'Tis The Season

Now that the turk has had his day in the sun - well more like oven, fryer, overstuffed stomachs and the like, its the glorious time of year when chestnuts roast on fires and shit.  Eggnog abounds. I freeze my tits off. I know, I know, I was warned of this before I moved to this frozen tundra - yet here I am - sitting in my office wearing my winter jacket backwards like its a snuggie. 

This is real life. 
As I made my morning rounds around the bloggerverse, I basically drooled over every single one of your Christmas decorations.
I'm gonna level with you here - I'm not a scrooge. I love me some of Jesus' Bday and all the spirit that goes with this time of year, BUT I just cannot bring myself to decorate my apartment for the holidays. 
Is this some sort of adult gene I missed out on in my DNA code?!
I'm going to chalk this up to one of two things:

1. No one is ever in my apartment but me and the demon critter. Well - even he doesn't come around any more since I tried to kill him (weird), so yeah, just me. Perhaps the lack of superawesomefunandglamorous cocktail parties thrown in my residence makes me feel like decorating is pointless.
2. My feelings of Christmas spirit are in direct correlation with spending time with my family. Don't get me wrong I will cry in my car listening to "Christmas Shoes" like any other sobby betch out there and I will throw every penny, paperclip, and lint ball I can pull out of the depths of my purse for those bell ringers, but I don't honestly feel the warmth and joy of Christmas until I'm surrounded by the people I love most in the world. I don't think decking my own halls will change that. I could be wrong. Maybe filling my vases with ornaments and decorating a tree would get me to that place of Holiday bliss long before I arrive at my parents'. I just can't imagine it. 

Does the cheese stand alone on this one? Am I the only chick up in dis bitch who doesn't have a single thing of glitter or tinsel in her bachelorette pad?

I do have a snowman cookie jar my brother's ex-girlfriend gave my mom that I managed to steal in my move. I'd put him out, but I'm afraid all my Christmas spirit will make him come alive and start marching up and down my street with all my neighbors singing in toe. I don't have enough Xanax to handle that shit. 

She's Baaaack

Are blogging hiatuses allowed when you first start off? I'm guessing probably not.  Hopefully all of you didn't forget about me. I'm still here. Just unplugged for a few days.
I know you're all SUPER disappointed to you didn't get to hear about what I'm thankful for. I assure you it would be along the lines of the same ole stuff you hear everyday from me. Alcohol, trashy television, 4-inch platform heels, men in football pants. The norm. Thanksgiving was a dream. My family makes me happier than R. Kelly at the urologist.  I think I just managed to get the red wine stains off my lips. 
My flight was delayed 20348203840284028340284 hours trying to get to Chi-town. I may or may not have cried out of frustration. I was so delirious once I got to my family I cried again. Then took fug selfies with my cousins.

Then I suffocated my sweet Bubba with Auntie love. And cried some more. 

My cousins who are younger and MUCH cooler than I made us take a "Power Point" photo. I don't get it. I just do what I'm told. Looks like we're recruiting folks into the OCclan. Not many survive that family induction. 

We. Saw. Twilight. And I cried some more.  I also drank a liter of diet coke. Straight Super Troopers style. 

 AND I got to watch my Irish get a win to GO TO THE....
NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!!!!  Like this...

Not mad at it. I hope you all had a wonderful holiday with your family. Only 24 more days for this girl until I get to see mine again! Weeee!!

Blowin' This Taco Stand

Today is my Friday. Be jealous bitches.  Or don't be cuz I have 20948230842 conference calls, need to run 12038203842 miles, pack all my clothes, clean my whole apartment, and wake up at the ass crack of dawn to make my 6AM flight. Oh. And cuz you all have short weeks too, duh. Did I mention I'm really tired and have the motivation of a 20 year old who just got the new Call of Duty? Joy.

I am so excited for Thanksgiving I could pee.  I haven't seen my family since I moved 2 months ago and I'm going through massive withdrawals. Not to mention this is the TG with my Mom's side of the family. The batshitcrazysomuchdamnfunwannasuffocatethemwithlove side of the family. Its like I'm 7 and going to Disney World tomorrow. I wont be able to sleep tonight.

I also probably wont be able to sleep because traveling might be up there with my top 3 anxiety triggers. I get so damn wound up. I'm convinced I will miss my flight so I have to get there inappropriately early and since I'm driving myself I'm already scouring maps to make sure I know where to go to park, terminals, etc. I wont chill out until we're somewhere around 30,000 feet. I'll be the the 26 year old acting like she has to get the whole Von Trapp family through security, when actuality its just herself. Judgments will abound I'm sure.

I'll try to post over the course of the holiday. Most likely I'll be too drunk to type.  Happy Turkey Day lovahs!

Brown Hurr Don't Curr

I'm currently a zombie. I had to be at the office exxxtra early this AM because I'm leaving early for my follow-up hair appointment.

Yes folks, I'm officially off #TeamBlonde and trying to fit in on #TeamBrunette (yeop, just hashtagged in a blog post. All the cool kids are doing it.)

My stylist wasn't able to do my full vision on our first appointment because apparently bleach blonde hair will be as shocked as T.Swift when she wins her 934987234 award if you try to take it right to the dark side. You gotta ease those blonde fellas in. 

So I debated waiting to do the big reveal until it was all finished, but I figure I'll show you guys what we're workin' with so far. I surprisingly really like it. Big step for this blondeaholic over here. 

The rest of my weekend was spent flaunting my new did around town with girlfriends and trying to take the least douchey selfies ever for my GFs who are out of town. Success was minimal on that front. I checked out a fantastic refurbished furniture store outside of town and was so pleasantly surprised, so many fantastic and unique finds. Of all the beautiful things around me I got a wine rack. Priorities people. 

The store clerk also warned us about a chipmunk that was running around. WTF?! I'm like Noah's friggin' Ark with the amount of critters I manage to encounter. At least chipmunks are cute. I would be a lot less pissed if one of those lived in my bedroom. 

Oh. And Notre Dame is the #1 football team in the country. Losing. My. Mind. 

I will be having the nervous vommy feeling all week for our game against USC on Saturday. Joy. 

Today is my sister Kay and her husband's first wedding anniversary! I tell ya, I couldn't love a couple more. Stop by her joint and wish her a congrats. Her post made me sob into my shitty office coffee this morning. 

Freak A Leak

Welp. Last day as a blonde for a while. I'm nervous and excited all at the same time. I know its an easy fix if it looks like balls, but I don't think you guys get how incredibly particular I am about my hair. Pray for me.   Remember how in last week's FreakShow Friday I told you I wasn't the girl cowering in the corner trying to pull my regular bra out of my sports bar in the gym locker room? Well yesterday I walk into the locker room to find three women on their hands and knees praying. I'm not sure what religion they were, but I'm pretty sure if I was trying to get some prayers in I wouldn't want a bunch of hoo-has and chi-chis all in my face. Who can talk to Jesus/Allah/God with a couple of fun-bags in their face?! Thats just distracting. I changed in the bathroom. It was the least I could do.   In this episode of FreakShow Friday lets talk about how living alone has essentially brought out bizarre behaviors that will make it difficult for anyone else to ever live with me. No, not single-behavior that is still sorta fabulous circa Carrie Bradshaw's "I read vogues standing up in my kitchen eating Chinese takeout". I'm talking full-blown ice capade routines around my dining room.

• Sometimes on Sundays I will go a whole day without talking to anyone. That means I will go an entire day without hearing the sound of my voice. To remedy this it is only completely normal for me to start making random noises or converse with my television just to fill the non-talking void. Most times its in an accent I wish I had i.e. Boston, Irish, Australian. Bring on the anti-psychotics

• I have secret aspirations to be a Krump dancer. Like, I want to be able to pop, lock, & drop it. Turns out I'm a super awkward human and me dancing Krump looks like the demon critter crawled in my pants and started doing Zumba. Regardless, I tend to make up entire Krump routines in front of my bathroom mirror. This would undoubtedly blind anyone who walked in on it. 

• I drink in the shower. No, not enjoying a glass of wine while soaking in the tub like a normal person. Like drinking wine/beer/dir-tay tinis while standing my ass up in the shower. I think some cultures call this alcoholism. I call it mulit-tasking.

• And here's the big Kahuna. The one that will require all your might not to judge me for. The one that no man nor roommate would ever put up with...I watch Love & Hip Hop marathons on VH1. Ultimate. Ghetto. Shame. 

I know these seem fairly timid. Nothing too mortifying to share on the Internets, but I'm sober so my guards are up. Put a couple bevies in my system and then we'll see what I reveal!

What weird shit do you guys do when home alone? I know you are a bunch o' freaky bishes.

Wait? Are You That Girl From....

Being the How I Met Your Mother FANatic that I am, I couldn't resist linking up with the fab Andie at Sweet.Southern.Spirited. for her Celebrity Doppleganger link-up.

This is seriously something that has plagued me my entire teen/adult life. I can't walk through an airport without someone stopping me. Even when I was traveling with my water polo team, women would come up and ask me if I was this celeb. Ummm..yeah, cuz she plays water polo for Notre Dame when she's not being a Hollywood actress. HELLO!

I've had foreign couples ask to get pictures with me. 

I gotta tell you, I sorta see it, but not enough for the amount of times I get stopped about it. 

Drumroll please......

Julia Stiles. My celeb doppelganger. I've been breaking Save The Last Dance fans' hearts for years. 

I wish I could say I've gotten to do hip-hop dance classes with my delicious chocolate boyfriend or been serenaded by a young, sensitive bad boy Heath Ledger. 

But, alas, I make the sprinkler look awkward and all my bad boy BF turned out to be just that...bad. 

A girl can dream, can't she?

P.S. 

MAJOR shout out to my seester Kay for my AH-Mazing new blog design. I've been her guinea pig as she's been learning Photoshop and I think she did an amazing job. Check her out if you want the hook upz. 

Cuz That Makes Sense...

In what EFF'd world do I gain pounds the week I went to the gym 5-6 days a week and spent my whole life on a treadmill, but the week I sit on my lazy ass and do not a damn thing I drop the lbs like it aint no thang?

This is not fair and beyond frustrating.

My mom/my best friend/my sisters are all suggesting that I'm not eating enough calories to supplement my workouts so my body is doing a death grip on my pudge. So I have to eat more to lose more? That seems so counterintuitive to me.

I want to do this the healthy way, but I also need to start seeing some results if I'm going to make this lifestyle change. I know me, I will fall off this veggie-filled wagon and the fat-kid inside me will win.



It doesn't help when Qdoba is not supportive of my goals and emails me this shit.

For the love.

Lets also discuss the fact that I am a masochist and the hungrier I am the more I watch Triple D marathons on Food Network. I'm a sick eff.

P.S. If anyone knows how to get Guy Fieri's job, please let me know.

My Very Adult Weekend...NOT

I think I'm still hungover. I didn't drink yesterday, but I ate an inappropriate amount of Chinese food and I'm convinced they lace that shit with something. I got all hopped up on Lo-Mein noodles and the sexyass men from Revenge. I'm feeling the pain this AM.

This weekend consisted of me drinking too much and laying in the fetal position on my couch as a result.

Friday night my boolover Shanel had me over for a healthy girls night dinner which I quickly negated by eating the entire bag of tortilla chips she made the mistake of putting within arms reach of me. We then proceeded to drink 3 bottles of wine.

Because I'm such a winner I ended up talking through the ENTIRE Netflix movie she wanted to watch and taking selfies on her balcony.

I was all ANTM up in the bitch. You couldn't have told me otherwise.

I woke up on Saturday with every intention of going for a run and buying a house plant - you know, some grown-up shit. But since I felt like I had been bludgeoned by Carrie Underwood circa "Before He Cheats", I opted for a 2 1/2 hour nap and didn't shower until I was forced to at 5PM, so I wouldn't look like the homeless guy who slept in my foyer when meeting up with friends for the ND game.

I proceeded to drink enough beer to knock out an elephant and slept until Noon on Sunday. Productive member of the adult community over here!

I have also come to realize that I may have to go to crack bun rehab. In two separate FaceTime conversations both my mom and my sister told me I looked "fancy" because my hair was down. Please note that it was NOT washed, just down.

If you need me tonight I'll be spending 328420384203 hours on the treadmill trying to run the weekend off of me. I'll be sure to whine to you all about it tomorrow.

I Wish You Were Less Naked

I woke up at 5:30 this morning to go to the gym. I don't even know who is staring back at me in the mirror any more.

But don't you worry my shoulders currently feel like I'm in a perma-shrug and the Karate Kid is throwing ninja stars at my quads every time I go to sit down while Mr. Miyagi nunchucks my abdomen. Fitness folks, fitness.

In this edition of FreakShow Friday we are going to discuss something that is as equally puzzling as it is horrifying.

Old ladies in gym locker rooms.

Whyyyyyyyyy????

Why must they be so liberal with their wrinkled lady bits? I die a little inside every time I see the face of a sweet Grandma tainted forever as she throws one of her elasticized ta-tas over her shoulder.

Why must they wander aimlessly with the whole shebang flopping out in the wind? I am ALL for women being comfortable with their bodies. You wont see me cowering in a corner doing the awkward "try to pull your bra out of your sports bra" move, but you also wont see me basking in the glory of my own nudity! You get in, get your ass showered, changed, whathaveyou and get the eff out. 

Old ladies have missed this memo. They're all "I'm old and don't give an eff. I'm gonna jam out with my clam out." 

I was bombarded this morning. I came out of my shower wrapped in my towel like a normal human and was immediately face smacked with the visual of 70-something woman brushing her teeth ass naked. She could've tucked her gajungies in her belt. It may have changed my stance on plastic surgery.

I quickly turn the corner.

SMACK!

Old lady in JUST her nylons doing an Irish jig on the scale. Newsflash, nylons cover zero of yourself. I don't need to see your happy hoo-ha dance at 7am. 

Moral of this FreakShow Friday. Its awesome that older women are all up in the gym working on their fitness, but there needs to be a training course upon their membership that includes how not to terrorize the locker room with the reckless slinging of their "prized posessions."

I hope the visual of my morning haunts your day. Its haunting mine so I require that we suffer together. Thats what friends do, riiiight?? Now excuse me while I fight my urge to drown my naked lady sorrows in chicken fingers from Culvers. 

The Showdown

Its officially war.

For those of you who don't follow me on Twitter, the demon critter revealed himself Tuesday night.

I'm just innocently brushing my teeth and what goes scurrying by my bathroom door? The demonic vermin that at one point had me thinking I was hearing things and needed to be on anti-psychotics.

It goes without saying that I shit my pants and ran screaming in the opposite direction. I went left, demon vermin went right.

I have been sleeping on my couch for the last two nights and I can't walk around barefoot in my own home. I have been mozing around my crib in my nightgown and freakin' boots.

I'm just gonna let you bask in the glory of that visual a moment....

I am literally being held hostage in my living room by a friggin' terrorist mouse.

I do not mean to set women back 50 years, but I am SO not equipped to deal with this shit. I am crying inside. I have never wanted male friends/boyfriend/my father/my brother so badly in my whole life.

So yesterday I put my big girl pants on and I bought some traps and some peanut butter - apparently these mini-satans love them some PB.

Yes. Thats organic crunchy peanut butter you're seeing. This is a very health conscious mouse. I saw it in his evil eyes.

So, I put these suckers all over my kitchen and my bedroom (where I think it lives) and prayed some serious Hail Marys hoping I'd just hear the sweet sweet music of a trap snapping shut. Nada, zip, zilch.

I wake up this morning confident that I will be victorious. I check the traps. NUTHIN'. Oh, but don't worry the little effer waltzed his disease-filled ass right past a trap, up my pantry and chewed through an entire box of food. He also made sure to shit his way across my stove before he went back to his dwellings. A total nut shot.  I just got a straight kick to the baby maker from a mouse.

He laughed in the face of my traps and crunchy, peanut-buttery goodness.

So tonight...it goes down. I am going back to the store buying 5 bajillion mousetraps, some dryer sheets (apparently they don't love them some dryer sheets - very picky critters) and this effer is gonna die.

Its on like donkey kong.

Its Just A Little Crush

I have an inappropriate crush.

Like, I'm sorry Megan you are no longer 18 years old and to these tank top rocking Cali boys you are the equivalent of Betty White.

I found myself Googling these tween lovahs after seeing them on the X-Factor and my infatuation has just further blossoms every time I hear their gingerbread dream filled voices.

Emblem 3 my friends. I have dibs on Wesley so bishes step-off my mans. Just look at that tanked college freshmans dream in the middle!

C'mon how effing adorable are these swaggerific gents? Level with me here, I'm only partially the biggest creep on the planet because I really think they are super talented.

This is slowly becoming my own person Beibs-Fev type deal. See, I've been down this road before. The minute I saw J.Timberlake dance his baby blue tear-aways off on the Disney Channel back in 1998, I knew it was the start of something magical. Justin and I spent a very happy 2 imaginary years together.

Bleached gelled hair and polyester pants? Its what every 13 year olds dream man is made of. 

I'm probably past my years of plastering posters all over my wall and doodling Mrs. Timberlake on my notebooks, but even that is debatable.

My oldass needs to go sit down somewhere, but if E3 fevah is wrong I don't want to be right.

Today I am thankful for cute California teenagers who do sweet cover songs. 

Weekend Bizness

Today I'm linking up with Miss Thang Sami for a little Weekend Update link-up action.

I know, you guys are all like, "whaaaaaat? she figured out how to use technology over the weekend? daaaaaang." Don't be alarmed, I totally had to text my sister this AM for a tutorial...again. The tech struggle is real.

This weekend was the perfect blend of fun and downtime. I had enough on my plate to feel like I was out and about and being social, but not so much that I woke up this morning feeling like I needed another day of nothingness.

Friday was my sushi/girl date. Thank you all for not laughing me out of the blog world because of my ridiculous phobia and being so sweet and supportive. As it turns out, eating sushi with your fingers is a totally acceptable thing! Of course I find this out after wandering aimlessly through Target looking for plastic choppys that would make me look less like a circus sideshow and more like sushi eating professional (which, after typing doesn't necessarily sound any less bizarre). The girls I met were nothing short of FABulous and, pending that I didn't terrify them away with my endless yammering, we will hopefully have many more dates ahead of us.

Saturday was the Minnesota vs. Michigan football game and it was such a blast. It was only the second time this season that I've gotten to watch a college football game live (you have no idea how strange that is for a person who used to work in collegiate athletics) and I can't even explain to you how nostalgic it was. Never in my life would I think I would miss wearing men's polos, khaki pants, and...SNEAKERS ( I know, a crime against humanity) while toting around the most massive walkie-talkie and feeling like my stomach would fall out my butt if the National Anthem didn't go on time. Yet, there I was, skipping down memory lane.

Michigan won the game - which made Shanel's fiance, Mike, happy - but for those of us who are ND fans...eh hem...watching Michigan win live is the equivalent to being locked in a porter-john on a hot day.

Then, ohhhhh then, there was the Notre Dame game. I'm not going to drag this out because I'm still not sure if my mental state as stabilized but HOLY SHITBALLS HEART ATTACK CENTRAL! If there are any more games like that this season I'm going to have to be medicated.

I foolishly thought the game was going to be a relaxing win by a large margin so I accepted Shanel and Mike's invite to hang out with them for a bit longer and watch the game. Boy did they regret that decision. Poor, friggin' Shanel, She's all "yeah, I just wanna lay here with my mans and be all snuggled in reading my book on my iPad and eat cuban sandwiches and be a normal functioning human." And there I was, going apeshit stupid crazy, running all over her house with schizophrenic emotions, while peeing my pants on her couch and screaming profanities.

I didn't really pee on her couch. Well...not noticeably.

Mike understood. Shanel was terrified for her life. I think I caught her fishing around for a tranquilizer at one point. I can't say I blame her.

After that rollercoaster horror ride of a game, I laid loooow on Sunday. This was my big accomplishment.

Painting my nails. Watch out folks! This bish is productive!

Oh! And I FT with my angel baby. Look at that duckface!

I'm currently counting down the days to Thanksgiving, but think I'm going to hop on the "name something you're thankful for each day leading up to TG" bandwagon.

Today I'm Thankful for: Friends who don't judge me for being a psychokiller.