make sense and it never does. And then you google it, and find out that no one on the planet can make sense of it either.


So I went to the dolla store. And I spent with reckless abandon. My life feels so out of control right now, it was nice for me to be so in control. I could do anything I wanted. I ran around with glee throwing things in my cart. I bought like 3 things of nail polish. Even though I already have 17. Impractical? Yes. But I am being reckless! And I bought ammonia! And crepe paper! And cheetos! I didn't even keep track of how many things I was throwing in. I am like the wind!

It was nice. It was also the point where I realized that in The Shining, I am Jack Nicholson. I sit here and write stuff and snap at people. I miiiight be losing it. It's a good thing we don't have a hedge maze nearby.
 Because the resemblance is uncanny.

Electing Mayor McFartface

I feel like no one can agree on politics. The only thing we can all agree on is that politics suck. There's nothing I like more than spending my brain power on trying to figure out who is being less misleading. My senior class voted me "Most Likely to Run for Political Office". That might have had something to do with how I was a bossy student body officer (Notice that I wasn't voted most likely to BE a politician, just that I would run). At the time, I was like, "Five thousand star-eyed babies! Let's go shopping for pant suits, constituents!" And now all I want to do is make a million dollars by writing this blog that has no theme or direction. That plan is working out well.

In order to make my million dollars, I have to write words. So this is what I think about a political thing:

I just don't understand how a corporation can be considered a person, legally. So, some of it makes sense. The right to sue or be sued the same as a person, that makes sense. It means that a corporation is a single entity, which makes a lot of sense in terms of taxation and regulation. It also makes sense that because a corporation is not made up solely of Joe CEO, but a collection of individuals, those individuals should not be denied their rights when acting together. Cool. Good on you, Supreme Court. And there are some things that are denied corporations, but that we as individuals have the right to. Like, you can ask me in court all day long whether or not I did, in fact, do my hair like Legolas all during 8th grade. And I could reply, "I decline to answer pursuant to my fifth amendment rights," (I only know that phrase because I am obsessed with Suits). Corporations can't do that. They HAVE to answer. Embarrassing or not (not that doing your hair like Legolas is embarrassing. Braids are IN right now). 

My issue here is that corporations can be involved in campaigns. I feel like this is something that doesn't make sense. If I work for one of those cool companies with the slides and nerf gun fights, there is someone there above me who can decide to give money to Mayor McFartface. In fact, they don't even have to tell me, or anyone else, that they contributed to the reign of McFartface. There is no board approval necessary. How does this make sense? So one time, in the middle of a heated nerf gun fight, it occurred to me that this seems a little unfair. The only reason my company can even do that is because me and my coworkers exist, and they are considered a person in order to protect us. If Mayor McFartface is championing a plan to slaughter all the beautiful people, OBVIOUSLY I don't want to support him. Shouldn't it make sense that if the company can only give because of me, shouldn't I be involved in the decision-making process? 

Hmmm. But democratically choosing whom to give money to kind of sounds like a sucky and time consuming job. So maybe we just tell corporations that they can't contribute anymore. Makes sense to me.

the plight of the chronically single

Yes. I am aware that I am not single. That doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about. Because that would be like telling a doctor he doesn't know how it feels to be poor, but all you're seeing is his career 30 years in. You've missed the part where he and wife had plastic lawn furniture in their apartment all 10 years of $200,000 a year med school. So just because I'm not experiencing it currently doesn't mean I don't know what it's like. (PS, I am not equating a relationship to riches. Besides, even if I were, I have already discussed how being poor is Theeee Defecation (inner parenthesis to tell you that I don't like to swear. Also, to point out the absurdity of that saying)).

I have also said some other stuff about how I like being married. But let me give it to you straight, single girls.

 People disapprove of whatever you do. And they will mention it to you. Every time I leave my house (approx every 4 days) I inevitably bump into a stranger who wants to talk about my baby. They ask me how old she is, and then they ask her name. When I say "Reese" they say, "Oh, Reese? Is that right? Reese, you said? Hmm. Never heard that one before. Reese." I don't know what is wrong with this country (world?), that we think we are allowed to pass judgement on complete strangers. Maybe I named my daughter Reese because that was my mother's dying wish. Maybe I did it because a unicorn came to me in a dream telling me what her name should be. You don't know, stranger! And just because it isn't what you would do doesn't mean it's wrong.  So, if judgy people are steering the conversation in the direction of why-are-you-single-what-is-wrong-with-you, you've got to be prepared. I think I would go for shock value here. Instead of replying the truthful, "I just haven't met a person I really connect with" You should say something like, "My last boyfriend died tragically when his Alzheimer's treatment facility was attacked by genetically enhanced super sharks. I am just having a hard time moving on." If it is, in fact, someone you know, who thinks "something is wrong with you" because you are single, you can reply with a much more acidic, "I don't know, Aunt Mable, why are you wearing so much makeup? What are you hiding?" This is NOT a recommended method. I just don't think people realize how hurtful they are being when they imply that the only reason one might be single is because of a personal defect. 

I also know that we judge ourselves most harshly. We look at freaks around us who are in relationships, and sometimes we wonder if there really truly is something wrong with us. I promise, there's not. Our facebook feeds are flooded with people being cheesy and vomitous about their "true love." Those people might be trying to convince themselves that their relationship is perfect...Because we all know we try to look better/cooler/more exciting on facebook. When someone is truly, heartachingly happy, they are busy being happy, not updating their facebook to try and make them look happy.

In terms of  the lonely Saturday Night, just do whatever makes you happy, instead of focusing on what you don't have. Are all of your girlfriends out with their guys? Come to my house. I will watch a movie with you, and then we will all go to bed at nine. If movies aren't your thing we can go find some pallets by some dumpsters and make a coffee table. Whatevs. Your choice. All I am saying here is that you have options. Have fun. Be selfish, because I promise you that once you do find that guy, your selfish times are over. 

I guess what I really want to say to the single girls is that you need to stop comparing yourself, because there's always someone you will perceive as having it all. Whether they do or not, is usually a different story. And I'm not just talking about relationships here. All I know is that I never want Reese to grow up and feel like she is lesser than someone else, just because she doesn't have a boyfriend. 

So basically, life sucks in that, just as we think we have things figured out, it tells us that everyone else mastered that 27 years ago and now we are supposed to be doing something else. I say screw it. People are going to judge you no matter what. So do what makes you happy. If it's making coffee tables with me, so be it.

buffets: a guide for the novice

We've all been there. There are 100 steaming serving dishes in front of you. This ain't no small potatoes five-option wedding buffet. This is a REAL buffet. Whether you are in Vegas or at your local Chuck-a-Rama, you need a strategy.

(I know this isn't funny, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't laughing uproariously right now)

Here's a list of don'ts:
1. Don't scoop out more than 1-2 bites of anything you might be interested in. My experience tells me only about 20% of the edible materials that look good to a hungry stomach actually taste like the food they are meant to resemble.
2. Don't you dare be worried about that growing stack of 1500 plates on your table. Is your "server" (aka drink refiller) judging you? Probably, but I doubt you are the most grotesque thing they've seen that day. I bet you are in the "forgettably shameful" category.
3. Don't freak out about leaving a tip. You paid $15.00 (not including the drink) for the opportunity to get out of your seat 17 times and get your own slop. Last time Dave and I went, we opted to give a tip, but only because the teenage boy was really nice and talked to a little girl in our section about Justin Bieber (that 7-year old was right on. The biebs is totes hot) for like 10 minutes. Oh yeah, and because our tiny DNA-thief  might have thrown 800 grains of rice on the ground. But my memory of that is a little foggy.
4. Don't get your food from the right side of the bowl. Most people are right-handed. You see where I'm going with this?
5. Don't sit too closely to other people. Especially if your baby is as cute as mine. I came here to shove my face full of cubed jello, people. Not discuss whether or not you think my minor has enough fat/too much fat on her thighs.
6. Don't use the chocolate fountain. Seriously. This is all I can think of whenever I see a chocolate fountain:

 And it makes me want to vomit.

But this world isn't all about don'ts. So here are some do-s. (HOW DO I PLURALIZE THAT WITHOUT SPEAKING SPANISH?!):

1. Do visit during busy times. Because then you have a slightly better chance of actually consuming fare that was prepared this century (to be fair, last century was only 12 years ago).
2.Do learn an alternate language with your buffy (buffet+buddy=buffy). Something a little more obscure, like Danish. That way you can immediately react to the absurdity around you and discuss accordingly. BONUS: You can act like you don't understand the people that are trying to interrupt your jello-fest (it just tastes better when it's cubed!).


I feel like I could write a whole book on this. And maybe I should. Hmmmm. Hashtag mylifecalling??

the secret to actually liking the person you're married to

Prepare to be impressed. I am in such a good mood, because I finally got off my butt and spent the 30 seconds it took to set up my wireless router. So guess where I'm blogging from, minions? MY COUCH. I have been wondering for many moons how I could bother everyone with my opinions from a horizontal position. Who knew the solution was so simple?! Anyway, you came here for non-divorce advice, so let's get to it.

I mostly love my husband. I say mostly because there is no perfect relationship. Pretty much because men are hairy and smell AWFUL sometimes. Eliminate the hair and horrible smells and you have a pretty good shot at a perfect relationship (kinda makes me wonder if lesbians thought of this a long time ago, and they are just waiting for everyone else to figure it out). WAIT. There's one more thing. Something lesbians haven't thought of. The secret to a happy marriage is simple.

MOVE AWAY FROM YOUR GOSH DARN PARENTS. 

Seriously. Now I will support my argument.

Your parents have stuff. And lots of it. You may or may not have stuff, but regardless of your stuff amounts, you are used to taking of your parents' stuff freely. Even when you were at college and out of the house, you stole cans of food and they would feel bad for you and buy you dinner once in a while. But now you are MARRIED. Guess how much I care if you are married and still in school? NONE. The dynamic has changed now. Instead of your parents being the captains of your life football team, now you and your husband are (I am not going to mess with worrying about saying husbandSLASHwife. nonsense. I seriously doubt any men read my blog. My own marital co-captain does not). Your parents have been demoted to the cheer squad. So they are still at the game, they just don't have any effect on the outcome, and they sure as heck don't get to call any plays. They are there to encourage you and do backflips in miniskirts. Which is why you should move away from them. So that you HAVE to captain your own team. It's easy to defer to the leaders you've always had, but guess who is going to hate that? Your co-captain. 

I like visiting my parents. They have way nicer mattresses. My mom's conditioner smells like a minty jungle. They have a pantry perpetually full of fruit snacks. So I could see it being a temptation to ignore my life and live in theirs if I lived close to them. Because my life is full of mediocre conditioner, and spending my grocery money on actual foods, not snack foods. Which sometimes sucks. So sometimes I just want to sleep in their guest room and eat their food and complain about everything in my life to them...oh, hold on a sec. That sounds exactly like being a teenager. 

Which means you would be regressing.

It's a hard day when you realize that your parents have shifted gears from providing for you to simply sharing their stuff with you, out of generosity. But it has come, and you need to deal with it. 

The first year of marriage is not easy. Just look at Kim Kardashian and the guy we have already forgotten about! Seriously, if Dave buttered his bread differently than me,  I would burst into a million tears wondering how on earth  I could be meant for him if we couldn't agree on something as simple as buttering bread. But we are marriage superheroes, and instead of him leaving me when he realized I was bat crazy and (non-pregnantly) sobbed over butter, we worked stuff out. I am going to surprise you here with what I attribute our success to. It's because we LIVED FAR AWAY FROM OUR PARENTS. Don't pass out. 

When we would fight about anything/everything, it is sooo tempting to try and find someone in this world that will side with you. Guess who is good at siding with you? The people that created you. If we had lived closer to family I know know know that on multiple occasions we would've run off and spent the night separately. Buuut we couldn't. Which sucked at the time. Ugh. When we were fighting the last thing I wanted to do was watch him read in bed. How pompous of him. And HOLY CRAP, could he brush his teeth any more annoyingly?! But sooner or later the wizard of love would work his magic. I know there's that stupid saying that tells you to never go to bed angry. I would like to advocate the opposite. GO TO BED STEAMING MAD! Because when you are steaming mad, if you try to talk it out you're just going to get steaming madder, and you're going to want to throw your husband into the rushing herd a la lion king. So we like to go to bed angry. Inevitably, at some point in the night, the wizard makes us snuggle. Because my subconscious doesn't know when or when not to gift Dave with my touch. We'd wake up in the morning, steam dissipated, and be able to talk like human beings. Mostly. Which would be robbed of us if we woke up in separate beds.

So, imagine a scene where your husband is trying to decide if he should make his billion dollars by becoming a doctor, or being the alive version of Steve Jobs. It's important, right? And it affects you? So the two of you sit down and discuss that medicine is the way to go. Then he goes to his mom's house down the street, and comes waltzing home five hours later (with his belly full of the cabbage casserole that no one can make quite like his mom) and tells you he changed his mind. I hope I am not the only sociopath that would want to punch the cabbage out of my husband's gut. When you live close to your parents, it might help YOU keep your relationship strong, but you better believe that it's going to build up resentment towards your parents by your spouse. I don't care if you think you're the exception. YOU'RE NOT.  Parents are amazing at telling us how to live our lives, and our spouses don't have the love and admiration for our parents that we do. Making decisions with your parents is bad news bears for a marriage. See? This goes back to knowing whether people belong on the sidelines or on the field in your life. 

Basically, I like parents. Have nothing against them. But the time when you're first married is an important time for you to build the foundation relationship for the rest of your lives. So get away from your parents and focus on your husband. It will be harder, but it will also help you stay away from divorceville.

Criticisms and opposing arguments are welcome. But prepare to be crushed with my Spock-ly logic. 

why the notebook sucks and we can definitely do better for ourselves.

This post will not be news to you. There are plenty of feminists that want to cram down your throat why Rom Coms are the devil. I would say I am about 25% hippie feminist, so I will only shove this a quarter of the way down your throat.

Now, I don't hate all chick flicks. I can't quite say that I am ever in awe of their unique story telling or witty word bandying, but I enjoy them, the way that I enjoy people watching. It makes me laugh, I am always surprised at how hard they're trying, and it also makes me sad. Because of how terrible it is. Haha, see how that works? For both? People watching? and movies? Moving on.

The very small section of my brain that is smart is wishes I wouldn't publicly admit this, but I pretty much love every Sandra Bullock romantic comedy(besides Lake House. Why is Keanu Reeves in ANYTHING?) . And I loooove sweet home alabama. But I can blame that on Josh Lucas' southern accent and blue blue eyes.

But The Notebook. This just makes me weep, though, not for the reason most women weep. I just hope that I am not the only person who feels this way, otherwise pretty much all of you will think I am some self-righteous pretentious non-intellectual (I am). Regardless, let me tell you why I think Nick Sparks is probably sitting in his piles of gold cackling at all womankind.

1. The Notebook is chock full of cheesiness. Which works on film. Because Ryan will say something like, "I would rather wait a thousand years to spend one day with you, than to have someone else for a hundred," and Rachel replies with a breathy, "You won't have to wait for a thousand years, because I'm here now," or something. And we all swoon, and think How fantastic Mr. Gosling is! He just always knows what to say. He's so manly because I am pretty sure he does stuff with wood or trees or something, but he is also so sensitive. I wish Tyler/Jason/Brad would say that kind of thing to me. But guess what we're missing here? The cheesy man line works because the lady is buying it. If TyJaRad really came up and said that to you, I bet your reply wouldn't be to passionately kiss him, or to promise that you'll never be apart. Your reply would probably be to squint inquisitively a little, and then ask him why, since he would wait a thousand years for a day with you, he can't put his dirty socks in the hamper. Seriously, socks in the hamper seems a like a much easier deal than a thousand years of waiting.

2. In this movie she moves away, and he writes her, like , what, a letter everyday? Never receiving a reply? And he keeps writing? This is just not realistic. For one, how does he even have that much to talk about? Unless he's writing her letters that sound like this:

 Hey lovey pants. I woke up at 7:30 this morning, which is funny, because usually I wake up at 7:45. But you already know that. I decided to treat myself by making toast in addition to my cold cereal for breakfast. Sooooo yummy. So then I went to work and did manly stuff. It was an okay day, except that my sandwich got squished by my juice box in my lunch box. Silly me for arranging it that way. But I guess you live and learn, right? And then me and Claude were having this hilarious conversation about the sound mud makes when you step in it. You know, that squelchy sound? Omg, Claude can do a perfect impression of it. Ssssqqqquuuueeeelllllcccch. Awww, I wish you could hear it. So then I went home and changed my clothes. Then I had to go to the grocery store. I bought milk, easy cheese, swiss rolls, organic peas, and 2 lbs of apples. It cost me $27. Then I had to go to the bank. It took me 784 steps  and 5 minutes 39 seconds to get from the grocery store to the bank. Then I went home and watched Zombieland. I love the part with Bill Murray. Bill-FREAKIN-Murray! Haha. I did, however, skip the previews. Usually I like watching the previews, but I wanted to get through the whole movie without falling asleep. Now I am going to bed. It is 10:58, so it's getting way late. I know you will never write back, but I can keep this going indefinitely, so don't worry! XOXO

Painful, right? I almost bored myself to sleep. So yeah, I think I've made my point about that being impractical.

3. One time I broke up with a guy. And I think I really hurt him. But he never told me that. Because when you break up with guys, they don't come crying back to you. I am pretty sure he has moved on with his life, but like I said, I have no idea. Since I never talk to him. Although I guess there is a slight chance I have been missing his letters in the mail, and I might bump into him and the house he is building for us to live in together.

4. We all know that parents can do their best, but if crafty teenagers want to be together, they will. So I'm not buying this tragic-victims-of-circumstance thing they're trying to pull off. What would probably be more realistic is if they made a movie about two working professionals that live in different cities that might have something, but since neither of them want to leave their job they may never know. But that would probably be a boring movie.


I think solution here is to just throw The Notebook away and watch Lord of the Rings instead. Because that movie is a LOT more realistic.

marriage is gross and that's why I love it

dear everybody who reads my blog aka mom,

I have been married for pretty much forever. Okay, that's not true. But it kind of seems like I have never been not married. Youknowwhatimean? So, here we are on our wedding day.

It was a nice, quiet wedding. Anyway, everybody knows that the wedding day has pretty much nothing to do with the rest of your marriage, except it celebrates the first day of eating lots of cake together. Which I will touch on later. I know lots of people think marriage is old fashioned, but lots of people still do it. It's cool if you never want to get married. But I did, and I did for what I feel like is the right reason. To get tons of presents. I accidentally stumbled on something awesome by getting married, though. Hold on to your knickers, kids, it's about to get gross.

So here is my list of why marriage is not all cupcakes and smiling clouds, but is still pretty much the coolest thing ever:

1. Commitment. What's that, you say? You're scared of commitment? Me too. Sort of. For some reason I was like, "Cool, I've known you for a short amount of time but I can tell we get along let's intertwine our lives immediately," but I have commitment issues in other areas....like..oh...my education. You'd think just deciding on a stupid degree and getting it would be easier than getting married. Nope. Anyway, psychological disorders aside, commitment is cool. It's kind of amazing to know that when your face melts off at the end of the day someone still wants to kiss it. Not that unmarried people don't kiss, but the point is that there is never any pressure to be an olympic-level hottie, because he has already signed up to be with you when your chin skin sags to meet your collar bone. Which, by my estimate, will be about 3 more dog years for me.

2. Bathroom door, what bathroom door? Remember those old days of having to shut the bathroom door? So inconvenient! It takes tons of extra time, you have to fiddle with a lock, AND it prevents you from hearing the TV. Ugh. Ridiculous. Ours practically vanished when we got married. It is totally liberating. However, as of late I have slightly amended our bathroom door rule to include a "don't bother me" clause. Because otherwise I never get alone time. But that is a motherhood issue, not a marriage one.

3. I have help with anything I need. More than just the regular ole jar lid situation. There's also the honeyIpukedonthefloorbecauseIampregnantandIamtoogrossedouttocleanitup kind of help. Pretty much invaluable, my friends. I can't say that all husbands are this cool, but mine is. I mean, he'd even do it for non-pregnant puke. He is such a catch.

4. Sometimes, when you worry about your bowel movements(dude, we all do), you now have someone to talk to about it. It would be unacceptable in my (very short) book of etiquette to run to my parents every time things were rainbow-colored. But now I have Dave! And he actually responds to my gross inquiries with non-sarcastic remarks! Ah! If that's not true love, I don't know what is.

5. You always know where you stand. You know how when you first start getting to know a guy, and you text and you talk, and you obsess over whether you're sending him the right message or if you are being too needy or if just maybe you are just a little too aloof? All that ridiculousness is gone. I know my standing with Dave 100% of the time. I never have to worry about chasing him off by being a psychopath (read: me). I never have to wonder if he likes me. I never have to get jealous if he is talking to another girl. I am feeling puh-ritty secure here.

5. You are now tied in first place for poorest person in the world. With your spouse. Because you share a bank account. And Dave and I are going to hold onto that first place position because we are a couple of winners.

There are about 45 thousand more reasons why I love being married. Seriously though (put on your galoshes, things are about to get mushy), Dave is why I love it so much. If you had asked me five years ago to guess what my husband would be like, I would not have described the dude that sleeps in my bed (or my husband. Joke. That's a joke. We definitely have two twin beds).  One time I dated a guy that was all flowers and love songs and I thought I needed that. Yeah, it was okay. Now, Dave is the opposite. He, actually, has never bought me flowers ("they cost a ton and they die right away. If I want to spend money on you I'll buy you something you actually need, like socks,") and has never dedicated a love song to me. He is so simple, and I need that, because I am so incredibly complicated. His proposal was simple too. He took me to a hill, told me how he spent many hours there as a boy with his friends talking about what they wanted out of life. Then he got down on one knee and told me that I was what he wanted in his life (RIGHT?? BIG BABY TEARS). Anyway, being serious is making me uncomfortable. Really though, am I the only person in the world that was sort of surprised that Mr. Right was not "my type?"

you know things are bad when I make the top five in the swimsuit competition

LADIES. I have beef. It's not for dinner. It's with you. My adorable progeny and I went to the splash pad (for the non-moms a splash pad is like running through the sprinklers, but the sprinklers move and change and are choreographed to Mozart's Requiem in D Minor). It was fun. And sad. Mostly fun. But still sad enough that I couldn't stop thinking about it. Alls I wanna know is

WHEN DID WE ALL GIVE UP?

Uh, yeah, having a baby messes you up. I have some crazy stretch marks and I am pretty sure the geography of my body will never be the same. But that's not what I am talking about. I am not telling you to be freaky like Victoria Beckham and be so skinny that you sharing jeggings with your newborn. Being a mama I don't always want to spend my "baby free" time sweating to the oldies. Physical fitness is important, but it's not what makes you beautiful.

Today I was faced with a lot of abandon-all-hope haircuts and skirts over shorts. It's no wonder that one of the biggest clubs in the world has an unflattering jean named after us. After all the kings, queens, humanitarians, billionaires, and world-changers we have collectively given birth to and then raised, one would hope that people would think of something besides just jeans to describe us. Nope.

So why have we all just given in to it? Can we not have a little pride in ourselves? I've watched enough What not to Wear to know that the excuse is always the same. No money, no time, no knowledge. Blah blah blah. I, for one, don't want to Liz Lemon my way through life. I don't want to have to develop a personality because I no longer have looks (ha). I know, I know. We all have this little battle raging in us. This is how it goes:

Me: I don't want to kill myself to be beautiful just because society tells me I am a woman and that beauty is where my value lies. Sure, it can help a man to be good looking, but for a man to NOT be good looking wouldn't hold him back the way it would a woman. C'mon, we all know that Hilary would've had a better chance if she were better looking. It's a terrible double standard!

Also Me: Yes, but regardless of your motives, whether you are inadvertently driven by society or not, it makes you feel good to be beautiful.

Me: My intelligence requires me to reject that. I pretty much just want to look like a hag to spite society

Also Me: But by doing that, you are still responding to society. Just because you are not responding as a proponent doesn't mean you have risen above the argument. You, my ugly friend, are just as influenced by society as I am.

Me: It is unfair that this argument is relevant to women alone.

Also Me: Is it unfair? Or is it because of us that it even exists? Biologically men are attracted to certain characteristics of a woman that may point towards her ability to procreate. In our less primitive world we call those characteristics beauty. However, women are also attracted to men in a biological offspring-ability way. I think the difference here is that women have a competitiveness that men lack. Sure, men are competitive, but it's more like a primal "I kill animal/dunk basketball more than you" and for women it's a more refined (but still primal) "I want to procreate with that man in order for my offspring to have the best chance of survival, but he's got his eye on you so I will pick out your flaws to convince him that I am a better mate" type thing.

Me: Hmmm. So you are saying there have ALWAYS been Regina Georges?

Also Me: That is exactly what I am saying.

Which isn't really the end of the argument. I can keep going on for days about this inner-struggle. But when it really boils down to it, it's kind of like money. People with no money obsess over money. People with lots of money obsess over money. Someday I want to land right in the middle, where we have enough money that we never have to think about money, but where we don't have enough to go around wanting to show everyone our stacks of jewelry and gold toothpaste. It's the same with beauty. I want to look good enough that I am not constantly self-conscious, but I want to be ugly enough to keep me humble. Right in the middle, where I don't have to think about things. Where life is simple and I can focus on the things that really matter in life. Like how to convince McDonald's to deliver.

I have cracked teeth and my brain is exploding. You would think this would be funnier.

So, I know I have not written a post in a while. Which probably makes none of you sad. But I haven't really been able to clear my head and write. Because. of. stuff.

Those of you who know me personally might know that I am associated with a company that has recently been the center of some controversy in the media. For the murderers who read my blog, I live in India and I work for Nike. I have been under a lot of mental duress. Dave asked me why I cared so much, and why I let it get to me. I have thought about that a lot, and I guess the reason is that I feel like I am being faced with a lot of close-mindedness and ignorance, and that, try as I may, I can't explain to everyone how it really is. I am seeing that from all sides. What I DON'T want to do is discuss the debate here. What I am going to do is talk about what I am feeling. Because I am feeling a lot.

1. Surprise. I am so surprised and still in a state of shock that this is even happening. These allegations are not brand new, but the massive media hype is. I feel like this broad debate has been raging for a while, and that the recent explosion is because people, on all sides, saw this as an opportunity to make their own point. I have been surprised at the hate I have witnessed. I know I keep saying this, but seriously, from ALL SIDES. If you think that there's only one side that is expressing hate, you need to reevaluate the evidence. I have also been surprised by the love. I have seen lots of people FAS (I can't keep typing out "from all sides" or this will take forever) expressing their opinions in ways that are clear, but also accepting. I think when people stop trying to control other peoples' opinions the world will be a better place.

2. Stress. I am so stressed about this. It is so draining on me to be under a constant barrage of criticism and/or praise. I keep checking all news outlets to read the latest, even though a part of me wants to hide under a rock until this is all over. I feel like I NEED to know everything, so I can prepare the proper response ahead of time. Because, frankly, if I don't prepare it before, I will probably be stunned speechless when the time comes. I am so stressed that a fractured a tooth. I CRACKED MY TOOTH, dudes. It's cool guys, I've had these teeth for a while. I could use some new ones anyway. I cracked it by grinding them in my sleep. Which means I need a crown. Does anyone know where I can fax the invoice for my crown? I need to send it to EVERYONE.

3. Resentful. I am resentful that those filled with hate are using this controversy to further their messages of hate (FAS, obviously). Even more than that, I am resentful that people are telling me what they believe I stand for, instead of asking me. Regardless of whether I agree with them or not, I really hate that no one has bothered to ask. Everyone assumes I am either on their side or against them. But guess what, everybody? You have no idea what's in my brain (unless you read my blog).

Basically, I just want everyone to be nice. If you are on board with being nice, we can be friends. If you're not, I won't push you off the boat, because that would not be nice of me.  I have a lot of friends who are living very different lives for a lot of different reasons that don't matter. But guess what does matter? We are all adult enough that we have realized that differences don't have to drive us apart. Differences are what keeps things interesting.

Uh, that is not pinteresting. It's deranged.

Pinterest just freakin blows my mind. It's amazing. I've already explained how much I love it.  Everything awesome in this planet is suddenly at my fingertips. And the best part is that 98% of the awesome things I discover only because I have spent 10 mins (aka 3 hours) simply browsing. But sometimes I see things and I my reaction is a-somethin like this:



Because pinterest is messin us up, dudes. We spray paint one jar and suddenly think we can out-craft Martha Stewart. And the irrational thoughts keep coming. Things that we once might've rolled our eyes at, we are just accepting. Sometimes thinking it is cool. The eye roll is on the endangered list. Dave is puh-ritty ridiculous, so I am doing my part here, but I can't save the eye roll on my own, people!

Please join me as I give a hearty interweb eye roll to the following actual things I have found on pinterest:



See? Boromir knows what's up.



I hope to high heaven that this revolutionary product doesn't put hair ties out of business.



Brookstone will sell you this grocery list maker. So glad technology has finally found a way to tell me what to buy. Without having to use my delicate hands to, you know, write stuff.



Oh, you guys are going to lunch? No, I'll just stay here and get some work done, since I had one ounce of tomato soup with my quarter-sized grilled cheese sandwich. Needless to say, I didn't save room for dessert.



This sign might as well say, "I am old enough to use power tools, but not smart enough to have realistic expectations for men."

And lastly (perhaps leastly),



If styling your five year old like a twenty-five year old doesn't convince everyone what a good parent you are, that chair in the middle of the yard holding books she'll never read definitely will. Everyone knows kids=props anyway. Why else would we create them?

Pinterest responsibly, my friends.

how to ensure that you take a girl on the worst date of her life

This is a guide for the gentlemen callers. The ones that don't know how to call. All of these guaranteed worst-date techniques and tricks are based on my own experiences (some experiences may have been experienced vicariously). I just think that women make as much sense to men as the baby/sun makes sense to the viewers of teletubbies, which is to say, none. The men folk need a little guidance. Here it is maley males! Some simple ways to make sure your contact name in her phone is changed to douche canoe immediately following and/or during your date.

 

1. Talk a lot about your exes. Seriously. This is gonna be good. She will love it when you describe in detail the characteristics that you love of your recent ex.Wanna know the only thing that will make that conversation more exciting for her? Go ahead now and let's talk body. Tell her all about your exes smokin curves and her amazing eyes. Please please PLEASE don't forget to tell the story about how she is such a good kisser that you couldn't help but make out in front of 17 generations of her family at their 12th annual whatever-the-crap. I know you and your ex had some bad times as well, but steeeeeer clear of those stories. That will just make her sad. Stick to the good stuff.

2. Don't plan a single thing. You heard me, let's just let life take us where it will. Your constant "what do you wanna do"s will just sweep her off her feet. Nothing is sexier than a man without a clue. Make sure you display your masculinity by rejecting anything she suggests. Seriously. We love it when a man can just take control AND demean us at the same time. It's a twofer!

3. Talk about her body....a lot. If you can find time between talking about your ex Brittany/Jessica/Hilary, that is. It doesn't matter what kind of body she has. This is win-win, because she'll love it if she has a rockin bod that you keeeep talking about it. And if she has some problem areas she will be so grateful if you could help point them out to her. Sometimes we just need an outside opinion, you know? Go ahead and wax poetic about it too. No three-word sentences here. If you think her ears are weird, tell her why. Let's use some adjectives, guys!

4. If all else fails, take her dumpster diving. There's no better way on a first date to show her that you are a fun, spontaneous guy that can't afford the date you asked her on. Wanna up the ante here? Dumpster dive for edibles. So romantic. It is as much a surprise to you as it is to me that the man that took me for that wild ride and the one I ended up marrying were not the same man.

This is not an all-inclusive guide, of course. This guide is based on my own limited experiences. Maybe, if you're lucky, some ladies can add their two cents down in the comments about their tips on how to make a (terrible) lasting impression! Read up!

things you should know before calling the cops on your jag off neighbors

So. There is this house. It's backyard faces my bedroom windows. It's a little confusing how that works because there's a corner and some voodoo magic and I am not going to spend twenty minutes trying to explain it to you guys because words are hard, but pretty much you just need to accept the premise that I can see completely into their back yard. I can see so well I don't even need the binoculars. Not that I would use them anyway to spy on people. Because I am not a creep. I just happen to have the binoculars for....bird watching. Which I don't do. Anyway. I am getting a little off track here. So, we are close to these guys.

see how natural I look? Just glancing around the neighborhood in the normal way  nuns do

Have I ever met them, you ask? Uh, no. We spend way too much time doing whatevertheheckwewant instead of knocking the doors of our mystery neighbors. We know one neighbor (our landlord) and then another neighbor (they were selling girl scout cookies).

So one night (which it is important to know it was a MONDAY) I got up at like 2 AM because Reese needed a bottle. I am awesome at not waking up fully when I get her a bottle. Dave always finds the lid to the formula in weird places. So I get her what she needs and I crawl back into bed. And then I hear it. Laughter. Ugh. If there's one thing I hate, ESPECIALLY in the middle of the night, it's laughter. But I deal with it. And then there's more. And it's escalating. Dave wakes up too. For some reason he's not a complete idiot in the middle of the night like me, so his brain could actually make out the words they were saying. According to him they were yelling about balls and cups. Awe-some. Which explains why they kept getting louder and LOUDER. Finally, I was done with it. This jubilee must be crushed. So here, my friends, is a guide to calling the cops on your neighbors.

1. Uh, you should probably know the address before you call. So, here's how my conversation with dispatch went:
 "Hi there. I am not fully awake. I would like to be less awake but there are some nerf herder neighbors  that won't shut up. And it's late. And I hate them."
"Okay ma'am. What is your name?"
"Lord Voldemort." (okay, I didn't say that. I said my real name. But I wish I had said that).
"Alright, and do you know if any drugs or alcohol are being used there?"
"How am I supposed to know? I am not even supposed to be awake!"
"Okay, and can you tell me the address of the home?"
"Uh, I don't have the exact address. But it's on the north side of B street. I mean, it's on green street, but north of B street. I mean, we're pretty close to an intersection. Of white street and B street. So I guess it's on the west side of B street and the house itself is on the south side of green street. Does that make sense?"
"Not really, but I'll have an officer check it out."

After the phone call, I knew that party would never end unless I got some cold hard facts. So I used the magic of google to stalk my neighbors and get their address. Kinda freaky, google. Anyway, so I called dispatch back. Basically I said, "Hey three minutes ago I called to shut down a party and ruin some lives. But three minutes ago I was dumb and now I am smart and now I have the address of the house." And I gave it to them. After those phone calls they probably thought for sure that there were drugs and alcohol involved. In my brain. So, step one, know the address.

2. You probably shouldn't tell them who you are. I did. I am dumb. You are smart. Dave asked me if I told them my name. I was like, "ofcourseIdidDeanfromdispatchwassonice." And then Dave told me that if the cops do indeed go shut down the party and the party-goers inquire of the constables who reported them, it is their obligation to tell. I am not sure if that is true or not (any law hotties here?). But just in case it is, don't tell Dean your name. You don't want some crazy party animal to murder you for being lame and sleeping at night instead of attending their party. If you give a fake name, make it scary like Lord Voldemort. Uh, pretty much no one wants to mess with an evil wizard.

3. Make sure you wake yourself up to watch the results of your actions. Get an energy shot. Do a lap. Whatever. You won't want to miss this. Bonus tip: be sneaky about this. As in don't leave your windows gaping open and lights on. Party people may catch on to you.

4. Only feel a smidgen of guilt for ruining peoples'nights. Seriously. Just the teeniest bit. It would be better if you could stifle all guilt all together. It turns out the house I reported on was a party house for underage drinkers. So you know what I am? A HERO. A party-stopping sleep-deprived hero. Also, I got to see people jump over fences while running away. If that doesn't make for good talk over or-derves (shut up. I know it's not spelled like that) I don't know what does.

5. You probably shouldn't put it on your facebook or bloggity blog, especially if you violated rule number two. Here I am. Doing both. Fortunately for me, drunk teenagers make very poor investigators.

And that, my friends, is how to be the best dang party-stopping hero this town will ever see. Don't be discouraged if you don't have a natural knack for it like I do. Practice makes perfect.

Russia, puberty, and hell. So, you know, the usual.

So in my fancy blog dashboard it tells me a bunch of crap about the people who are reading my blog...which until a few days ago was just my mom. But guess where blogspot told me there were poor people reading my blog?

RUSSIA. Dudes, I have like 30 Russian readers (or one person 30 times). I feel like I need to reach out to my fanbase there. Who knows if they even get my mean girls jokes?? I need to be more relevant to them. But all I know about Russia is kinda dated...like Stalin, Gorbachev, and Fiddler on the Roof kind of old. So I did what any person of little to no intelligence would do, I googled Essence of Russia. And this is what I got:

So, what I am gleaning from this is that really, my Russians not getting any references to Mean Girls is the least of their problems. In addition to being good at suffering, they hate America (aka Toby Keith) and they have no men.

This pandering to my public has got to stop. It is stressing me out. I am breaking out like I am going through puberty. I mean, if I had ever gone through puberty. I am still holding out hope for that growth spurt!

But isn't puberty a golden time in the life of a young person? Like, overnight, everything is different and half your friends look like 30 year old pedophiles and the other half can still talk in a range so high that only dogs can hear it. And you're feeling all weird because you don't even understand what is going on in your own body, so everyone takes it out on everyone else. A simple fart would set off a witch hunt and subsequent burning at the stake. Which totally sucks, because really, the world would be such a better place if everyone just pretended like farts didn't exist. Not as good as the world would be if farts ACTUALLY didn't exist, but we don't deserve that world yet.

Puberty also sucks because suddenly you like people. I mean, I liked boys in elementary school. Because society told me to. So I did what any regular kid does and I looked at all my options, and chose the least deplorable one to have a crush on. And let me tell you, what a beautiful system that is! It gives you an outlet for your ridiculous need to write stupid love notes and play MASH, but then when he turns you down or doesn't like you back you just choose the next least deplorable option. No emotional attachment there. Kids don't need rebound crushes, because they're not insane like adults. But then you hit puberty. And suddenly you have emotions coming out every orifice. And WHAM all of a sudden you like people not because society tells you to, but because nature  tells you to. Your brain starts talking about weird things and won't shut up. "Hey, kaitlin, did you notice the muscles in that guy's forearm? Because guess what? I'm your brain and I notice stuff like that now. Wanna know what else I've noticed lately? That you look awkward and probably will until the last 30 seconds of your senior year. Also, I have A LOT to tell you about menstruation. Can we schedule a sit down about that sometime between yourfacelookslikepizza and peopledon'tknowtheyneedtoweardeodorant o'clock?"

There also comes a time in every young person's life that they make the jump from would-only-kiss-someone-for-a-dare and actually-want-to-kiss. For some people, that doesn't happen until college (SERIOUSLY. THESE PEOPLE EXIST). For me, it happened in 8th(?) grade. I'm fairly certain it was my awkwardness that attracted Robert. So one day we went with a big group of people to a haunted house, and that is where we had our first kiss. First kiss for both of us. I'm pretty sure the universe gave us some sort of award for that. We shared several other (tight-lipped) kisses that night. All of which were the best I'd ever had. To that point. Things were exciting and amazing.

And then I got home. I thought my parents would be able to tell that I had kissed someone. I probably was giving off some sort of I-hit-a-milestone stink. I don't know how they didn't see it on my face, because I was feeling guuuuuiiiilllllty. I was pretty sure I had messed up my whole life and I was going to hell. I couldn't sleep that night. It was a night-long panic attack. The next day I went to school and told Robert that we had sinned and I felt awful and I was going to give up my life of philandering to become a nun in Russia where I would be able to really get in some solid suffering for my grievous misdeed. Also, there are no men there, so that would help too. Needless to say, Robert and I did not kiss more after that.


From Russia With Love,

Kaitlin