Speaking of Grandmas

I don't have any left. THANKS FOR BRINGING IT UP.

Juuuuuust kidding. (Well, actually...I'm not kidding. I really don't have any grandparents left. WHY ARE YOU STILL MAKING ME TALK ABOUT THIS?) What I was kidding about is the fact that someone brought up grandmas. But now that we're on the subject, I'd like to share a delightful anecdote about my maternal grandmother and Y2K.

In the final months of 1999, my grandmother began stockpiling supplies for the inevitable end of the world. She lived with us, so our garage was chock full of Y2K dried beans, Y2K water bottles, and Y2K toilet paper.

One day she sat Sarah and me down and made us promise not to tell any of our friends that we had all those supplies, because when the time came, she didn't want anyone knowing we were comfortably eating our beans and using our waterless toilets while they were all starving and out of toilet paper. As far as she was concerned, if our friends' parents hadn't planned well enough for the end times, that was their problem. If it had been anyone else, I would have assumed they were kidding, but I learned at an early age that my grandma was never kidding, especially when it came to doomsday preparations.

I don't remember her reaction when the world didn't end. All I know is my dad finally took the waterless toilets to a pawn shop last month and got forty bucks for them. I'm pretty sure the beans are still out there. Who knows? They might still come in handy one day if the Mayans turn out to be right or if my future children wanna glue something to construction paper.

O.W.L.s

I keep hearing owls hooting outside my window.

This can only mean one thing: My neighbors must be hiding a wizard boy under their staircase.

I Swear I'm Not Pregnant

My very dear friend Samantha did a photoshoot for Gary and me over the weekend. We're celebrating ten years together this Christmas but it'll be freezing cold when that happens, so we decided to do it now.

Also Sam takes awesome pictures and I just wanted an excuse to be in one of them.

Plus I miss Gary when he's gone so this will give me something to stare at as I cry myself to sleep.*

Here are my top five favorites. JUST KIDDING! They're my top ten, because I couldn't decide on five!

If you live in Colorado and need pictures taken, I HIGHLY recommend Megan Hardre Photography! They are awesome and deserve your business!!!

*Somehow I'm always the only person who thinks this joke is funny.

This Isn't That Funny

I'm pretty sure I had a hallucination the other night.

I woke up gasping violently in the middle of the night because I thought I heard a man’s voice. As I stared up at the ceiling, wide eyed and paralyzed by fear, I saw something floating down towards me in the dark. At first I thought it looked like a really big spider (about the size of my hand with all my fingers stretched out) but as it got closer I decided it looked more like a jellyfish made of hair. By the time I managed to regain control of my body and turn on my lamp, it was gone.

And that is the story of how I'm crazy now.

THE END

Losing My Cool

Ahh, sweet summertime. Temperatures are up and electricity bills are down. (That is, if you're one of the lucky few who don't have air conditioning - wait, what? That can't be right.) The evenings are cool enough that opening the windows and running a few fans is enough to stay comfortable, which is great unless you're quasi-living alone for the first time and are prone to not-so-quasi-paranoid tendencies.

Ever since we got robbed, I've been convinced that every noise I hear in the night is someone trying to break in. At first I was all like, "My dogs will protect me!" but then I remembered that Bravo is afraid of everything* and is constantly doing this thing where he hears something, freezes up, and then barrels over to the window to bark at what I can only assume is a murderer creeping around just outside my bedroom trying to figure out the most painful way to kill me.

So really, the question I'm faced with is this: Would I rather be hacked up while enjoying the caress of a pleasant breeze or die drowning in a pool of my own sweat?

So far I've chosen Door Number 2. It's working out okay, except that my efforts to cover up the eau de b.o. are probably putting me in an equal amount of danger of drowning in a pool of my own perfume.

*Which kinda makes you wonder why we didn't just name him Tremblo or PantsPee McGee...but I guess it's too late to change it now.

Publicity Stunted

By some miracle, last night I managed to make this happen without using any means of securing my hair other than the hair itself:

"SARAH! SARAH! LOOKLOOKLOOKLOOKLOOK," I exclaimed as I alternated between slapping her excitedly and pointing enthusiastically at the back of my head. "THIS IS MY DREAM!"

And I meant it.

This, my friends, is why I'll never be famous. It would appear that I have reached the summit of the heights to which my ambition is prepared to propel me: a self-sustaining updo.

Miss Gnomer

Since entering the real world, Sarah and I are beginning to realize that we've been saying the names of several things incorrectly our whole lives.

For example, apparently a cornmeal-battered hot dog on a stick is called a corn dog, not a corny dog as we've always referred to it. I blame our dad for this because, of the two of our parents, he is far more likely to have been the one feeding us meat on a stick.

It has also been brought to our attention that the elastic band used to hold hair up off the neck is called a hair tie, not a ponytail as we have been known to call it. A ponytail is the result of pulling hair back and securing it with a hair tie. I still have trouble with this one, but I'm making an effort. Whenever I trip up I can usually halfway save myself by calling it a ponytail holder.

The most recent blow to our collective intellect came in the form of a box of Little Debbies we saw in the store that looked like this:

We were perplexed, because we have always referred to them as Swiss Cake Rolls*.  This was becoming a real problem. We started to doubt ourselves. Are we just some kind of cake-obsessed freaks? Is it possible we're not the geniuses we thought we were???

The answer to both of those questions is: Probably. BUT! A little Google Image search revealed that they used to be called Swiss Cake Rolls on the box, so it turns out we're not really wrong; our information is just a little outdated.

Anyway, I'll see you guys afternow. I'm off to do some computering at the place where I job.

Also this:

*Stop judging us. Right now. Little Debbie was like a fourth sister to us.

30venge

A couple weeks ago, I started watching Revenge, a new show on ABC with something of a Count of Monte Cristo-esque plotline. I really like it, but I started to notice that after I watched a couple episodes, I'd be in a really suspicious, angry mood. I've kind of always been this way. I get way too wrapped up in movies and books. (Perhaps this would be a good time to apologize to anyone who tried to talk to me at all while I was reading the Hunger Games trilogy. I really didn't mean to stab you.)

Anyway, I think I've finally found a solution to my problem. I've started chasing each episode I watch of Revenge with an episode of 30 Rock.

Maybe now instead of my face getting stuck like this:

It'll get stuck like this:

iPost

Greetings! This post is coming to you from my new iPhone! Sure, typing an entire blog post on a four inch screen is ridiculously inefficient (especially since I am literally sitting AT A COMPUTER) but I'm doing it anyway BECAUSE I CAN.

Some of you might have seen the Facebook post I put up yesterday asking if I should go with the iPhone 4 or the 4S. (You should try this if you're curious about which of your Facebook friends are the biggest nerds.) Most people suggested I wait for the 5 to come out, which, I feel the need to point out, was not one of the options. Perhaps we could all use a little brushing up on our reading comprehension. In the immortal words of my high school algebra teacher, Mrs. Milhoan, "If I ask you, 'What is your name?' do not answer, 'I have a dog.'"

Anyway it doesn't really matter because in the end, I ignored everyone's advice and went with the 3GS because IT ONLY COST ME A DOLLAR.

Moral of the story? No matter how much money we make, I will always be a cheapskate at heart.

Secondary moral: I apparently have no problem calling people who help me nerds. I promise I mean it in the best way possible.

Movin' On Up

Ladies and gentlemen, I! Have! Arrived!

As of this past Sunday, I no longer buy my groceries at Walmart!

I recently read an article (read it here) about the relativity of the term rich. Some people said they would consider themselves rich if they brought home over 100K per year; others who were making 250K or more claimed that they were just getting by.

Personally, I believe there is a direct correlation between a person's socioeconomic status and where they buy their groceries. The stratification is as follows:

If you buy groceries at Walmart, you would fall into the Poor - Just Getting By category. BECAUSE WHY ELSE WOULD YOU WILLINGLY SUBJECT YOURSELF TO SUCH TORTURE WEEK AFTER WEEK?

If you buy groceries at King Soopers, Albertsons, Target Grocery, Safeway, etc., you fall into the Comfortable - Rich category.

If you buy groceries exclusively at Whole Foods, then you fall into one of two categories: either Straight Up Wealthy or Kind of a Douche. (I won't fault anyone for going in for a few select items here and there, but if you're spending as much on groceries as you are on rent, perhaps it's time to rethink your priorities.)

Some of you might be thinking that it's pretty douchey to devote an entire blog post to how rich I am now, but I disagree (which I suppose you might also find rather douchey, but hear me out.) We're still not making an obscene amount of money, but we are making about twice what we used to with Gary's new job, so yes. Going from scraping by on bills and having one car to suddenly having the means to do things like replace our two broken couches and consider taking a vacation makes me feel super rich in comparison.

Dirty Dog

I wasn't gonna write a post today because I didn't really have anything exciting going on.

Then I got home.

Thanks a lot, Universe.

If you scroll down to a couple posts ago, you can see that Bravo is supposed to be almost completely white.

The best part is, I know I'm gonna have to go out and leave them in the kitchen again tonight so I DIDN'T EVEN CLEAN IT UP.

That's how disgusting my life is.

Eating Crow

Thanks to my super cool younger sister, I have in my possession Jack White's latest album, Blunderbuss. Beyonce and I have really been enjoying driving around together listening to it way louder than necessary.

When I got to the second song on the album (Sixteen Saltines), I couldn't help thinking it bore a strong resemblance to another song, but I couldn't quite put my finger on which one.

When I finally figured it out, I swore to myself that I would never mention it to anyone because I was ashamed that I even knew the other song. Then I remembered that no one thinks I'm cool anyway, so what's one more embarrassing admission gonna hurt?

Please listen to the first seven seconds of each of the following songs.





That's right; not only is it a Sheryl Crow song, it's from the Cars soundtrack. I'm sure Jack White would be proud of the association.

Also of note: a picture inspired by another Blunderbuss track, "Hip (Eponymous) Poor Boy"

GET IT?!

Mama's Gonna Buy You a Nightmare

This is how I found my dogs this morning.

Look at them. Sleeping so peacefully, like little angels.

I stood there gazing at them for about ten seconds before grabbing everything I could get my hands on and hurling it in their direction with a vigorous aggression that belied my bed-headed lethargy.

Those little snots kept me up damn near all of last night.

At around 3:30 a.m., Brutus leapt gracefully onto my bed and began nuzzling me affectionately, a behavior so uncharacteristically tender that I wasn't entirely sure I wasn't in the midst of an impossibly realistic dream. I cooed softly at him and lovingly stroked his fur, relishing this most pleasant of surprises.

Enter Bravo the Blunderdog, stage left.

My moment of maternal bliss was brought to a screeching halt by a hulking fifty-pound mass of lard and destruction. He launched himself onto the bed like a cannonball, crouched down and commenced beating his club-like tail menacingly against the mattress in preparation for the imminent attack on my sanity.

The temptation to misbehave was more than Brutus could bear. The two of them stomped, snarled and scrambled around the house with playful exuberance for the next several hours with no regard for the fact that I had to get up for work this morning.

I hope you guys enjoyed your morning snoozefest, 'cause IT'S THE LAST SLEEP YOU'LL EVER GET! That's right! I paid off the neighbor kids to dump buckets of ice water over the fence any time they notice you settling down!!!

BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHIneedanapsobadly.