Happy Halloween! (almost)

Gordy says, "Boo."

This Weekend I... Volume 16

This weekend I... went to a Whole Foods market for my first time ever. It's always seemed like such a pretentious and affected place to get your groceries, so I thought I would hate it there. I really wanted to hate it.

But I did not. Everything looked real and delicious, and I totally fell for it. The whole thing. From now on, I only want free-range chocolate and cage free burritos. Also quinoa is my favorite food now, and gluten is the devil for some reason.

This weekend I... FINALLY felt warm. It had been cold every day this week. And apparently I'm not ready for winter yet because I was freezing the whole time. By Wednesday I felt like  my fingers and toes would never be warm again, and I asked the boyfriend if we could get a hotel room with a hot tub. So he got us a room at The Graves for the weekend. It was awesome, and super fancy, and I spent an obscene amount of time getting drunk in the jacuzzi.

Fancy pants 1st floor lobby

Fancy pants 4th floor lobby

Lying is Fun, but Risky. Like Guns.

One of my coworkers went to see a financial advisor a while back. And when she left, she gave the guy my name and number for a referral or whatever. And now I hate that bitch. (Just kidding. Mostly.)

So this financial advisor guy eventually called me up, and I fucked with him the entire time. When he asked about my current assets, I told him I only felt comfortable disclosing what I report to the IRS. When he asked what my financial goals are, I told him my plan was to pull the plug some day soon and go completely off the grid. He thought that might limit my investment options a bit.

At the end of our conversation, he asked me to set up an appointment to meet with him in person. While I clearly have no problem lying to strangers, I cannot, no matter what, say no to them. But I obviously couldn't meet with this guy, since I had just spent a solid twenty minutes telling him nothing but lies. So I told him I'd call him in a week or so. I did not intend to call him, and I figured he might try back once or twice, and I would ignore him, and that would be that.

Fast forward six months and he is still calling me. And I am still avoiding the calls. Most of the time. Every once in a while he calls me at work and I accidentally answer before I recognize the number. Then I get caught in a painful circle of excuses and more lies, and tentatively scheduled appointments that I always cancel.

When my coworker recently went back for a follow up meeting with him, I begged her to tell him that I died. She would not. I know; some people are just the worst.

A Lot of My Friends Get Mugged

As I've mentioned my good friend, Jacob, lives out in L.A. He lives in a nice enough neighborhood, one where it's perfectly safe to walk down to the burger place, or the liquor store, or wherever. So imagine his surprise when totally got mugged one night.

He was walking home when all of sudden some guy comes up to him and demands his money and phone. Jacob was completely caught off guard, so much that he wasn't even sure he'd heard the guy correctly. So he asked, "What?" And again the robber demanded his stuff. And because Jacob is a wiz under pressure, he responded by asking, "What?" again.

By now the robber was losing his patience so he said something along the lines of "I have a gun and I'm not fucking around," which finally got Jacob to start following directions. But the thing is, Jacob doesn't always take very good care of his things. So what he handed over was a scratched-to-hell iPhone with a shattered screen and gouged up corners. It was so bad that the robber didn't even take it. Just shook his head and walked away.

I'm sure this was a very traumatic experience for Jacob and I don't mean to sound insensitive, but I kind of feel bad for the robber. Jacob was probably the most exasperating robbery that guy ever had. Like, I feel like he probably went home that night and complained about what a shitty day of work it was
.

This Weekend I... Volume 15

This weekend I... got drunk with the boyfriend at The Parlour, the basement level bar at a new-ish restaurant in our neighborhood. They have a burger there that changed my life. They also have a pretty impressive cocktail menu. Each drink seemed to have a minimum of six ingredients and at least a couple kinds of liquor. I was drunk before we finished our first round.

This weekend I... went to a friend's house warming party and totally fawned over their closets. I love where I live, but an eight hundred square foot condo definitely fosters storage envy. During the tour she kept pointing out things like the paint color, or the floors, or the appliances, but I didn't even notice those things. I just walked along like, "Wow, this is a huge closet. Is that another one? Sweet Jesus, it's another one. What are you going to put in here? You could put so many things in here. Can we look at your pantry again?"

This weekend I... baked pumpkin chocolate chip cookies and they are f-ing delicious. I like to pretend I'm girly and good at stuff every once in a while. But I have absolutely no self control, so I made sure I only set aside eight of them to keep at home (in addition to the four I ate right out of the oven). I'm bringing the rest to work where they will last approximately forty seconds.

If you're at all interested, you can find the recipe I used here.

"Why are you ruining my life?!"
That's what the boyfriend said when he found out I was putting pumpkin in the cookies.



Wisdom Through Pain, I Guess?

Since Tuesday's post, I can't stop getting sad about poor little baby slow lorises getting their teeth pulled out. Maybe I'm just extra sensitive to the idea because I once experienced a painful, horrific tooth extraction myself. So I can relate. Getting my wisdom teeth out was one of the most dreadful things that has ever happened to me. 

As I've mentioned before, I come from a super small town. And the dentist my family went to (who was my dad's third cousin or something) was in an even smaller town. And it was located in a building that was also a library part of the time. Maybe you can see where this is going.

Obviously, this particular dentist did not offer general anesthesia. But he did shoot me up with novocaine and provided a steady stream of nitrous oxide. And I had my iPod. And for some reason I only had two wisdom teeth (my top two have just never existed). So I figured it couldn't be too terrible. I was wrong. It turned into a gory, tortuous ordeal.

The tooth on my right side slid right out, but the one on the left put up a fight. The dentist pulled at it, and pried at it, and yanked at it. The novocaine did nothing against what felt like the dentist wrenching on my jaw with his entire body weight. Tears were rolling out the corners of my eyes and into my ears. And that's when it got worse.

"It looks like this tooth is growing sideways," My dentist told me. "It's sort of wedged beneath the one next to it. I need to get at it from another angle."

"Yes! Do whatever it takes to just get this over with!" (I screamed this inside of my head. Since my mouth was propped open and filled with cotton, I most likely just nodded wildly and grunted a bit.)

"Okay. I'm going to get my saw and cut away about a quarter inch of bone."

And that is what he proceeded to do. He took a saw to my mouth and cut out a chunk of my jaw bone. While I was awake. And barely drugged. 

The fucker finally came out, and I rode home drooling blood into a bucket on my lap. 

I Want to Rub My Nose on Him

Last week I started wondering why every single person on earth doesn't have a pet slow loris.

Don't know what a slow loris is? A.) That makes me feel bad for you. And B.) These are slow lorises:

source

source

I know, right?! Hands down the cutest little creatures that have ever lived. So why wouldn't everyone want to have at least sixteen of these little guys living in their house?

Well it turns out the slow loris is both adorable and deadly. (I'm not even joking.) They're one of only nine mammals in the world that are poisonous. They secrete a substance from their elbows that, when they lick it, mixes with their saliva to become a potentially lethal venom. 

So that is why people don't have hundreds of pet slow lorises. Well, some people do. Illegally. In Japan, mostly. And it's the saddest thing ever. Because in order to prevent these fuzzy little chemists from sinking their poison soaked fangs into you, the pet dealers pull out all of their teeth when they get them.

Long story short: First they're cute, then they're scary, then they're sad.

This Weekend I... Volume 14

This weekend I... spruced up my blogger digs a bit, as you can see. Well, I didn't actually do anything. Corrine, The Blog Decorator, did. She was awesome to work with and I think she did a great a job, and I am in love with my new site. My favorite is the umbrella. It is f-ing adorable.


This weekend I... went for a hike in the woods with Gordy. He's fairly trustworthy, so I let him go off his leash and he loves it. Those canine instincts kick in immediately and he turns into a little hunter. He goes crashing through the brush like a god damned bull at the slightest rustle. So far, it has not been an effective method. If his life suddenly depended on his hunting skills, he'd be dead in under a week.

Fall is my absolute favorite

This weekend I... bicycled along the river down to Minnehaha Falls. The weather was beautiful and the leaves were gorgeous. It was the perfect way to kill a couple of hours. Seriously, I love fall. Fingers crossed that global warming means that someday it will never end.

Thoreau Would Probably Have Something to Say about This

Does every high school yearbook have the "Senior Hall of Fame?" You know, where a bunch of seniors get named things like "Most Likely to Succeed" and "Class Clown?" Well, our high school did.  And at our school a lot of people took it surprisingly seriously, giving all sorts of thought to our votes. Which is what makes this story awesome.

I happened to be on the yearbook staff my senior year, so I was in on all of the vote counting for the hallowed Hall of Fame. And, therefore, I saw that my sister won "Best Dressed." By a landslide. I also saw that I did not get a single vote for that category. As twins, we shared all of our clothes. (Like, we literally only had one closet.)

I am fully aware that this does not say good things about me. I was, however, voted "Best Sense of Humor." So luckily, I was able to laugh it off.

This Weekend I... Volume 13

This Weekend I... went to a slumber party at my sister's house, high school style. She invited a bunch of our high school girlfriends over to drink and eat and sleep at her place. I'd like to say it was different from high school because of all the booze that was there, but that's just not true.


This Weekend I... took down the flowers on my balcony. It was the worst. There were million little vines growing in and out of every opening in the railing, so it took forever. Things eventually turned into a rage spiral that culminated in a solid two and a half minutes of audible swear words. It got pretty creative by the end. (Yes, people have told me I might have anger issues. No, I don't believe them.)


This Weekend I... got sucked into warm, shiny feeling I get from buying all sorts of things at Target. Again. That place gets me every time. I go in just needing mascara and toothpaste and end up walking out an hour and half later with a hundred and fifty dollars worth of stuff I didn't even know I needed.


This Weekend I... was pretty boring, I guess. Sorry.

Happy Blogiversary! Part 5

This week marks the one year anniversary of me consistently posting nonsense on the Internet. Hooray.

To celebrate my very first blogiversary, I'm going to re-post some of my favorite and most read posts from the past year. Yeah, it's a pretty lazy celebration, but I'll use any excuse to not do stuff.

Today it will be Happy Stabiversary. Enjoy.

Happy Stabiversary

Every year we celebrate my buddy John's stabiversary. It's exactly what it sounds like.

Three years ago, John was walking home from the bar, just minding his own business, when all of a sudden some hoodlum showed up and demanded his wallet. Being pretty drunk, and therefore brave and strong, John declined. That's when the hoodlum whipped out a kitchen knife and stabbed John in the arm, shoulder, and head. (Seriously, just totally stabbed in the head.) But the joke was on him since, being the end of the night, John probably had a total of three crumpled up one dollar bills in his wallet.

Anyway, John passed out from the blood loss and the drunkenness. And the hoodlum went a couple blocks up the street and stabbed another guy over his wallet. Luckily, that guy must have been less drunk, because he maintained consciousness and was able to call for help. John eventually woke up and staggered toward the flashing lights, and then asked if the ambulance could give him a ride home. Luckily, the EMTs were less drunk too, because they brought him to the hospital instead where he got a shit load of stitches.

Then he called his sister and said, "So, I guess I got stabbed. Don't tell Mom and Dad, okay?"

Happy Blogiversary! Part 4

This week marks the one year anniversary of me consistently posting nonsense on the Internet. Hooray.

To celebrate my very first blogiversary, I'm going to re-post some of my favorite and most read posts from the past year. Yeah, it's a pretty lazy celebration, but I'll use any excuse to not do stuff.

Today it will be Make Them Boys Holla. Enjoy.

Make Them Boys Holla

This weekend I went to a bachelorette party for one my very best friends, Jess. We rented a bus and went to a bunch of tiny farm town bars up north. And in some sort of Mary Magdalene miracle, one of the bars we went to was holding a bikini contest. It was ridiculous, and gross, and awesome.

First of all, we were in a town called Nimrod, population 69. So I'm sure you can imagine the caliber of talent we were seeing. Also, if I remember correctly (but with all the vodka sloshing around that night, there's a good chance I don't), the stage was made of plywood and round bales.

Seven or eight contestants came out all slicked up in baby oil and showed of their sluttiest dance moves, grinding all over each other in front of a bunch of people who probably know their parents. One girl flashed nipple. She didn't win.

I mostly just wanted to talk each and every one of those girls into enrolling at community college.

Happy Blogiversary! Part 3

This week marks the one year anniversary of me consistently posting nonsense on the Internet. Hooray.

To celebrate my very first blogiversary, I'm going to re-post some of my favorite and most read posts from the past year. Yeah, it's a pretty lazy celebration, but I'll use any excuse to not do stuff.

Today it will be Kirby the Kidnapper. Enjoy.

Kirby the Kidnapper

When my sister, Amy, and I were seven or eight, we went through a phase where we were convinced that we were going to be kidnapped. Our parents tried to talk us out of it, but we knew it was just a matter of time before a stranger came to abduct one or both of us.

One day the two of us were walking to the grocery store down the street. On the way, a car pulled to the curb a few feet ahead of us. A man stepped out and walked toward us. This was it. Standing before us was the man who was going to take us away from our parents, our home, and our sweet scrunchy-making machine.

We screamed, and cried, and dashed to the front door of the nearest house. We threw our fists against the door. "Help!  Someone help us!" we pleaded. There was no need to look back, I could feel our abductor advancing upon us. We kept pounding against the door, but it was becoming clear that no adult was going to swoop in to save us this time.

We ducked around the corner to the alley behind the house. I'm not sure if or how long the man chased us, but we ran for our lives back home, into our bedroom, and threw the covers over our heads. We couldn't believe that we had looked into the face of evil and managed to survive.

Later that evening, we heard the doorbell ring. People coming to the front door and ringing the doorbell was rare at our house. We're from a small town and we knew everyone who came to our house. And they came in through the side door in the kitchen. And usually without knocking.

We crept down to investigate. And there he stood. The kidnapper was at our door, talking to our parents. Jesus Christ, it wasn't over. We thought we had escaped, but our abductor had managed find us and was back to take us away.

Somehow our parents were able to drive him away. "Who was he?  What did he say to you?" we asked when he was gone.

"The Kirby Vacuum salesman."

Amy and me.  Lucky to have lived into adulthood.

"Fuuuuuck," we groaned (or whatever the childhood equivalent of that word is). Turns out our evil kidnapper was just a door-to-door salesman, probably trying to ask us for directions. And our natural reaction was to cry and scream in his face, then run away as fast as we could. And that shit is embarrassing, even when you're seven.

Happy Blogiversary! Part 2

This week marks the one year anniversary of me consistently posting nonsense on the Internet. Hooray.

To celebrate my very first blogiversary, I'm going to re-post some of my favorite and most read posts from the past year. Yeah, it's a pretty lazy celebration, but I'll use any excuse to not do stuff.

Today it will be The Day My Boss Realized What He Was In For. Enjoy.

The Day My Boss Realized What He Was In For

Not long after I started my current job, the boss offered to take me out for lunch. On the way over to the restaurant, we drove past a homeless man. He was standing on the corner, holding a cardboard sign, and he had a scruffy dog next to him.

I turned to the boss and said, "I almost always give money to homeless people when I see them, but I wouldn't give any to that guy."

"Why not?"

"Because he has that dog."

"Really?" he asked. "I thought you liked dogs."

"I do. But how hungry can that guy be if he hasn't even eaten his dog yet?"

And then the rest of the ride was pretty quiet.