Friday For Thought: Men

Tell me this isn’t awesome:


Happy Friday from me – and the AdCouncil and Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality.

This billboard is MORE about getting the medical testing you need (read: uncomfortable, I’d prefer not to kind of tests) and less about the fact that  98% of men (except my Dad, he’s perfect, obvs) are stubborn. Alas, snaps for the AdCouncil, they nailed it.

Oh, and also since we are talking about this, go to the doctor for that thing you didn’t want to go for.


This past weekend Manfriend (sometimes Boyfriend, depending on his attitude) and I jet-setted down to San Francisco for a fun weekend. After the Chicago debacle (see previous post), Alaska Airlines gave me a $100 credit so we felt the immediate need to put it to good use. No sense in letting that bad boy hang around for too long.

We got a screaming deal on flights ($166 RT after the credit, say whaaaat) and applied some additional credits toward a hotel (motel, holiday inn) and sha-bam! we were aweekending.

In three words? San Francisco rocks. If it were a mathmatical equation it would be:

Seattle + 4(public transportation) + 2(walkability) + cable cars + extra transients

That’s right, SF’s homeless population is mass-ive, but I guess if I were going to be homeless I would probably pick somewhere in CA. (San Diego, duh.)

We skipped out on work early on Friday (half-day Friday!) and were in SF by 4pm. The BART, which is a big reason I think their pubtrans is AWESOME, took us RIGHT from the airport to like three blocks from our hotel. And since we have legs, we totally walked there! Bitchin’.

It was naturally time for happy hour, and I needed a drink BIG TIME, so we set off on a never-ending adventure to find discounted food + drinks. This proved to be much more challenging that any person would every expect since

  1. I have an iPhone
  2. It has several food-related apps on it – including but not limited to Yelp, Urbanspoon, FourSquare and Happy Hours.

After making Manfriend walk around for almost 45 minutes looking for the “cool, hip San Francisco bar of my dreams” we settled on Morton’s. They have good eats but no drinks specials which…no. It doesn’t do anything friendly to the bill, let me tell you. To avoid another wandering adventure for dinner, I spent the majority of the time sipping my bubbles (weee!) and searching on several of the aforementioned apps for the “cool, hip San Francisco restaurant of my dreams.”

AND I FOUND IT. Hops & Hominy. If you are in SF right now, just stop what you are doing and RUN There. Unless it’s a Friday night, then first make a reservation because this place was hoppin’ (no pun intended).

Their featured drink was a bacon Manhattan which I definitely would have guzzled if I drank Manhattans. Their menu is simple and focused on Southern comfort food (I had shrimp & grits, he had fried chicken). We also got the sauteed spinach which was WAY overpriced (anything over $3 falls into this category for me) but I really could have made a meal out of it. ::drool::

We then retired to our hotel because it was 9:30 and, dammit, we were tired.

Saturday walked toward the water, got completed engrossed in the market and enjoyed the sun. We shared a hot dog AND a burger – then sat down to listen to these buskin’ fools:

ImageMad Noise. Their drummer is entertaining to watch & the guy rocking the guitar has an amazing voice. Listen to them now. Image

ImageWe walked back to the hotel to change and I stumbled upon this creme brulee cart:

ImageAnd since they weren’t around on Sundays I HAD to get one. I’d do it all over again. And thank GAWD Seattle does not have one of these. I would be there and would never lose weight ever. Om nom nom. #burntsugaryesplz

Then we hit up a Giant’s game (balls cold) where this adorable old couple gave us their tickets because it was (balls) cold and the Giant’s won in a 10th walkoff homerun. For the second night in a row. Plus, look at that view!


Sunday was dedicated to Cable Car-ing to Alcatraz from our hotel. Acting as supreme tourist nerds, both Man and myself were VERY excited about this. (Tickets booked here.) We even did the audio tour, which I would strongly recommend because it paints a real picture of what life was like on the Island PLUS it tells you where to go. So, if you aren’t an idiot, it makes the tour easy and interesting. (I just pushed my glasses up my nose, nerd alert).

ImageWe took the 1pm boat and spent about an hour and a half on the island. Plenty of time.

We managed to get in one more high-priced, tourist-trapped happy hour on Fisherman’s Wharf at Lou’s before heading back to the airport. Lou’s features live music upstairs, and we could hear it loud and clear on the patio. Happy hour here is dedicated solely to drinks (opposite of Morton’s) so we had full-price-food. FPF is the WORST but I will say, it was tasty. Since it was Cinco de Mayo, we got a bucket of Corona’s and called it a weekend.



For the first thirteen years of my life I spent every summer at my family’s wheat farm in Montana. Before you even think it, no we did not have cows/horses/pigs. My parents only did spring wheat, as it meant my dad could commute between Seattle and Montana. When I say “commute” I mean it in the sense that he would shuttle back and forth 2-3 times between April and September, depending on me, my schedule and my mom’s pleas for him to come back (it’s tough being away, yknow?).

Anyways, small towns are the exact opposite of the city. People wave when they drive last you, often with the simplicity of two fingers raised from the wheel. It’s not as official as Southern hospitality, but it’s something that is lost in the city. Maybe it’s because there are more people per square mile, or maybe it’s because they are just that much more self centered. Either way, I like to think I got my manner from the country and my driving skills from the city (speed up or move!).

After driving from Green Bay, WI to Chicago in attempt to catch my flight home the past February, I endured a massive snowstorm. A storm my mother would have surely abandoned her car in the middle of and my boyfriend begged me not to drive through. After days of being away from home, I promised to be safe and pressed on with my front wheel drive Ford Focus (hatchback, see photo). Not to plug Ford or anything, but that thing can definitely hold its own. And even though I made it to Chicago with hours to spare, my flight was cancelled.


So, there I am stuck in a city I’ve never explored though I have flown into it more times than I can count in the last two years. Rather than saying, ‘screw it! Let’s go exploring!’ I said, ‘mmmm shower, Ben and Jerry’s, hours of Big Bang theory.’ Maybe it’s my age, late 20’s are sooooo brutal (read: sarcasm) or my relationship status (though not Facebook official, it’s been two+ years) but there was nothing about this night that motivated me to trek into the wild Chicago airport suburbs.


I was smart enough to bail on my flight before it was cancelled, effectively avoiding the scramble and panic of securing a seat on the next available flight out. I managed to get a seat with no problem by calling Alaska, although it did mean I missed my exit thus lengthening my commute to the airport by almost an hour. Ironically I had no issues driving in the snow covered freeway however later while looking for my hotel, following my phone map and shoving Jelly Bellys in my face I did encounter some issues. Kind of sad, no? I easily picked ice cream + jelly beans over wine.

I had an enjoyable, slow day before my 3pm flight out. Getting stuck was more of a blessing than a curse. The Chicago airport is big and bustley but it’s also home to the BEST AIRPORT FOOD EVER: the Frontera Grill. Thank you, Rick Bayless. Anything you get there is good, but the guacamole is the best. Put it in your face and thank me later.

When it was close to my flights boarding time I leisurely walked over to my gate. I usually stand amongst the MVPs and MVP Golds to ensure early boarding. People that say, “I don’t understand why everyone is so anxious to sit down” (usually with a scoff) are commoners with no boarding status. I’m anxious because sitting > standing, putting my bag up top > being forced to check it and getting stuck behind a row of people that only once a century < than not.

Though my low-level status doesn’t allow me to board until the first class, Golds, armed forces members (thanks for your service, btw), anyone with something resembling a child or limp – I SOMEHOW manage to survive.

While waiting somewhat patiently to board, I noticed a woman moving glances between the gate and her ticket. She approached a nicely dress first class or Gold member and politely said, “Excuse me? Is this flight going to Seattle?”

Though a simple, “yes” probably would have sufficed, THIS guy decided that, “I don’t work here.” was a more appropriate response. Who says that??

Dude, I get it. Chicago was a total asshole to me, too. However, I’m not an asshole in return to everyone I meet. So, in the event that you are ever approached by someone with this same question, I have compiled a list of appropriate responses to get you by:

1. “Yes.”
2. “Yes, it is.”
3. “I sure hope so, ’cause that’s where I’m going!” (this should be said with a genuine, non-creeper smile.
4. “Yes, ma’am.”
5. “No.” (only if that’s really the answer.)

While it took me almost a full 15-seconds to come up with those extensive, deep and heroic responses I assure you that they will make someone’s day a little better.

PS: the aforementioned woman had an accent and this is exactly why non-Americans say things like “Americans are rude assholes.”

Lesson: don’t be a rude asshole, no matter where you are.

Venus v. Mars

The last week of 2012 is meant to burn remaining PTO days, and due to a year of good health (woohoo!) I was fortunate enough to have three left over. I decided to push them out as long as possible, and took them the last three days of the year.

Originally Manfriend and I had planned on leaving for our annual ski vacation the morning of my first day off, Thursday. Rather, his BFF (yes, guys have them too) was in town for a short window of time on Friday so we adjusted our schedule so they could frolic and giggle together for twelve glorious hours.

This meant I had a full 48-weekday hours to do…something. Usually I only take time off to travel, so tripling my weekend with two of those days free left me a little lost. Since I am the best girlfriend ever – literally of ALL time – I decided to paint the spare bedroom at Manfriend’s house where, mind you, I don’t live or pay rent. Since he unofficially deemed the spare room “mine” I took it upon myself to paint it a modern palette of yellow and grey.

Why now you ask? Well, I got a sewing machine from Santa (he’s the man) and it’s going to live in that room. If I set up my new, shiny toy there first, I would completely forget about ridding the world of the hideous brown/orange that previously coated the walls. My life would become dedicated to cutting quilting squares, hemming things that don’t really need to be hemmed and making people pajama bottoms and pillow cases. For real you guys, I am a pro (at those two things).

We trekked to Lowe’s, our homestore of choice, and got supplies. You know how most girls would be ::blinkblink:: “pay for this” ::blinkblink::? The EXACT opposite happened. As we were walking into the store, I was like “ummm ::pause:: you know how I bought all those groceries? Maybs you could get one of the two gallons of paint?” And naturally, Manfriend said yes.

You know why? Because THIS girl not only bought the groceries, made the food then decided to paint a room that she has no legal right to and also pay for 50% of the paint. Generally speaking I think girls are like “it’s not mine, YOU pay for it.” And really, why buy the paint when you get the painter for free? …that was a poor analogy. What I mean is, why offer to pay for 100% when all that is asked of you is 50%?

The man is smarter than I thought. It’s like he jedi-mind-“tricked” me into thinking the natural assumption would be for me to pay for the paint. Genius. Simply stated.

So, I spent my two days off priming, taping and painting. I showered infrequently and slept until 9am. It was surprisingly glorious.

While waiting for paint to dry, I decided to go to Target to pick up the THREE below items:


Instead, I completely lost my shit at Target. Between sleeping in, not showering and barely making myself look presentable for public getting out of the house was a feat in itself. (FYI: if you haven’t seen my hair unwashed, you won’t TRULY get this. Just know that my morning hair surpasses all morning hair ever. Not kidding.) I was definitely NOT prepared for the Target after-Christmas clearance. And if there is anything I love more than sleep, it’s a sale. ESPECIALLY a Target after-Christmas clearance sale.

So there I was, aimlessly wandering the aisles of Target in my Lulu pants with my messy hair and overslept eyes. A real sight I am sure. Just as a reminder I came for this:


And I left with this:


Evidently, in addition to painting rooms for Manfriend (at my own 50% expense) I have also decided to start decorating. Before it was just me repurposing things I already owned (here! take my things! FREE!). At some point between the paint fumes and the dirty hair, I morphed into a wannabe housewife that needs to decorate with Target clearance decor.

And, if you were wondering, the wine was the last thing in my overflowing cart. Once I came to and realized that I had spiraled into that, I needed something to calm my nerves.

And calm it did.

PS – that faux-leather ottoman/storage thing looks bitchin’ next to the 80’s style sectional. I would totally buy it again and again.

PPS – while I was technical on a paid day off, I likely would have been better off going to work and saving myself lotso money. Idle hands…

Welcome 2013!

Hello, reader! Remember four years ago when I started this fabulous blog? I was job-less, on a spending-spree and time was plentiful. Ah, the good old days of unemployment when I still didn’t go to the gym because I was sleeping in and I barely made it to work at the restaurant at 4pm. 

Even with my days open and free, I still had trouble staying on task with my blogging but I was dating enough weirdos that I had ample to write about. And my fans (you)  liked my blog SO much that it went straight to the inflated place in my head. So, every time I baked something yummy and my roommate said, “that was delicious” what I heard him say is “this pie is amazing you should start a blog with a supporting twitter/Facebook/ account!!!” Or when I started running, and my aunt was all, “that’s so cool” I translated it to “you should log that via the interwebs!” 

Epic fail. 

Three blogs. THREE. Who starts three when they can barely keep up one? I started a baking blog to rebel against weight loss and log my Grandma’s recipes. But really, after Thanksgiving who has time to think about pies? I gained 10 pounds so fast all I had to do was LOOK at chocolate and BOOM another 4 ounces. I started running to counteract those same 10 pounds. And it was so fun and time consuming, I started another blog.  Both had corresponding twitter account – did I tell you I don’t like twitter? That I only use it when I am 16 ounces deep and watching football? 

So here we are, the beginning of a new year. I keep reading Facebook statuses (stati?) along the lines of, “omg 2012 was so hard but I learned so much – clean slate!” From personal experience I can tell you the slate isn’t really clean. That people still remember that time you had a few too many cosmos and lost a shoe somewhere. (Never gonna live that one down). For you, the new year is a time to make resolutions that will last between 3 and 5 months, overcrowd the gym so every day patrons complain and go on a detox of some sort. And for me, it’s a time to swear back writing – This means if I have a block, I might post a past recipe from Sexier than Meatloaf. Or remind you of the time I thought I might wheeze myself to death at Greenlake from Woggin’ and Joggin’. Something is better than nothing people. 

Cheers to you, cheers to 2013 and most importantly – CHEERS TO ME. 


Through a series of events, I ended up having dinner with a fantastic person tonight. I had met said person on a handful of occasions, however in my mind we’d never really talked and were more acquaintances — we weren‘t even Facebook friends, I mean, come on.

Toward the end of our meeting, I went on to tell her all about how sometimes I can be a real a-hole when it comes to realizing I’ve met people. I continued with, “here’s a perfect example”…then outlined a recent social interaction I had with another mutual friend. In this oh-so-typical scenario, I received a Facebook friend request and was unsure if I had even met her recently, if at all.

First, yes.

And second, it was last Saturday.

(No, I was not drunk – take that thought back.)

Laughing ensued, and man, what a good conversationalist I am. I was all, “omg we so should have been friends in college!”

Then this happened.

She said, “So..I think you might have been my GEL* buddy.”


That’s right, while touring colleges we LITERALLY shared a dorm floor while pretending to be college freshman and considering the campus.

I stared, it clicked, and I said it: “I told you I can be a real asshole.”

She was, of course, entertained (I think?) and likely humored by the entire situation. I am still embarrassed and realizing how completely oblivious I can be. And save all of the niceties that time that I asked a friend where his girlfriend was, then the room went silent because, well, they’d broken up that morning. At least that’s understandable. No matter how much time (infinite) I can spend on Facebook it’s almost impossible to keep up with these things.

So, here it is, we’ve probably met and I probably don’t remember one of two things: your name or your face. Which is the exact reason I have a boyfriend – the official kind that has to buy me dinner and stuff because otherwise I complain about being deprived….and hungry. I keep him around so he can introduce himself to people I can’t remember or say hi to people he knows.

If only I would have had him in my sleeping bag (I wish) GEL weekend.

*GEL (Gonzaga Experience Live) weekend is a campus preview event during which high school seniors that have been accepted can visit, stay in the dorms and participated in fun activities that scream “it’s worth $30k a year!”



That’s What You Get

Hello friends. Remember me? That literate voice inside your head as you read to remind you that you indeed did go to college and are able to read? Hi.

You probably want an apology. Something like, “I am so sorry for not blogging for months.” Too bad ’cause you’re not going to get it. However, you will get this new post from me. Oh yes, me…the aspiring writer. If you’re wondering where I have been the past few (read: six) months, here’s my list:

  • My foyfriend (patent pending) and I decided to commit (to each other) which spawned some sort of nester from my inner self. Don’t hate, she’s pretty french-toastin’ cool. 
  • My company hired a new VP of Sales and Marketing. I am not exponentially more busy than I was before. Then I was just “busy” but not I am “omg why is my hair so frizzy?! can i get more caffeine over here?? – busy.”
  • I went to Europe. ‘Nuff said. 

So what inspired this post? Well, eavesdropping and lots of wine….obviously. I am traveling for work tonight – yup just the one night – and the W Hotel I am staying charges $15 a day for internet – which btw is total crap – so I went to the one place I knew it was free: the bar.

I also knew they had food + wine, two of my favorite things EVER. Let me start by saying, as a curvy woman, there are boobs everywhere here. I didn’t know that Las Vegas cocktail waitresses spanned outside of the state. I was wrong.

Back to my inspiration: eavesdropping. While waiting for my two part dinner of truffle fries and lamb sliders, I have been catching up on my (free) e-mail. Prior to my updated relationship status, which was 26-years of “umm…single”/”umm…kind of seeing someone?”, I loooooooved my some socialization. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a leper now or anything, but I do enjoy solo bottles of wine mixed with hours of Law & Order SVU and/or NCIS because have you seen Mark Harmon? Um, have my babies much please? My newly found status and solo travel has left me very low-key, chill and buzzed on red wine (one glass.)

However, I was distracted by a slew of “fucks” carrying over from across the bar. Sorry Mom, since I’m not the one saying it, I feel it’s ok to use it in writing. Here’s how it went:

Girl with large (fake) boobs: ANYWAYS, it’s like my purse was $600, my wallet another $400..

My inner voice: Ohhhh she’s drinking champagne…I love champagne. Why is she yelling?

Girl with large (fake) boobs: and so I’m like “FUCK ALL MY SHITS GONE.

My inner voice: Whoa, earmuffs. Also, send that champ my way, would ya?

Girl with large (fake) boobs: my CREDIT CARDS AND MY SOCIAL SECURITY CARD.

My inner voice: In all fairness, they tell you not to carry your social security card with you…that’s your own fault.

To follow, I then looked at her surrounding company and I wonder, does Mr. Salt and Pepper Hair really think that MacFake Boob is going to put out?

Read my next post to find out more.

Mint Conditions & Being My Mother

At some point in woman’s life, she has the cliche epiphany of “ I AM my Mother.” Where she might fear it, I have come to embrace it, only because my reflected actions are cool. If they sucked, I would probably stick my tongue out with disgust, yet it’s unlikely that my mother (of her caliber) would do anything uber lame.

My realization came to me, big surprise here, in a bar.

Let me back up. I was in Whistler, snowboarding with a group of my friends. It was only my second day of the season, and I was dragging. My list of grievances was long (including tight boots/numb foot, poor visibility, the temperature, laziness), and rather than hiking with the crew, I opted for some “me” time to take a couple runs on my own before lunch. I don’t particularly like skiing/snowboarding solo, but I was too lazy/numb to hike and figured it best I went it on my own — knowing I’d likely make it half a run then call it quits.

After fiddling and refiddling with my boots and bindings, I took off down a familiar run. I have a tendency to not only talk to myself while riding, but also sing – current soundtrack includes Hit Me Baby, One More Time by Britney Spears. If you see/hear Britney floating down a mountain, don’t be confused, it’s likely just me trying to fend off boot pain or fear with the soothing sounds of 1998. While riding the lift back up, I silently argued (there were others on the chair) with myself about doing another run while enduring strong wind-gusts. The temperature detoured me, and I headed for the lodge.

FYI: I believe that every lodge is equipped with leather chair, a huge fireplace and lots of space. This is not an accurate representation of ANY lodge I have visited in my life, yet I still continue to dream it.

As I approached, I noticed an entrance to the right for a bar. It was this, or the main entrance in front of me. I’d only done one run and the guys were off hiking. Hmm, plenty of time for a little something to warm up my hands and brain. With this, I headed to the bar where I quickly peeled off my snow-laden jacket and gained the bartenders attention. A single Bailey’s and coffee and I was in business. It was a Thursday, which meant there would be American football on that night and my fantasy football team (which I know nothing about) would hopefully be racking up a few points. I stared at the screen with intent, hoping they’d take a quick hockey brake and tell me who was playing that night, when the gent next to me started talking.

“You follow hockey?” he asked.
“No.” I replied, my eyes steady on the screen.

Apparently this warranted a chuckle, thus interrupting my sports-related concentration and encouraging me to look at Sir Laughs A Lot.

“I follow American football because I have a fantasy team and was hoping I could figure out who’s playing tonight.”

He filled me in, and we proceeded to discuss our fantasy teams and why mine was better (maybe? it was really all talk..) I’d already asked the bartender to add an additional shot to my Bailey’s and coffee because I could taste the coffee and that was no acceptable. Upon looking outside I saw a few bodies, but mostly what looked like solidified coldness. This was the moment that I thought to myself, “man, I am so happy I’m not outside..” and realized that I had become a ski bunny just like my mother. Even though I removed the fur from my coat hood, I still personified her 100%, I was sitting in the bar chatting up all who surrounded me and drinking soul warming coffee wasn’t I? Realizing I had become lost in my socialization skills and liquor, I confirmed with the bartender that it was only ten ’till twelve and if he were to meet someone for lunch it would obviously be in the bar. I relaxed, and my new friend ordered me Round Two: Mint Conditions per my recommendation. Ah, the life.

Around noon I started to shift. Where were my friends? Surely nothing bad had happened while hiking, it wasn’t like they were venturing out into the back country. It was here that I felt the need to ask the bartender, “excuse me? If you were meeting friends – where would you meet them?”

 He replied, “why..the BAR of course!”

Of course! So, there I sat with my back to the rest of the lodge and my eyes glued to the drink warming my body (and soul.)

Minutes later, I turned around to see two of my friends hustling through the lodge. Even though I was yelling at the top of my lungs – something my new friends truly enjoyed, I am sure, more than their facial expressions showed – no one heard me. Which meant that I went bonding (attractive, no.) through the lodge, boots unlaced, screaming.

Personally, I would put that on the mint conditions.

As it happens, the crew had been eating, and finished eating, and manfriend was having a minor freak out about my whereabouts. Which, btw, considering we spend a fair amount of time together including many ski days, I assumed he would be the first person to suggest looking for me in the bar.

How does this tie in? Well, once upon a time my mother was a ski bunny. She wore the fancy white fur trimmed one pieces, the high wasted ski pants that showed her curves and the puffy ear muffs that made her look so 80’s Madonna’s cone bra couldn’t hold a candle to her.

And while being too cute for the mountain, she dislocated her clavicle (look it up.) Rather than bitching, moaning and retreating to her room – she did the only practical thing she could think to do.

She enlisted the valet/bellhops/idiots that drooled over her butt to help her schelp snow and ice to the base of a lift. As she couldn’t lift, with the dislocation and all, I imagine this meant she mostly purred orders at them. Which they happily fulfilled. When her friends came down from a day of ‘shredding the gnar’ – formerly known as ‘skiing’ – she was perched on a lawn chair ready Vogue, sipping champagne and nibbling on hor d’oeuvres.

Though my way was a little more conventional, it was on that bar stool, looking out to the gusts of snow and wind that I thought, “Shut the front door*, mom would do the same thing.

*Please note, I do not actually say “shut the front door” on a daily basis. However, being that words like fuck and shit aren’t family friendly…wow…really just blew that one, didn’t I?

A Crazy Cat Lady

I am sure you didn’t already know this about me, however I am {surprisingly} an only child. My cousins are the closet people I have to siblings, and we all treat each other accordingly. We blame each other for things we are responsible for, we mooch off each other and we don’t call each other back with any promptness whatsoever. And with this, I can say that we would all go to bat for each other any day of the week, and twice if vodka has been involved. Of the five of us, one is married to his high school sweetheart, E, who has become like a sister.

Since we are 20-somethings, trying to figure out love, careers and whatnot, it’s only natural that a few bad apples pass through our lives. What is not natural is my eldest cousin C’s ability to attract girls that are full blown crazies. At first the family (we aren’t a mafia, but we are just as tightly knit) thought it was because he went for girls a few years younger than him, or at least that is how I rationalized it. No matter what it was, E and I are always hoping he’ll meet a fun girl that we can hang out with – read: drink mimosas with. And once the Seahawks found themselves in the playoffs, we thought C had found a somewhat rough but nice enough girl to make us forget about all the crazy ones.

You can probably see where this is going, since this post is titled A Crazy Cat Lady.

Her true occupation was as a hairstylist, well, actually almost hairstylist since she was finishing up beauty school, she had many extra-curricular activities including singing in a cover band and being able to pick out a “good” rescue cat.


The conversation went something like this:

Me: I work with a lot of rescues and have been thinking about adopting an older cat.
Her: Omigod you totally should!!!! And I know this sounds crazy but…

Time out. Whenever you premise a statement with “I know this sounds crazy but..” you are crazy. There are no words that will make a person think, “since you premised that statement, you’re right I think you’re totally onto something.” In fact, you have actually increased the odds you will be deemed a whack-job since you essentially planted the seed into your listeners heads.

Her: …if you ever need help picking out a shelter cat I have a great sense for them. I can totally help you pick a good one.

And obviously now that I think about it I might still give her a buzz and take her up on that offer, since my cat-picking strategy was to go with the loud, screeching one that tries to scratch me. What do I know?

At that point, I should have thought ‘whack job‘ but rather thought ‘ok. but she is LESS crazy than the others. Of course you can cut my hair!’ As you know, I have been pretty desperate since I moved away from my stylist in Spokane. Desperate enough to agree to having the Cat Whisperer cut my hair.

Since we all live in our iPhones these days, I exchanged phone numbers with Madam Meows A Lot AND my cousin C. You see, C and I are so good at being related that we had never traded numbers prior to, again, the Seahawks making the playoffs. After dodging drunken offers to go bowling, I said my goodbyes and headed back to my apartment for a night of laundry, napping and Transformers on FX. Dibs on Shia LeBeouf. My phone rang around 7pm, at which time I was groggily struggling to lift my arm.

It was C. Should I answer it? He probably wants me to meet him at a bar. I don’t feel like drinking. Or putting on normal pants. Debate. Debate. Debate. He’s only had my number for a few hours, and he’s already calling?

Me: Hey C, what’s going on?
C: Hey! What’re you doing?
Me: Watching Transformers and napping.
C: Are you at home?
Me: Yah.
C: Wanna do me a huge favor.
Me: Ummm…
C: Can you come get me? I just really, really don’t want to hang out with these people anymore and my car is in Bellevue. I will totally owe you. Please?! Please!

Remember earlier when I said that we keep each other’s backs? I mean, he would come get me if I had that much panic in my voice…

Me: Sure. Where are you?
C: I don’t know.

At this point, I probably should have hung up the phone. Lost cause. Said my goodbyes, and checked Craigslist for people looking to adopt into a family. But of course, I didn’t.

C: I can see the Space Needle. And I-5.

After a few rounds of questions, I deduced his general location, which he followed up with cross streets. Then it hit me.

Me: Did you go to whatsherfaces house?
C: Yeah…
Me: Oh no. Is she…crazy?
C: She’s bat-shit crazy.
Me: I’ll be there in 15 minutes.

After a few missed exits, a wrong turn or five, I picked C up on the corner. He seemed relieved to not only be in a warm car, but also to see the apartment building fading behind us. And like I would really let him ride for free – I needed the scoop! You want it too, eh?

C: I couldn’t drive but I wanted to hang out, so I went back to her place with her. She seemed cool until she went crazy.
Me: How’d she go crazy?
C: I mean, we have been hanging out all day, give me some space!
Me: went back to her house with her..
C: So, I saw an out and I took it. I told her I was going to buy beer so I left. And I have been avoiding her calls and texts since then.
Me: Beer was your out?
C: Yes! I saw an out and I took it.

That’s right, he left and just never went back – entirely. Rather, he waited on the corner for me, which was apparently in sight of her apartment…because it sounds like Crazy Cat Lady and her cats were looking our the window for C. In the 20-minutes we were in the car, she texted him a minimum of twice a minute. They went something like this:

Hey, where’d you go?
C..where are you?
Where the [french fry] are you?
What the [fidora]?!
Seriously, C, what the [flipper]?
You’re a jackass. What the [foil]?
Where the [french toast]! You are such a [filling] asshat!
Seriously, C are you coming back?
Omigosh you are so [fridging] retarded.

I am currently out of words that can replace my beloved, yet less family friendly, eff-bomb but if you’re not stupid you get the point. And with that, I told C, “I’m sure she is a great hairdresser but I don’t think I’ll be letting her cut my hair, being that I am related to you and everything.”

Do I hear an echo?

Hello? Hello? Helloooooooooo?

Remember when I made that ‘cute’ New Year’s resolution to blog more? And I was all, “omigosh, three times a week? No problem!” Well, that went to the curb, and I can’t even tell you where the past two months have gone. Excuses aside, this blog is far to entertaining to forget to write. And with that…I will try to be better. I have recently (two days ago) taken on the project of running a 5k. A 5k, you say? But you loath running, and people that run! Yes, I know. BELIEVE me, I know far better than anyone that running is a fun suck. And, yet if I can teach myself to enjoy ::pukes:: running, then really I can do ANYTHING. It’s all in the mindset, readers.

Plus, it means I get to spend more money at Lululemon. EVERYbody wins. I stimulate the economy, get my heart rate up, my weight down and the best part is I can now start almost any sentence with “Now that I’m a runner…” Read about my progress, my quips and my successes here >

You’re managing TWO blogs?! You’re a crazy woman!

Yes, yes I am. A crazy woman with goals in mind. So watch me, minions.

Funny story envolving a family member and a crazy girl to follow. The f-word comes up a lot in this one, so if you have a better substitution please let me know before I post it.