Monthly Archive

My baby sister leaves for college tomorrow. I say baby because with seven years between us, I always think of her as little. It doesn’t matter that she turns 18 (oh my god) on Sunday. She will always be my little sister.

I’ve thought long and hard about the advice I could send her off with. The Do’s and Dont’s I learned along the way. So I’m making her a list (mostly based on personal experience) and I’m asking you to help a sister out and tell me what you learned in college. I’ll compile it all and send it off to her. She can share it with her friends and be the most popular girl in school. Really!

• Dining hall food is awful. Because of this, you will find the one thing that isn’t awful and eat it all the time. Make sure this food is not grilled cheese. Grilled cheese makes you fat.
• Speaking of fat, it’s not a rumor. If you drink all the time and eat a lot of grilled cheese, you will gain the Freshman Fifteen.
• Living with someone is a challenge. No matter how much you like them, if they leave a bowl of milk and cereal in their bed the day your parents come to visit, you have to say something.
• Express common courtesy. Don’t sexile (locking them out for a booty call) your roommate. That’s just mean.
• What Dad said was true. Most guys are after one thing. It’s OK to have fun, but be safe. ALWAYS be safe.
• Use common sense. It’s probably not the best idea to drink the punch out of the storage container that’s sitting on the bathroom floor of a frat.
• You’ve heard it a thousand times, but it’s true. Don’t get in a car with someone who has been drinking. Please.
• Go to class. The whole point of college is to, you know, learn. College classes aren’t like high school. They’re interesting. Go. Do the work. Pass. You won’t regret it.
• Get involved. It’s a great way to meet lots of different people. (I joined the Student Entertainment Committee and a sorority and met some of my closest friends and my boyfriend.)
• If a class is only offered in the fall, sell the book back at the end of the spring semester. You’ll get more money back that way.
• Call home. Your family misses you.
• When you go out, always have a buddy. And take care of each other. If your friend disappears into a bathroom stall with a random guy, go find her.
• Take lots of pictures. You’ll want to remember it all.

Alright, that’s all I’ve got for now. So I’m counting on you to beef up the list. What advice do you have for my sister?

Before I get in to anything, I’d just like to update you on the score. Currently we’re at Universe: 4, Molly: 0. My bra broke on the way home from work last night, causing the underwire to pop out and stab me in my boob while I was making a left turn.

Anyway.

We have a new car! (A GMC Envoy) Well, really Michael has a new car, but I get to drive it! It’s purrrdy and looks all fancy sitting in the driveway. It’s also the biggest vehicle I’ve ever driven and I’m terrified of parking it and backing it up. I don’t know how those soccer moms do it.

The reason for such a big vehicle is two fold: one, Michael is 6′4″. Most cars are too small for him to ride in comfortably for a long time. And two: we have dog. A big dog. A 130-pound shedding/drooling machine that needs more space than a traditional back seat can offer.

So SUV here we come. Much like the new car smell, eventually the excitement over the sun roof, the XM radio and the OnStar will fade away. But know what’s pretty cool? In a few years that SUV won’t be carting around just a dog. It will be carting around a baby. My baby. Our baby. And that makes me unbelievably happy.

I have a good feeling about this fall, people. A really good feeling.

The Universe has been seriously kicking my ass this week. First, I unintentionally mooned someone. Then, I think I’m going to end up the lead story on the 11 o’clock news. And then yesterday the Universe chucked another one at me. Right at my face when I wasn’t looking.

My boss and I attended a webinar–a web seminar where we watched a PowerPoint presentation online and called in to listen in on a conference call. At the close of the hour the host opened the phone line to questions, telling listeners to dial a certain code if they wanted to participate rather than just listen.

At least, I thought that’s what she said.

People were randomly asking questions until one guy made a lame joke. People did that polite laugh thing–the awkward “ha, ha…ha”– and I started laughing to myself. I looked over at my boss, who was also laughing.

“Jeesh. That was the fakest laugh ever!” I said to him.

All of the sudden he clasped his hand over the mouth piece of his phone and hissed “You’re not on mute!”

Oh. My. God. I just made fun of someone on a recorded conference call that 80 people were participating in.

I looked over at my boss in panic–expecting him to be pissed. Instead he was laughing. Uncontrollably. Which of course made ME start laughing as well. We were doubled over, doing our best to keep our laughter quiet when the Big Boss walked in.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

So of course my boss had to tell him. I won’t live this one down for a looong time.

Damn you, Universe. Damn you!

When he was in college Michael was also a volunteer fireman. He rose quickly through the ranks and was well liked. He loved what he did and was great at it, but he did not want to be a fireman forever and after graduation he got hired at his current job.

This was fine with me. While there were some things I enjoyed about him being a fireman (mainly the uniform), the fact that he was running into burning buildings left me feeling nothing short of terrified. There’s actually a photo hanging in the station of him up in the bucket above a burning building. You can barely make him out through the flames. I do not like this picture.

So now he has his career, and while he’s not fighting fires, his job can still be dangerous. Mainly because people are crazy. And crazy people have guns.

Last night I was home alone since he was working over night. I was sitting on the couch when I noticed a van pull up in front of the house. I didn’t think much of it at first since our neighbors always park on the street, making it difficult for people to drive around their car. But the van didn’t move. It sat there for awhile, then drove up the street a little, stopped, backed up and sat in front of the house again. And while I couldn’t make out the driver’s face, I could tell they were straining to see the house, the driveway and the yard. After ten minutes of this I got nervous, wrote down the license plate and called Michael.

Eventually the van drove away and Michael told me to call him if it came back. He also assured me that his coworker was in the area if I needed him.

I sat on the couch rigid and scared the rest of the night. Every time a car would drive by I would grab my phone, ready to call. I finally fell asleep around midnight, only to be woken up by Kodiak barking and growling at 1 a.m. I lay frozen in bed, absolutely terrified that my worst fears were coming true.

“This is it,” I thought, visions of becoming the subject of a Law & Order or CSI episode. 

Obviously nothing happened, as I’m here today writing this. But I’m still a little shaken up. When Michael crawled into bed just after 2 a.m. I held on to him as tightly as I could and incoherently begged him not to leave me.

“I’ll never leave you,” he said stroking my hair.

I was finally able to fall asleep and when I woke up this morning next to the man I love, safe and sound, I was able to breathe a sigh of relief.  

So, let me get this straight. You didn’t post on Friday and now you’re going to give us a weekend recap? Laaaaame.

Yes, it’s true. Please forgive me, dear readers, for it appears that I am lame.

* I met up with my friend J-Ra on Friday night. She recently moved back to RI and I was super excited to see her. I arrived at the restaurant first and put my name on the waiting list. We spent a half hour sitting outside and catching up, enjoying the cool ocean air. When the host came outside and said “Molly, party of two,” we stood up to go inside. So did two other women in their late 40s.

“Wait, you’re Molly?” one of them said to me. “I’m Molly.”

“Well, nice to meet you Molly,” I replied. “I am Molly, too. And I was here first.”

“Is she really Molly?” the woman asked the host, who was starting to look pretty uncomfortable.

This was ridiculous. Like, yeah lady, when I heard him say party of two I thought I would pretend to be Molly and get your table.

“Do you want to see my I.D.?” I threw back at her, clearly annoyed.

Just as she was about to argue with me, the host confirmed that yes, there were two Molly’s and yes, I was there first.

As he lead us inside Molly Two said loudly to her friend, “It’s only because they’re blonde that he sat them first.”

Bitch!

* Michael’s grandmother stopped by yesterday and told me I look like I’m losing weight. Yay! However the pint glass strawberry mojitos I had Saturday night probably don’t help to maintain the skinny. They are, however, delicious.

* After seven years, I took out my belly button ring for good yesterday. There’s a hole. I’m annoyed.

* After my shower this morning I threw on one of Michael’s t-shirts as I got ready. Kodiak was lying on the deck and didn’t feel like coming in for breakfast, so I went outside to bring him in. I bent over to grab his collar and just as I did the wind blew. I think you can guess where this is going.

I stood up as fast as I could, but it was too late. The driver of a red Toyota got a clear view of a full moon.

I think Monday is taunting me.

I received an interesting email this morning from a reader in Turkey who could no longer access my blog. Apparently, the Turkish government has banned access to WordPress!

I am sad to lose a reader, especially a reader I didn’t even know I had. So today I’m reaching out to the readers I don’t know. The lurkers, the passerbyers, those who have never left a comment. Today I ask you to stop by and say HI!

I’ll leave you with this question, so you don’t feel like you’re doing that awkward thing where you see someone you know and wave like a crazy person, only to not have them see you. Oh you know you’ve done it. And pretending you were just fixing your hair does not hide it!

Question: What was your worst fashion mistake? (And regular readers, you do not get a pass! Answer up!)

Updated to add: I realized it wasn’t fair that I didn’t mention my worst fashion mistake. It was seventh grade. Baggy was in. So super skinny me thought I would look HOT in super baggy, flannel lined jeans with the cuffs rolled up so you could see the plaid, a baby doll tee and one of my mom’s button down shirts. (Hangs head in shame.)

Hey, remember that writer’s block? Yup, still here. So guess what you get? Shoes! Bad, mostly animal-themed shoes!

Ever been sitting in your house and a bird flies smack into the window? Ever go pick it up and think, gee, that would make a great shoe? Me neither, but someone did.

We once went to a rescue dog reunion and there are some crazy dog people there. People that like to spin yarn out of their dog’s hair and then knit it into scarves. I kid you not. Apparently, this is what cow farmers do to show their appreciation. Moo.

No wonder Dumbo couldn’t fly! Someone took his ears!

Medieval fashion at it’s finest. All that’s missing is your chastity belt.

Great for checking your lip gloss, and for inviting perverts to look up your skirt.

Sometimes when Kodiak gets excited a little something pops out, if you know what I’m saying. We call it the Red Rocket.

Snakes on a Plane! No…Snake on Your Foot Holy Hell Get It Off, Get It Off, Get It Off!

If they had potty training toilet paper, I imagine this is what it would look like. WIPE HERE.

I’m a maaaaniac, maaaaniac on the floor! And they put me away for buying a sock/legwarmer/high heel combo.

Version One

Version Two

Version Three

Version Four

Look what came in the mail today! Back when my dear friend Clink registered for her wedding, she put a lovely little item on the list. That item was a cookie gun. I thought it was fantastic and was so excited to get it for her.

Well, she’s tricky, that Clink. She conspired with my boss and this showed up at work today:

What was inside, you ask? THIS:

That’s right, four containers of homemade cookies. FOUR! Including homemade individually wrapped oreos:

 And a delicious cookie called chocolate chip meltaways:

 Plus a super cute card.

Is she an awesome friend or what?

Here I am, at work, staring at my screen. My body is here, but my brain? I think it went on vacation. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s shoe shopping on Rodeo Drive. But my brain didn’t consult with me before leaving. It did not ask me if it could go, did not get approved vacation time. My brain? I might have to fire her.

Actually, I might get fired if I don’t buckle down and write the magazine piece that was due (cough) last week. Luckily, my editor is really awesome and pretty and super skinny and has great hair. So she won’t kill me.

I’m just having major writer’s block. Actually, the only thing I can seem to write is a blog post about having writer’s block.

My checked-out brain has caused other problems as well. Knowing I had to be on public access again this afternoon, I took my time choosing my outfit and doing my hair. Then I met up with my coworker and carpooled to work. It wasn’t until 20 minutes into the ride that I realized that my car? The one that’s supposed to drive me to the TV studio? Is waiting patiently for my return this evening. Yeah. I didn’t drive today. Luckily, my coworker is able to drive me to the taping. Jeesh.

It’s not that I didn’t sleep well. Surprisingly, I actually slept great. I miss Michael a ton, but I didn’t feel scared home alone last night. Not even when it started to thunder. Maybe it was because I kept the Maglite close by.

But brain or no brain, I have to write this story. Now. As in right now.

It’s going to be a long day…

* This weekend was fantastic. I took Friday off and went on a wine tour and tasting. Five tastes and two purchased bottles later, we were off to downtown Newport for the afternoon. My big accomplishment for the afternoon was parallel parking on a busy street. I never parallel park. Ever. In fact, just last week my boss, coworker and I went out for ice cream. Since both of them have two car seats in their cars, they asked if I could drive. Sure, we could take my car, I said, but I’m not parking on the street. Nope, not gonna happen. So I let my boss drive my car! I think I’ve parallel parked three times since my road test. So it was a big deal that I did it, and did it well on the narrow streets of Newport.

* I also saw Superbad this weekend. Hilarious. Go see it. Now.

* And for a random weekend event, Jen and I went bowling. I haven’t been bowling since college and it was really fun. Especially since we took her eight year old brother who needed bumpers so we had to get them.

* I may have also watched High School Musicial 2. May have.

* Michael leaves today for a three day boy trip up to Lake George. I don’t care if it sounds lame, but I miss him already. It wasn’t as big of a deal when I went to Vegas because I was with my friends and was always doing stuff while he got to sit home and pine for me. Now I’m the one doing the pining! Yeah, I’ll survive. It’s only three days. But he took the dog with him too so I’m really home ALL ALONE. At night. When the monsters come out of the closets and the Boogie Man grabs your feet from under the bed.

Sometimes when I’m home alone I look around the room I’m in to see what heavy/sharp/blunt objects are within reach in case I have to confront an attacker. Does anyone else do this?

Michael was working last night and since I didn’t have anything planned, I decided to relax on the couch and watch some TV. Turns out there’s nothing that really sparks my interest on Thursday night, so I was flipping the channels. For some reason I stopped on the Disney Channel. At the very start of High School Musical. Ever head of it? The story follows a jock and a math geek who really liked each other and want to audition for the school play. They can both sing really well, but are afraid of what their friends will think. The best part of the movie is that they’re always breaking out into song and dance.

People, I watched the whole damn thing. All two hours of it. The number one grossing movie for kids ages 6-14? I watched it. It wasn’t good. It was bad. Soooo bad. Yet addicting. They even had the lyrics written out on the bottom of the screen and holy hell was I actually singing along? “Why am I feeling so wrong/My head’s in the game/But my heart’s in the song.”

Here’s what I really don’t get. Zac Efron and Ashley Tisdale. Am I the only one who’s freaked out by Zach’s alien face and Ashley’s giant hair?

During the movie, there was a running countdown of how many hours were left until the premiere of High School Musical 2. When I turned off the television we were at 22 hours and counting.

God help me if I’m home at 8 o’clock tonight.

On the phone:

Me: Hi.

Michael: Hi. How’s your day going?

Me: What is my biggest pet peeve ever?

Michael: People who are late…

Me: Ye-

Michael: …and people who have B.O.

I left work early yesterday due to a blinding headache that was preventing me from doing much more than stare at my keyboard. Even after loading up on Advil, getting Michael to rub my shoulders and passing out, it wouldn’t go away. I woke up with it again this morning, groggily called out of work (sorry, Mike. I’ll be back tomorrow.) and went back to sleep.

As soon as I was up, I called my massage therapist, practically begging on her voice mail to fit me in today. Luckily, she came through and at 1:30 I was drifting in and out of a dazed state as Norah Jone crooned quietly in the background.

The massage was heaven. She worked out all the knots and kinks that had been bothering me, plus some I didn’t even know I had. (Did you know your forearms can seriously hurt from typing all day? They can. Ow!) When I rolled over onto my stomach, my face pressed into the toweled face-doughnut, I expected the usual pain–that good pain that comes with massaging my shoulder blades. What I was not expecting was for her to get to my lower back/upper butt and be writhing in pain.

“What did you do to yourself?” she cried. “This is the worst I’ve ever seen you!”

It was so bad she was coaching me to breathe as she worked out the knots. Ow, ow, ow, ow, owwwww!

Seventy-five minutes later (15 minutes longer than usual because, did I mention OW?) I was up, red-faced and slightly dizzy. She cautioned me to take some Advil, drink lots of water and lie down, since the massage released a lot of toxins and I might feel sick later.

I don’t feel sick yet, but I do feel groggy. So I’m taking my slightly less-tight self back to the couch.

Saturday night was the perfect going out night. The temperature was cool and there was no humidity, so we all piled in the car and headed to Newport. I put a little extra effort into my outfit; dark skinny jeans, peep toe heels and a fabulous BCBG top that gave me ridiculous cleavage. I secretly enjoyed knowing the girls looked hot since the girlfriend is pretty flat.

Oh, the girlfriend? You want to know about her? Well, I may have overreacted a bit. (Who, me?) I don’t see us being BFFs any time soon, but she really wasn’t that bad. She was actually, dare I say it, nice. Although she did make some snarky comments about me being from upstate New York, wore leggings, is training for a freaking triathalon so she’s damn skinny and didn’t care much about shoes.

Yup, you read that correctly. Did. Not. Care. About. Shoes. My heart, it weeps. As a couple they were ridiculously touchy feel-y. We’re talking his hand in her skirt pocket while the spooned on our couch as we talked about dinner plans and stroking each other’s thighs all the time. It was a bit much.

Anyway, we’re out in Newport at this great little outdoor bar. We had a waitress, but since it was so busy and Jen wanted a drink, we pushed our way through the crowd up to the bar. I was leaning against it waiting for the bartender when I guy slid up next to me. He was drunk and slurring his words, but I managed to figure out what he was saying.

“Hey pretty, what are you drinking?”

“Corona,” I replied.

“Meeeee toooooo!”

“Well,” I said. “Guess you’re buying me a drink then!” I figured it couldn’t hurt. The guy was pretty drunk and very engrossed in talking to my chest. I might as well try and get a drink out of it.

He did buy my drink. Jen went back to the table, but I was stuck in the obligatory short chit chat one needs to make after accepting the drink. He asked my name. I told him it was Megan.

Then he got wrapped up in staring at my chest again and spilled his beer down my arm. Annnnd it was time to go.

Back at the table I was met by the stares of our entire group of friends and Michael.

“What was that?” Michael said. As I explained he joked that no, that’s unacceptable. (Although just an hour later he was approached by a bachelorette party wanting him to do something stupid for a picture and I rolled my eyes like it was my job.)

After the teasing had subsided, Jen whispered in my ear, “She totally ratted you out!”

Turns out the girlfriend made a point of telling the group that I was talking up some guy at the bar. Called attention to it as quick as she could.

Whatever. She has no boobs.

All week I have felt un-cute. Maybe it was because I was hormonal. Maybe it was the awful humidity that refused to let my hair look normal. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of my summer clothes and want to buy a new fall wardrobe. Or maybe it’s because I’ve been down on myself because of the upcoming visit of a friend and his girlfriend.

Tonight our good friend Brian will arrive with his brand spanking new girlfriend to spend the weekend at our house. Aside from the additional freak out I’m having over my once crazy, serial dating, slightly man-whore friend having a girlfriend, I am already feeling like the ugly duckling.

I’ve never met this girl. Never seen a picture, hell, I don’t even know her name. But I know his type so not knowing her has not stopped me from making her out to be a petite, bronzed, gorgeous woman with a mane of jet black hair streaming down her back. In my head, next to this mystery woman, I am a big, white, dumpy cow.

Moo.

I’ve been agonizing over it for weeks. I’ve discussed it over email (and bottles of wine) with my friends, who all have promised that if I hate her, they will too. It is girl-code, after all.

Here’s the thing: I KNOW I’m probably being irrational. Maybe she’s completely ugly. Maybe she’s gorgeous but so nice I won’t be able to help liking her. I know I shouldn’t be comparing myself to her, but I am. It’s not the first time I’ve compared myself to another woman and I know it won’t be the last.

Usually when I’m feeling down on myself, I buy a pair of shoes. I buy shoes when I’m feeling great about myself too, but nothing makes my day brighter than something new adorning my feet. But today I won’t buy shoes. Today I’ll suck it up.

Today I also put on a really cute, trendy outfit, swirled and tapped my Bare Minerals to create a flawless face and straightened my hair to a shiny blonde.

Today I have banished the un-cute and am determined to face this woman–and my issues–head on.

I left my company’s summer barbecue last night with a mild beer buzz, compliments of the free drinks tickets kindly provided by HR. Michael wanted to stop at Walmart on the way home to return some shelving he had bought for the basement.

Walmart gets a bad rap. True, interesting people work there and yes, there are issues with the corporation as a whole, but people…Walmart has EVERYTHING. I’m not kidding. Need an inflatable chair? Walmart. A 100 piece box of multi-colored paper clips? Walmart. The entire Scunci hair accessories line? Wal.Mart.

When Michael mentioned the trip I thought of three things I needed. Tampons, eye makeup remover and body wash. That’s it. Three things. Make a note of that.

The fluorescent lights stung my eyes and stirred up the fuzzy feeling in my head as we walked in the door. We exchanged the shelving and headed down the aisles to find my items and the few essentials Michael had put on his list.

By the time we reached the back of the store we had in our cart–in addition to my three items and his toiletries–paper towels, a DVD player, two CDs, two giant storage containers, a Hershey’s bar and a Kit Kat.

And then I found myself standing in front of the bathroom scales. One was out of the box, sitting on the floor taunting me. So I did the stupidest thing a girl can possibly do after consuming a barbecue dinner and multiple beers while wearing all her clothes and her shoes.

I got on the scale.

Cue meltdown. The scale said I was ten pounds heavier than I thought I was. Ten pounds! While trying to not to cry I started yelling at Michael. “I’m fat! Oh my god, I’m fat! Look at the scale! What the hell?!”

Michael, always the calm and rational one, rolled his eyes and said, “You are not fat. That scale was out of the package and probably broken.”

I whimpered and kicked it with my toe. And then I did the second stupidest thing a girl can do after consuming a barbecue dinner and drinking multiple beers while wearing all her clothes and her shoes.

I bought a scale.

This morning, fresh out of the shower and stark naked (gasp!), I got on the brand new scale. I was exactly where I thought I should be. Thank goodness.

Lesson of the day? Never go to Walmart after drinking. You will leave with a contraption that tells you how fat you are and with $120 less in your bank account.

Since moving into the house, our second bedroom as become a holding room for a whole bunch of stuff. Clothes to be donated, my childhood dollhouse, paintings my grandmother made, wires from college computers and TONS of comforters. When someone comes to stay I usually move everything into somewhat neat piles and explain that we just haven’t gotten around to this room yet.

This room also has a small closet, which I had claimed as my own. But seeing as how the closet is tiny and I have a TON of crap, it made more sense for me to take over the bigger closet in the hallway, the one that up until yesterday was occupied by Michael.  I also had completely run out of shoe storage and they had formed a revolution and were on the verge of attacking.

Since we’re having company this weekend, we decided that it was finally time to tackle the room. I started by emptying Michael’s closet while he was in the shower.  I’d just like to point out that perhaps I’m not the only one with a shoe problem. (And no, he doesn’t wear those awful white ones. There’s a whole story behind them.) (Also, heeellllo ugly office floor. We hate you! Die!)

This is what my old closet looked like. Notice the clothes jammed together and the overflowing baskets, which incidentally were so heavy they were pulling down the shelf.

Also notice how my shoes were sadly jammed on the floor of the closet. What you don’t see is the floor to the left, which was COVERED in shoes that had no home.

But now, here’s my new closet! (Please don’t judge my hangers…I need some new ones.) The space! Shelves of shoes!

Also, room for additional shoes in their original boxes…

And even more shoes on the door!

Look how happy they are to have a home, no longer exposed to the elements and dog hair and Michael’s frustration as he trips over them yet again.

Now let’s just hope I can keep it this way.

**Updated to add that Michael came up the stairs while I was taking pictures and asked why in the world I would do such a thing. I hung my head as I admitted that yes, I take pictures of my closet for my blog.

If I was single again, I think I would try online dating. Filling out a profile of likes and dislikes, finding that odd person that loves eating icing out of the container with a spoon just as much as you do? Sounds good to me.

I’ve always thought that there should be an online matching system for friendship. Much like online dating, you could find a friend who hates her thighs, loves bad TV and will reassure you that you’re hot even after you’ve eaten another burrito.

Well, I found her.

You know her as Clink, I know her as…my new friend. (What, you thought I’d actually tell her real name?) What started as a few random comments on each other’s blogs has progressed to a place where we’re buying the same dresses online and talking about inviting each other to our weddings.

It’s totally weird, but in a really awesome way. It’s like I custom ordered a friend. We find new similarities every day…from both dating ‘M’ boys, to wearing the same size clothes (sadly, we do not share a shoe size. This hurts me deeply.), to having annoyingly thin and beautiful sisters. But below the exterior things, I’ve found a friend that just gets me. A friend who desperately wanted to get engaged, but was rooting for me to be next if she wasn’t. Who even though we have never met, I already know she’s going to stick around. Probably forever.

We’re dorks, but we’re OK with it. Both in a blogging slump yesterday, we decided to write a joint love fest on our blogs…a tribute to this friendship. Like I said, dorks.

No, we haven’t met…but we will! Plans for a fall meeting are already in the works and both of us are excited/nervous/wanting to lose 10 pounds.

If you’re not reading her stuff, you should. She’s an amazing writer and even before we became friends she was one of the driving forces behind my blog. Her writing inspired me to be a better writer.

Oh yeah…be on the lookout for a picture of two girls with no heads wearing matching dresses.

For more on this sappy love fest, head over to Such Great Heights.

My mom and I went shopping on Saturday and when she came out of the dressing room in a pair of jeans, I told her she must buy them immediately. Her butt looked fantastic. I told her as much and she protested, saying that it looked like a bubble butt, that the legs were too tight, that she was too old to be wearing pants like that.

My mother? Is crazy. Because I would kill for her long legs and ignoring her protests, I convinced her that despite her being a 50-something woman, that butt was not a 50-something butt.

She bought the jeans. But since the jeans actually fit (read: are not baggy), she had to get used to the denim being a little closer to her stomach.

“It doesn’t look fat?” she asked over and over.

“No,” I told her. “You look great. You do not have a Fupa.”

“A what?” she replied.

“A fat, upper…pussy…area,” I explained.

“MOLLY!”

Have you ever had to explain a Fupa to your mother? In a public dressing room? It’s…interesting.

And later on I had to explain to my aunt what a MILF is.

I suddenly feel like a 14-year old boy.

I left work yesterday and headed to NY for a weekend with my family. I’m sure I’ll come back with some great stories, but in the meantime…here’s a look at one of the cute boys back home I’m missing.  Happy Weekend!

I’ve been wanting to give you Version 4 for awhile now, but I just wasn’t coming across shoes awful enough to warrant a place in the bad shoe hall of fame.

Until today.

This is the perfect disguise for puffy pregnancy ankles. Because it’s much better to look like a python is swallowing you whole.

Apparently this shoe has a tooth ache. Why else would it wrap that thing around itself?

Now these…these I had to make extra large for you. Because you’re not getting the true feeling of the shoe unless you can see they’re see-through. Oh yes. I mean, I totally get it. My legs get hot when I wear boots too. This completely eliminates the problem.

Pom-pom or completely disgusting toe fungus growing out of your foot? You decide. Also, sort of looks like the cat coughed up the remains of a rodent. Just saying.

“But Grandma, what big eyes you have!” “The better to see…damn, Red. What the hell is on your feet?”

It took me a minute to figure out where I had seen this before. Then I remembered. In the event of an emergency, your seat can be used as a flotation device. Thanks, Southwest!

This gives entirely new meaning to the phrase “Stinky cheese feet”.

This blogging thing is getting out of control. Today I got a message from Sasha saying she had a dream about partying with me and a bunch of other bloggers. Weird, because last night I had a blogging dream too.

I dreamt that Clink and I met up in my home town and decided to go cross-country skiing. Let it be known that I do not cross-country ski. Ever.

We got on our skis and were swishing through a blizzard, when we decided we really wanted to go shopping. So off we went on our skis…and purchased adorable matching ski caps which did not even give us hat hair.

Oh yeah, we were both also super skinny and hot. Obviously.

When I told the dream to Clink this morning, she snorted her water and said “when our powers of fabulousness combine, we are immune to calories and/or the elements.” I could not agree more.

I don’t know what’s in the water, but this blogging thing has apparently crossed into my subconscious. Maybe tonight I’ll be dreaming about you!