Tuesday, August 31, 2010

Bruno Mars is Sort Of Awesome. And So Are You.

 So every once in a while I hear a song on the radio which I become totally and completely infatuated with.  (You know, until they play it 8,689 times an hour and completely annihilate it.)

I will love this song so much that I intentionally ignore phone calls while I'm driving if it happens to be on.  I even ignore calls from my husband, until the song has completely finished - because I'm a grade A wife, remember?

Bruno Mars, anyone?


 He's got sort of a girlie Michael Jackson vibe going on, but he sings this song called Just The Way You Are.


And. I. Love. It.   




Usually I end up liking songs because of the beat or the rhythm or simply how it sounds.  And while this song doesn't necessarily fail in any of those categories, I mostly like it for the lyrics.  What woman wouldn't want her dazzling knight in shining armor (who may or may not bear a striking resemblance to Michael Jackson) to sing this song to her?

Back in the day I used to get in sweats with a big pint of ice cream and gorge myself while listening to these kind of "You're the best thing that has ever happened to me" songs.  Odd way to cope with what seemed like my impending eternal single status, dontcha think?  One time I think I stooped to my lowest as I belted my finest rendition of Celine Dion's classic, All By Myself.  My dad walked in on me, and promptly instructed me to "get a grip."  That still makes me laugh.

Anyways, I totally and completely digress.  Hello.  This song is super.  And I love it.  And I think that every woman deserves to feel like she's perfect just the way she is, even if she doesn't have a man to tell her so.  I feel like somewhat of a hypocrite saying this, because we all know I have my issues - but embrace the imperfections! Imperfections are what defines people, in my humble little opinion.

I wouldn't be me without my charming little womanstache, or my decorative elbow rash, or my long ass toes, or my B sized ladies, or that mole/zit/growth thing on my chin that I'm positive gets bigger every day, or the extra love I have that gracefully hangs over the edge of my pants (or curdled up in my butt), or my indubitably whiter than white skin.  (Let's see Bruno write a song about that.)  I think you (more than) get the picture.  

We have all been created the way we were supposed to be.  We are each unique (and I try to say that in the least cliche way possible).  I'm not saying that you or I should embrace the womanstache to the point of growing a man beard - I'm cool with a little grooming and healthy lifestyles.  But I'm also cool if you want to be known as "That chick with the gnarly mustache."  It's all in the confidence.  All I'm saying that we shouldn't obsess over changing something that is so clearly who we are.  That goes for outer and inner traits.  It's you.  And it's beautiful, because it is you.  

This post has maybe turned into a case of the multiple personalities.  You have just heard from the confident "Eff the world, I'm awesome" personality.  She was pep talking the pathetic "If I gain 1 more pound I might die" personality.  (Wasn't really planning on the mini soap box.  But you know, whatever.  My blog isn't something I plan.  So there.) 

I do think it's important to love yourself.  And even though I have my own personal (better) version of Bruno Mars at home constantly telling me how wonderful/beautiful/amazing I am - I still occasionally struggle with it.  That's life.


I guess all I'm trying to remind myself and everyone else is that you have every right to love yourself, just the way you are.  


So do it. 






So c'mon Internet, let's be awesome together.  What makes you, YOU?  Butt chins?  Webbed feet?  12 fingers?  Let's hear it. 



Friday, August 27, 2010

It's Friday. Halle-freakin-lujah.

Things have been a little bit crazy with school starting and us moving all of our crap out of our apartment.  I sit here and stare at this stupid page and, once again, have no ideas for a super awesome themed post.  So, you know what that means.  Bullets.  Yessssss.

-We are currently living out of suitcases in my husband's parent's home.  I'm grateful for their generosity in letting us stay there - but I'm ready to be in my own bed, in my own house, again.

-I ate McDonald's twice today.  And even though the second time was a salad, I'm probably still going to die.

-Speaking of McDonald's, they have created a "snack" version of the McFlurry.  "Snack version", in my mind, equals more healthy.  (I call it a case of the mini-muffins.)  Thus, I've had two this week already.  And a Frosty.  And two Creamies.  I could defend myself - but I don't think I have enough dignity left at the moment.  Excuse me while I sprint a couple hundred laps around the office.  (There's an image.)




-I went to the doctor today.  For a few reasons, the major one being that I feel like I'm about 50 years old and suffering a severe case of all sorts of  menopausal symptoms.  Hello.  So not okay.  She switched my birth control to some new stuff that just barely came out called Natazia.  Doesn't that sound like a stripper name?  Anyways - it's spiffy and has different doses of different hormones on different days.  A breakthrough in birth control, apparently.  So either it'll turn me into a complete lunatic basket case and I'll kill someone, or I might actually get to live a 22 year old's life instead of the hot, dry, saggy life of a 53 year old.

-The other reason I went to the doctor was to check my thyroid.  I've pretty much self-diagnosed myself with Hypothyroidism (sounds intense, right?)  because I may or may not have a mild form of hypochondria.  I can't get enough of Dr. Google - you'd be stunned at the amount of times I've Googled the lamest symptoms.  Anyways, apparently a major symptom is fatigue.  And let me tell you, I get at least 8 hours of sleep every night, but am still constantly tired.  As soon as I shut my eyes I am out.  I rarely have energy to do anything - except, well, to eat McFlurrys.  But it's really frustrating - and it would be nice to have an explanation other than I'm just a big lazy sack of crap.  Doctor said I may be anemic - or that my snoring is to blame.  Awesome.  I got some blood drawn for testing, so I guess we'll see.  If everything comes back fine, I'll be having a sleepover at the doctor's so they can listen to me snore.  Please God, no.

-The other day my 10 year old sister told me she likes reading my blog.  (Hi, Arianne!)   It makes sense why she likes it, she's going to be just like me when she's older.  Except she isn't going to swear.  Because swearing is bad - right, Arianne?

-Toby craps and pees all over the carpet like it's no one's business.  He's a stubborn little butt head too.  But I still love him - and so does everyone else who sees him.  Seriously, he's the cutest puppy in the world, and everyone knows it.  OH.  And his other ear is standing up now.  I sort of hoped that by some fluke his other ear would just stay flopped over, because it was so stinking adorable

-School has started, we all know how much that thrills me to no end.  (Read: I hate school.)  I'm actually sort of excited for some of my classes though.  One of them is Psychology of Love - and I know that might be lame to some people, but I'm really excited.  I'm also taking a Criminology class.  Random, right?   This is all based on the huge assumption that I can even shell out the 3 grand it's going to cost.  

-Okay, Internet.  Friends and family are sort of confused as to why all of a sudden there's millions of unfamiliar people reading and commenting on my blog.  (Okay, not really, but let's pretend.)   Basically it goes something like this, friends and family tell me how funny my blog is and it makes me feel fuzzy and warm.  I wonder if people who don't know me would think the same, or if my friends and family are just blowing smoke out their holes.  So because I'm mildly self-centered and enjoy people telling me how I complete their world (and because I may or may not get entirely too bored at work), I posted the link to my blog on a few forums - and bam - I'm an internet sensation.  (Again, not really - but just for the halibut.)  Just you wait til I show you all the super prestigious awards people have given my blog.  Then you'll be impressed.  (This would be a prime example of ME blowing smoke out my own hole.)





Anyways, was that long enough?  Good glory.  Sorry.  You are the salsa to my tortilla chips, Internet.



Happy Weekend.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Slap Happy

I'm in a particularly foul mood right now.  (Run internet, RUN!)    There really is no particular explanation as to why - unless you count the fact that PMS may or may not have made it's grand entrance in the last few days.  Thank you, nature.  Life is actually going fairly well, actually - but for the sake of my sanity, I need to have a mini vent session - get a few virtual bitch slaps out of my system.  Plus, who doesn't love the occasional pre-menstrual vent session, blog style?



I hereby bestow virtual bitch slaps to the following people:

-One to the lady at Wendy's who thinks it's okay to shove her big A self right in front of a very hungry Chelsea who has been waiting in the drive thru line for 10 minutes.  Not okay(It took just about every ounce of strength I had not to totally and completely lay on my horn while she tried to order, whilst screaming expletives in her general direction.)  My hatred for butters stems clear back to Kindergarten.  Seriously.  Let's play by Aretha's rules and show a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t.   

-One to my husband (who I still love dearly), for arguing with me about when my period starts.  Bad idea.  Just, don't.


-One to the jack wagon who decided that tuition should cost 3 grand, plus my firstborn, every semester.

-One to the cabinet painter that totally threw our whole house renovation off schedule.  Luckily there was a vacancy at the in-law's place... I'll just leave that at that.

-One to the same chick who stands outside and begs for money every single day.  Sure, I get it, your life is hard, you don't have money, you've been wearing the same outfit for 8 months.  Hey, I know!  Save some of that hard earned panhandled money, buy yourself a nice outfit, and  get a job.  Maybe I'm heartless, but c'mon - getting a gig at the local Taco Bell can't be that hard.

-One to the doctor/dentist office, for not having hours outside normal business hours.  We aren't all stay at home people - throw us a bone.

-One to the fully grown man in my lobby who announced he had to use "the little boys room."  Grow up, dude.  Why do adults still refer to the restroom like they are 5 years old?  Let alone announce it in the first place?  You don't need to explain to me where you're going, I promise I don't care.

-One to Hannah Montana.  And that annoying Elizabeth chick on Bachelor Pad.  (Yes, I watch smut, and I like it.)  Because I can.

-One to every teledouche that continues to call back and harass me because they think I'm rude for hanging up on them 800 times in a row.  If getting hung up on gets your panties that twisted, perhaps you're in the wrong profession.



And finally, one big one to myself - for being in a most heinous mood.  Sorry, internet.  But I feel a tiny bit better now.  As long as traffic isn't a big piece of crap going home (because nothing kills a mood faster than bad traffic) and I can successfully hide from my in-laws (and everyone else, for that matter) in the guest bedroom and watch an embarrassing amount of Friends - all will be well.



If you have some slapping you need to take care of, feel free to do so in the comments section.  Let's be slap happy together, internet.






You know you want to.

Friday, August 20, 2010

My Husband Probably Deserves Some Sort of Award.

Dearest Husband,

I know I'm basically a butt-munch like 94% of the time.  And I'm fairly positive I drive you sort of crazy when I do things like fold the toothpaste tube instead of roll it, or leave my shoes all over the floor, or leave strands of hair all over the bathroom wall (even though I cleverly shape it into secret messages for you.)  I'm probably only kind of biased - but I think you're exceptionally kick-ass.

Thank you, for not divorcing me for openly swooning over the hot waiter at Texas Roadhouse.  And then for agreeing with me that the pants he was wearing totally ruined him.

Thank you, for hugging me when I snore - instead of punching a hole through my face.


Thank you, for coming and picking me up on the side of the road when, in a fit of stubbornness, I try to run away.


Thank you, for cleaning pretty much everything without me having to nag you.  Even if it's just because you are bored.  Or because your wife failed at maintaining a drawer of clean underwear.

Thank you, for creating a positive connotation with the word stinky and lovingly refer to me as your stinky butt.  


Thank you, for pretending like my failed attempts at cooking are the best thing since sour gummy worms.

Thank you, for letting me constantly write about you on my blog.  The internet thanks you - and loves you.


Thank you, for watching super lame TV shows with me - and providing a commentary judging the hell out of the cast, so I don't feel so lame.


Thank you, for still marrying me even though I've been pretty much a needy, emotional wreck of a psychopath in the past.


Thank you, for letting me get a puppy.  And for yelling at him when he poops inside, so I don't have to.


Thank you, for telling me I'm cuter than pretty much anyone.  Even though we both know that Jessica Alba is way hotter.


Thank you, for letting my feet get pampered by my favorite preppy Asians, even though we now have a grown-up  house payment.

Thank you, for working so hard to get our house looking perfect - and for putting up with my constant whines that it smells bad.

Thank you, for whispering sweet nothings into my ear every night and morning - even though I sometimes don't comprehend at all what you've said, due to being 90% asleep.

Thank you, for being patient with me when I'm not in the mood.

Thank you, for remembering to pray every night.  And occasionally throwing in some good classy humor that has to make God chuckle.

Thank you, for cuddling with me at night, and then knowing when to back off because I'm getting too warm.


Thank you, for occasionally innocently  throwing out a d or h word here or there - mostly because I think it's hilarious - and it makes me feel a little better about my cursing habits.


Thank you, for spoiling me rotten to the point that you let me get the chocolate covered granola bars, even though you like the normal (healthier) ones better.

Thank you, for making me laugh - until I pee.



Most of all,


Thank you, for being my perfect man.  For being a wonderful example to me.  For having all the patience in the world to deal with me complaining.  For showing me that you'll be a wonderful father someday.  For waking up at the butt crack of dawn to work hard to bring home the bacon.  For being the complete epitome of selfless.  And for loving me, even with as many weaknesses as I have - and managing to see my strengths where I see nothing.  I love you a million gummy worms, sugar.



I'll be your Stinky Butt, always and forever.






 



Thursday, August 19, 2010

The Dentist Makes Me Want to Die. Sort Of.

Today I have to go to the dentist.  I abhor the dentist.  (Thank you, Thesaurus.)  I could list a whole crap load of things I'd rather do than make a trip to the dentist office.  Like, eating a stapler - or wiping my butt with sand paper - or wading through the Amazon River - or licking the sidewalk.  I imagine you get my drift.  When I imagine Hell, I imagine lots of mouth drills, fluoride, and bad waiting room music.  Seriously.  I realize dentists are (some version of) good in the long run - but still, they make my spine crawl for all sorts of reasons.  If you think I'm about to go list crazy on your toosh, dear Internet - you are so, so right. 


In no particular order, reasons I don't particularly like detest going to the dentist.

1.  Is it me, or do all dental hygienists look like Barbies?  Not to mention they naturally have an exquisite set of chompers.  I guess my self esteem is just so, that being surrounded by hot chicks with perfect teeth makes me a tiny bit uncomfortable.  I instantly feel like they are going to judge my teeth, and have full blown Relief Society conversations about them as soon as I leave.  Paranoid much?

2.  You know that massive magnifying glass that the dentist has, that has 846 magnifiers?  Talk about feeling uncomfortable and judged.  As if seeing my less-than-perfect teeth isn't enough, he now gets to inspect all the impurities on my face as well.  So that's 2 cavities, and 84 blackheads.  Great.

3.  Having my mouth wide open with all sorts of goodies floating around in there, making it impossible for me to swallow - sort of gives me anxiety.  

4.  Why do dental people try talking to you when they have all their metal crap shoved clear down your throat?  Do they think it's funny?  Is it really necessary to ask me how my day is?  Clearly, I'm having the most superb day of my life - you know, with you drilling the shite out of my teeth.  Can't get enough of that.  But seriously, unless you want half-crapped gurgles that are kind of words and drool running down my face that you have to suck up with your creepy little vacuum - don't talk to me.  Seriously.





5.  Speaking of the creepy little vacuum... You know, that little tube they leave draped off the side of your mouth that dries it out so quick that it feel like it's about to start sucking your brain out?  Yeah.  Not a fan.

6.  One of the worst parts for me is when they floss my teeth.  Good glory, you'd think they took a little mini saw and were trying to splice my gums right in half.  And then directly after comes the, "Looks like you're bleeding a little bit" comments.  You don't say?  The amounts of flowing blood makes my mouth appear to be un-flossed since the Dark Ages.  Commence flossing lecture.  I can never get enough of them telling me that I should floss after every time I eat.  Seriously, lady?  I'm not the type of person that is going to put life on hold after I eat a granola bar, because holy crap - I have to floss.  Now, I say more power to people that do floss like it's going out of style - but I just don't enjoy it.  I floss morning and night, and when I get a huge piece of broccoli wedged in between my teeth - but that's about it. 


7.  Oh, and after the floss lecture always comes the plug for the million dollar electric toothbrush that I "should" be using.  Dude, if you want me to use a specific toothbrush, then give me that instead of the .50 pieces of crap you give me every time I come in.

8. Out of everything, I think getting numbed is probably the absolute worst.  First you have to have needles shoved into your gums, and that basically feels like a steak knife.  And then when everything is said and done, you get to walk around for the next 5 hours slurring all your words and drooling all over everyone like a complete tool.  It's even worse when it's just one side that's numb, and you feel like it's drooping 5 feet lower than the other half of your face.  Good times.

9.  Then the final cherry on top is when they hand you your bill, and still manage to rape you of all the money you've ever earned, post insurance.



Ah, yes.  The dentist is fun.  


Excuse me while I go eat some chocolate covered pretzels.
...and not floss afterward.




What do you hate about the dentist?  (Or love, for the weirdos.)   

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Thanks, Google.

So I was perusing through some of the terms that people have Googled that magically led them to my blog.  There are some pretty amusing ones.  And ones that make absolutely no sense.  People Google some weird crap.  I've picked out a slew of my favorites to share - along with commentary - because I'm fun.

Buttcrack blogs by girl
(A blog purely dedicated to butt cracks?  Must be golden.)

Who laughs at nut shots?

Have people really died from P90X?   
(There are a TON of people who Google "P90X Death."  A TON.)

Neener chinto
(WTF?  I don't even want to know what comes up when that is Googled.)

   Chelsea is a poo
(Thanks.)

 "Fiber One" fart gas

Can bears smell ham?
(I imagine that my blog popped up on page 104 of this particular search.  Ham?) 

Poo poo on my hand
(Who the heck Googles 'Poo poo on my hand?)

Bears can feel menstruation
(Yes.  Most menstruating creatures can.)

Menopause moustache

Effects of menstruation on bears
(Anyone gathering that this particular post gets all sorts of hits?) 

Do high class hookers pole dance?
 (I wasn't even aware there even was such a category of hookers.  Just saying.)

Low ogestrel and burping
(Is there even a correlation?   Really?)

Mega boobs rica.com
(Sort of awkward.)

Armpit hair women full body
(I don't even understand what this person is trying to figure out?  Is there armpit hair all over her body?  Gnarly.)  

 Pole dance fat thighs
 (Again, what were the intentions of this fellow Googler?  I'm not sure I even want to know, but I doubt they found what they were looking for on my blog)

 Menstruation doesn't smell right

"She rips off her shirt" movie
(Perv.)

Low ogestrel gives you big boobs

 Armpit hair
(Is this a broad search, or what?)

I smelled someone on their menses then I began mine
 (Thank you.  Google appreciates this small gem of knowledge.)

A physco who stalks people at giant
(I sort of love that this search brought up my blog as a result, somewhere.  Kind of hilarious.  Kind of sad.)   
   
 

Wasn't that enlightening?  I love how every search is borderline, if not totally, inappropriate.  That probably doesn't reflect so well on my blog.  Except for I know pretty well what specific posts they were probably led to with most of those searches.  I promise I talk about stuff other than periods, poop and farts.  Perhaps my goal should get search engines to find me with terms such as, "Inspirational stories" or "How to be a better person" or "Motivational blogs" or "Reasons to be happy."  But lets be honest, the chance of that happening is just about as great as Britney Spears remembering to wear underwear.  I'll just stick to the butt crack, nut shot and pole dancing stories - because the reactions I get are priceless.  And because I know the internet loves nothing more than to read about all the detailed aspects of my life that all the other Bloggers are too scared classy to share.    



Anyone ever find your blog with a totally awkward search term? 
 

 

Monday, August 16, 2010

God is Good

Yes internet, he's a Corgi.  And his name is Toby.  And we absolutely adore him.

Here's the probably longer-than-necessary story.

As you all are most abundantly aware, I've been hankerin for a baby.  And when we decided that it wasn't time to bring a screaming Chelsea/Shawn into the world quite yet, we decided that a barking, pooping, fur-baby would suffice for now.

Thus began the over-eager search for the absolute perfect dog.  I logged a modestly gigantic amount of hours on Utah's local classified site, KSL.  Each day I'd come home and show my husband 37 different puppies I had found and thought were adorable.

Many Google searches ensued - trying to research all sorts of breeds to see what would fit best.  We eventually narrowed it down to either a Golden Retriever or a Corgi.  I realize those are kind of really random, comparatively speaking - but you know, that's how I roll.

So the KSL search continued when one day I saw this face.





Um.  Is it even possible to say no to that face?  Shawn and I immediately fell completely in love.  The only issue was that he was located in Central, Utah.  Which is not by any means in the center of Utah.  It is clear at the bottom - a good solid 4 and a half hours away from where we live.

Crappy.

We finally decided that that was not going to stop us whatsoever.  We had to wait until he was 8 weeks and then it was on.

We woke up bright and early at 5:00am to leave.  Because our Jeep doesn't have my beloved XM radio - I insisted that we go to Wal Mart and pick up an iPod adapter so we wouldn't have to listen to 4 hours of static.

We later realized that we had not purchased an iPod adapter.  Indeed, it was an iPod charger.  Can anyone say sleep shopping?  Hello.  As a direct result, we ended up tuning into the world of AM radio, blasting golden oldies like this one...

Boring scenery - old music - husband busting movies -  the whole scene just really cracked me up.

Oh.  And who could forget about the man at McDonald's who thought the screen in the drive thru was a touch screen.  He got up and walked around, and poked it a little.  He had absolutely no idea what was going on.  Poor dude.



Anyways.  We finally got to our destination.  The roads weren't paved.  And the street name we were headed to was called "Hole in the Rock."  That's when you know you're in the butt crack of Utah.  For real.

We got to the house and go in to be greeted by 3 fully grown Corgis and 4 of the most adorable little puppies on the planet.  Oh, and by a house that smelled of a 6 pack-a-day smoker and the smoker himself.  He was a gem.  White trash at it's finest, really.  He was a nice guy, when he wasn't calling the dogs little sons of bitches and other choice expletives. 

There were 3 boys to choose from.  We didn't even consider the girl - she was way overpriced.  The blue collared one had a biting issue.  The red collared one peed about 4 different times on the carpet while we were sitting there.  And then there was the black collared one, who we fell in love with in the very beginning, who was perfect!

With all the dogs around, my nose suddenly started running like crazy.  Then my throat started itching.  Then I started sneezing.  Damnit.  I cannot be allergic to dogs!  So I pretty much ignored it, because I was hell bent on getting a puppy.  After playing with all of them for about a half hour, we decided on the black collared one - and I was thrilled.  We forked over the cash and he was ours.  Eeeee!

Then we trekked 4 and a half hours back home.  And he did such a good job.  He'd scratch the pillow when he needed to do his business outside - and there weren't any accidents.  Yessss.  He sat/slept in Shawn's lap the entire time.  So. cute.



As you can tell - we are both completely smitten.


We brought him home and showed him to everyone, he met the family dogs and behaved beautifully - for a puppy, that is.  Everyone loves him.  The grandkids were beside themselves when they saw him.  I felt a little bad that the little guy was probably on total sensory overload.   

And naturally, here are some pictures - because I can't help it.

 These are only my sisters.  The grandkids were much more in number.

 He will be walking and out of no where just flop down and lay there.  It's hilarious.


I had heard that Corgis are known to sleep on their backs - and I guess it's true.




He was absolutely terrified of the squeaky ball at first.  And he'll only go get it if it's close enough.


(I never understood why so many people put so many annoying lame videos of their pets on YouTube.  I sort of get it now.)


Anyways - Toby is 8 weeks old and cuter than ever.  He whines, I assume because he misses his family - and it absolutely breaks my heart.  He totally and completely has Shawn wrapped around his little paw.  Shawn is straight up crazy about him.  It is so, so cute. 

 
My allergies have subsided.  I'm certain it's because there's only 1 dog, and not 900.  Oh, and because I may or may not have said about 834 prayers asking God to please let me keep the puppy.  Toby means "God is Good" - coincidence?  Thank you, God.

I promise I'll try not to be an annoying pet blogger.  Because, that's lame.  But you'll have to excuse the boring videos that I may post on occasion - because I'm just about positive it will happen.  But there's the story - and we couldn't be anyyyy happier!




Oh.  Just as a side note...

Yes, we bought an SUV.
Yes, we bought a house.
Yes, I can't remember what I ate for breakfast yesterday.
Yes, I sometimes I feel like I'm going to throw up.

But no, I am nooooot pregnant.  And unless an angel comes down and pulls a Virgin Mary on me, I couldn't be any more sure.  


Trust me. 

  


 

Sunday, August 15, 2010

Introducing....

The absolute most adorable puppy in the entirety of the universe.







And he's all mine.



Stay tuned for more specifics about him and our trek to BFE to pick him up.
(Not to keep you hanging or anything.  I really just couldn't contain myself.)


Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Because I Know You NEED Some [Extra Large] Visuals

Remember how I've talked about my broiled skin for the last two posts?  Well basically now I'm making like a snake and straight up shedding all of my skin.  I leave heaps of skin flakes pretty much every where I go.  And now I want to show you pictures, not only of me - but of my equally flaky husband.  Nice, right?

 Shawn sort of looks like he has a skin disease.  But he's still hot, of course.


Close up, anyone?


This is only the beginning.  Like my patch of freckles?  Pretty sure it's skin cancer.  Gnarly.


I'm a scab picker.  So peeling off skin is like crack to me.  Okay, not really.  But I probably like it more than I should.  Am I weird?



Okay.  I promise I won't whine about my (or my husband's) disgusting epidermis for at least another post.



Don't ya just feel like eating a nice big bowl of Corn Flakes now?



Yummy.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Receding Hair Lines, Leprosy, and John Mayer

No catchy theme today.  Just a journey through the mind of yours truly.

-I didn't shower today.  So I pinned back my bangs - because they were a greasy hot damn mess.  Turns out I have a forehead that is the size of a football field.  However, according to some loser a-hole in my lobby it's not a big forehead - it's a receding hairline.  Thank you, sir.  Thank you.

-I'm pretty sure I'm losing my mind.  I can't remember a single daaaang thing.  Today it's been especially worse.  I'm positive I've made myself look like an absolute buffoon for my boss.  Eff.

-I keep getting this sick feeling in my stomach.  And I get hungry at the same time, but I feel like if I eat - I may or may not throw up.  Sooo, I don't eat.  It's probably God's way of telling me to slow it down on the food intake, or else I'll die a sad, obese death.  Or maybe it's God trying to tell me that I probably shouldn't ever skip church to eat mountain man breakfast and German pancakes for breakfast.  I'm such a failure.

-Remember that one time I completely charred my skin?  Oh, and that other time I wore a black shirt to work when it started peeling off in copious amounts?  So in addition to my hair looking like I just returned from a 6 hour workout at the gym - I also look like I have a heck of a dandruff problem.  Along with a severe skin discoloration issue.  And leprosy.  Basically I'm hot.

-My younger brother is dating my husband's ex-girlfriend.  Is that weird to anyone else? 

-I won tickets to the John Mayer concert at the end of the month.  I'm going to be completely honest, I had no idea what I was going to win if I called.  But whenever I hear, "Be the 10th caller!" - I call.  I don't really listen to John Mayer exclusively outside of what they already play on the radio.  So I didn't like, wet myself or anything.  I got entered to win "VIP Backstage Passes."  I hear Mr. John is sort of a scum bag?  I'm not real sure what exactly I'd say to him.  "Hey man, I hear you like sex... a lot.  That's cool."  Winning is grand.

-Those eggs that were on our porch?  They definitely hatched.  Biggest. Babies. Ever.  I have a picture - but I don't have my camera with me.  So I guess you'll have to suffer.  They power washed our deck today.  Shawn and I are seriously concerned that there are going to be dead birds on our deck when we get home.  Here's to hoping baby pigeons love a good power wash every now and then.







Salutations, Internet.



   

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Most Expensive $20 Gift Card Ever....

So... You know those stupid little mailers you get practically every day from dealerships saying, "Scratch and you could win a trillion dollars!"  Or, "Bring this key in to see if it's the match for a brand new car!"  You know how normal people usually throw them away?  Well... I sort of don't.  I've been to my fair share of car dealerships solely to claim the prize I knew I had won.  Ranging anywhere from a 5 dollar bill to about 4 mp3 players from the same dealership.  (Or if you don't win a prize, you get your free hot dog or Creamie or whatever.)  I've lied to plenty of car salesmen to get them to stop trying to sell me a stupid car.  (The time I probably went the furthest was when I told them my mom had been dead for 5 years - long story.) 

Anyways, Shawn and I got another one of those mailers in the mail the other day.  We were driving by the dealership that the promo was for and though, "Eh, what the heck."  So we took our key in to see if it unlocked the winning car.  We drive up and there's a crap load of salesmen just waiting to pounce.  So I park - and the absolute first thing I do when I get out of my car?  Let out a big old, "Oh shit."  Because I had managed to lock my keys in my car.  Seriously?  That may be one of the 5 worst places to lock your keys in your car, because you can't run away from the crazy, obsessive car salesmen.  That was awesome.  The car salesman  however, was absolutely beaming - naturally.  We tell him that we're there for the food and the prize.  He goes off on his spiel about our cars, and what our payment is, and yadda yadda yadda.  We have actually been talking about selling my car to lower our payment... So we figured since we didn't have the winning key and had no where else to go, we may as well look around.  As soon as we told him we were interested in looking around, he told us that they could unlock my door for me.  Sneaky jackwagon.

So we look at a bunch of bigger SUV type cars - because I was sort of tired of sedans.  I made it very clear to the dude that we wouldn't be walking away with a car, we were just interested in seeing what the prices were like and what our options were.  He slyly got me to test drive a car that I actually sort of liked.  Can anyone guess where this is going?

Long story short(er) - meet our new Jeep Grand Cherokee.






Yeah.  I know.  Rash, right?  I had some mega separation anxiety from my precious Cobalt.  I was seconds away from down right having a mental breakdown because I was never going to be able to drive the 'balt again.  That, and any sort of major change like that sends me into a downright tizzy.  I wanted to slap the silly grin right off the salesman's face.  I was kind of annoyed that he won. 

BUT....

I really actually love the Jeep.  Although I lost my XM Radio and my IPod plug (*tear*) I have gained way more features in this baby.  Like, oh, power locks and windows.  Cruise control.  Sun roof.  4-Wheel drive.  Heated freaking seats.  And my favorite part?  I get the little button on my key that locks my car and beeps.  I feel like an absolute superstar when I press that.  (Mostly because I've always had to pretend that my car was cool enough to beep, and make the beeping noise myself.) 

So now Shawn and I are ballin' around in a sweet Jeep.  Sure it was totally random - but we both feel really good about it.  (And that may or may not be because my car was starting to make some weird ass noises.)  And now we can say, "Hey, remember that one time we bought a Jeep?"  I'm not a very spontaneous person, so even though this purchase about gave me an ulcer - I'm really happy about it.  So if you have pleasant Jeep stories to tell.  Please do.  I've never once in my life owned a Jeep.  Or any type of SUV for that matter.  So positive feedback would help calm my ever-present worry that this Jeep is going to crap out prematurely.  (The car salesman had all sorts of good things to say about Jeeps.  But, well, he's a car salesman.  He'd have good things to say about a big piece of dog turd, if it meant a paycheck.  So that's sort of a mute point.)




Oh.  And the even better news?  We may or may not be picking up the cutest dang furball addition to our family this next Saturday.  Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!  





Life is good.







*By the way, we totally won our prize.  A gift card to Wal Mart.  Oh yeah.

Friday, August 6, 2010

Oompa Loompa Doopadee Doo

So, I managed to go on not one but two camping trips in one week.  We went boating at a lake about an hour away for the second round.  So instead of snakes, mice, and dead animals - there was earwigs, sharks*, and the most annoying squawking birds on the face of the planet.  Where's a shotgun when you actually need it.  Seriously.


Shawn and I set our very own tent that we got for our wedding.  Then, you know, we broke it in.  (Which, by the way, totally isn't an easy thing to when there is family looming outside your tent.  Just saying.)

We played card games.  I got extremely competitive.  My mother-in-law called me a sore loser.  And I'll just leave that at that.

Then we ate our gigantic tin foil dinners that I made.  Which I'm fairly positive is the cause of both dear husband and I completely destroying every bathroom in our path.  Oops.

Then we slept on our nice queen sized airbed.  Well, slept until Shawn shook or hugged me until I woke up, because I was snoring like a damn bear.  Sorry, man.

Then we waited on a beach for 3 hours while the first half of the family had their fun on the boat.  By wait, I mean I sat on a huge tube and burned alive in the sun while watching Shawn drown his little brother play frisbee with his dad and brother.  Oh.  And there was the most adorable little girl there.  And I almost kidnapped her.  Almost.





And then Shawn posed for some amusing sexy glamor shots.  Isn't he a gem?  Greow.


   (Words still cannot express how much I love the fact that he lets me post these.  Thanks, love.)



Then by the time the boat came back - we were all feeling a bit testy and needed to eat.  So we did.  (Talk about irrelevant detail.)


We boated.  We knee boarded.  (Mostly because this one jackwagon of a boat was ruining the good wake boarding water.)  And I hardly include myself in the 'we'.  I crashed and burned about 946 times before my thighs gave out on me and I was hyperventilating to the point where you'd have thought I just ran an effing marathon.  My mother in law even got out there and was jumping over wakes, and doing full turns.  Don't even get me started on my father in law.  He did the little one ski thing.  And he was insanely good.  I practically felt like I should have paid to watch his flawless water talent.  My word.  Talk about being the odd ball out.  Sheesh.

Then we tubed.  The sole water "sport" that I can proudly manage.  Mostly because I'm deathly afraid of just sitting in deep, dark water where I have no idea what sort of creature is going to slime up my leg.  Gag.  Oh, and because tubing requires absolutely no skill other than holding on.  Lucky for me, I was on the tube with my unusually muscular husband - and continued to get stuck in the middle of a father-son feud, with my father in law trying like crazy to throw Shawn off.  Only to fling me clean off the dang tube every time.



Oh.  And then my favorite part?  Totally giving his family a full frontal of my boobage when I finally got back on the boat.  Turns out those little spiffy life jackets don't stay zipped up.  And turns out all my fun little crashes got my swimsuit all up in the wrong places.  Leave it to me to manage to flash people while sporting a one piece, while I'm surrounded with bikini clad family members who can keep it all in place.  Good times.

And then my oh-so-observant husband spotted a piece of art among the clouds.



 By this point.  I'm totally and completely fried from head to toe.  And basically, that's just awesome.  


We go to Golden Corral and act like absolute savages who haven't eaten in years.  I pick out every deep fried piece of crap in there.  Because, why not put an extra 5 pounds on my toosh?

Then we finally came home.  I managed to get a glimpse of myself in the mirror - and about crapped my pants because I looked look like an Oompa Loompa.  Shawn slathered me in Aloe and I walked around butt naked for the next few hours because I couldn't be bothered to have clothes rubbing my burns and making me want to pretty much die.

(I put a sarong on for the picture.  Because I like to keep it sort of classy.  Oh, and this is only a portion of my totally and completely burned self.  How annoying is that tan burn line?)

Anyways, that's it for now.  I'm going to go continue writhing in menstrual cramp/burned body Hell working.  





May your weekend be sun-less filled with sunscreen, internet. 




*I know there are no sharks in lakes.  Being dramatic is just fun, okay?




 


 

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Sometimes I'm Cool. Sometimes I'm Not.

Embarrassing moments.  Everyone has them.  Some are worse then others.  Some are just really stupid.  I've always prided myself in telling people that I really don't have one single "most embarrassing moment."  I'm usually the one embarrassing other people.  I mean, how can a person who publishes stories about their hairy butt crack possibly have anything to be embarrassed about, right?  The more I think about it, though - the more I realize that I really don't have one single embarrassing moment.  I have several.  I'm just too damn proud to admit it to anyone.  (Or I've found a way to twist them into cute, funny, or totally lame stories.)  So, dear internet, I submit to you some of my most "embarrassing" moments.  Right from the very bitter beginning. 

-I was a whopping ten pounds when I came into this world.  Not to mention I looked like a Chinese effing sumo wrestler.  No lie.  This was probably more embarrassing to my totally Caucasian parents, who had to claim the Asian hippo from the nursery.  (Sort of kidding.  Sort of not.  I really was a big old chubster.)

-When I was a young buck, I made a snowman with my dad.  This was 17 different kinds of exciting for me at the time.  The moment came for the final touch - the top hat.  I put it on top of the snowman's head, and much to my complete and utter dismay, the snowman didn't come alive.  I bawled.  For hours.  Absolutely devastating.  (This is one of those stories that my parents love to tell people.  Because, you know, it's cute.)

-In kindergarten we had story time.  One day we were all sitting on the floor, listening to Mrs. Flandro read us a story.  I apparently hadn't learned the fine art of taming my flatulence by that point, and let a massive one rip right there during story time.  I happened to be sitting at the front of the group.  Every single little damn kindergartner scooted away from me.  So there I was.  Sitting all alone at the feet of the teacher.  Well, that is, until the boy that wanted my kindergarten trash scooted up next to me and said, "Don't worry, I'll still sit by you."  Great.  Just great.

-In elementary school I got onto the bus, just like any other morning.  Except this was the morning that my buddy noticed that I had a mustache.  And decided it would be cool to let everyone know about it.  And continuously wondered aloud how a girl could have a mustache.  Thus began the decline of my self esteem.

-Ladies, you know that point when you're still too young to wear a bra, but it's borderline inappropriate for you not to?  Enter training bra phase.  I walked into my class feeling mighty womanly with my brand new bra strapping in my brand new booblets.  I'm fairly positive I tried to get people to notice.  And boy, did they notice.  And relentlessly tease me about it for the entire day.  Mortified.  

-Or there's that time when I was in my Radio Disney phase.  One day in particular I decided to call in to try and win a contest.  I ended up listening to a busy signal for about an hour, because I thought I was on hold.

-Once I asked my parents if artichokes were once alive, because they have hearts. (Yet another favorite of my parents, for obvious reasons.)

-I went to a friend's cabin in junior high.  We were hanging pictures of Justin Timberlake up, braiding each other's hair, making prank calls and other 8th grade girl things.  Then for whatever reason, someone thought it would be funny to pants me.  And naturally, everything came down.  And naturally, one of the girl's little brother walked in right at that very moment and got a full face of Chelsea booty.  Now, I can't say I'd be ALL that embarrassed.  Then, it was fairly traumatizing.


Ahem, I'm getting a little long winded, let's shorten the rest of these up a bit - shall we?

-The first time I used a tampon.  I may or may not have left the cardboard applicator on.
-There are the numerous times I've totally, straight up peed my pants.
-Or there's the time I figured out Alaska was actually attached to my continent. That was a proud moment.
-The time I asked (before actually thinking at ALL) if ducks could fly.
-Or the time I asked if there were lions in Utah.
-Once I accidentally sent an instant message to my boss gushing about what a whore this girl was.  Totally awkward.
-And my latest moment of glory was the first time going through the temple - a place in which all white is worn.  Yeah.  I definitely showed up wearing a black bra.  The cute little old ladies laughed at with me and said it happens to a lot of girls.  But, I can't decide whether or not they were just trying to make me feel better about being such a complete imbecile.


It's amazing how the older I get, the less "cute" these stories become.  Too bad.  I'm sure there's all sorts of other good ones, but I think I've had enough relishing in my own awesomeness for one night. 



Now is the time to one up on embarrassing stories.  It'll make me feel less lame.


For real.




        

Monday, August 2, 2010

Oh, Boy(s).

I somehow feel like if I had male parts - I'd find camping exponentially more enjoyable.

My reasons?



Boys kill bunnies and squirrels followed by a series of chest bumps and high fives. 
...Girls cry, hug each other, and sometimes throw up.


Boys have to relieve themselves, no problem - the world is their urinal.
...Girls hike 17 miles, dig a hole, squat and still manage to pee all over themselves.

...Or, the cool ones use this.


Boy's hair looks pretty much the same after a week of camping.
...Girl's hair looks like it's been fried by a toaster and combed with a block of butter.


Boys thrive on this:


...Girls, maybe don't.


 Boys can blow a skeet into smitherines.
...Girls are more likely to shoot the person standing behind them.


Boys think sex in the middle of the woods would be completely out of this world.
...Girls know better.


Boys can easily shrug off their piss awful scent.
...Girls are too busy using wipes and bathing in rivers to notice.





I use the term "Girls" incredibly loosely.  I may or may not be referring to my glamorous self for the most part - because I am aware that there are plenty of girls who love a good roll in the dirt.  And while I can manage smelling like a burnt turd for a few days, that's about my limit.  Just saying.

Oh, and I've never bathed in a river.  Or hiked 17 miles to pee.  Or had the privilege of peeing into a funnel. 

Just for the record.