I give up.

So, I decided to buy a pair of Crocs recently. I know they have a reputation for being ugly, but they also have a reputation for being very comfortable.

For some reason, I decided to "be adventurous", and get a pair in light blue. They look like this in the catalog:
















However, on my feet, they look like this:



















Yup.

Why I'm not on MTV

Last night Dan and I discussed what would happen if I were a contestant on Yo Momma.*

Contestant #1: Yo mama's armpits so hairy it looks like she's got Buckwheat in a headlock. Yo mama so fat she got to iron her pants on the driveway. Yo mama so ugly that if ugly were bricks she'd have her own projects.

Me: You know, I never really liked your mom.

Contestant: Yo mama... wait, what?

Me: Yeah, I hate the way she says "Hey Y'all!" all the time. And the onions in her meatloaf are always too raw and crunchy.

Contestant: Um..., see, uh, the thing is...

Me: Oh, and she uses WAY too much Febreze in the house. And it's not even the good kind. It's the crappy kind that smells like apples or something.

*For those of you outside the target demographic for this MTV show (probably all of you) or who have not yet stumbled upon this gleaming monument to popular culture, this is a show hosted by Wilmer Valderrama. I must admit, when he's not dressed as Fez, he's quite a charming and attractive young man. But that's not the point. The point is that contestants trade Yo Mama jokes and the judges decide who is better.

And the punishment is just.

So, every once in a while, I forget to obsessively check Toohpaste for Dinner, Married to the Sea, and Natalie Dee.

Of course, then I get the fun of looking at a whole bunch right in a row. But, still, a punishment from the Gods is in order, so you see this:


which is from Toothpaste for Dinner.

So the punishment for skipping these websites for a few weeks is:

To simultaneously inhale/spew coffee all over yourself at work on a day where you have a big meeting and no time to go home first and you are out of Shout Wipes and have to use a nasty old handi-wipe left over from a barbeque last summer that was at the bottom of your desk drawer and you have a big splotch on your boob* for like an hour and it won't dry right.

*For men, the punishment is to have a big splotch near, but not on, your crotch.

This One's for the Ladies

Okay, so I'm going to discuss a serious, chick-only topic now. Guys, take warning. You may wanna skip this one.

Today, one of my co-workers came in late to the office after leaving a message that she wasn't feeling well this morning. When she got in, one of us (not me) asked if she was feeling okay. So far, so good.

Except then she started loudly talking about her IUD. And how there was some problem with it, which is why she was late. I guess she was at the doctor's office.

Okay, okay, okay. As far as I'm concerned that is a no-no. As a rule, in the workplace, I do not want to hear or talk about any foreign/inorganic objects that come or go from that region of the body. However, I am apparently in the minority on this, because a five-minute conversation ensued between my co-worker and everyone else in the office:

Really? I had the same thing when... well, according to my one friend,... yeah, so the nurse had to yank... and so I told my husband,... and the cramps were... once, in band camp...

ARRGH! ENOUGH!

Now, I realize that my little company is only 20% male. And the male contingent (okay, the one guy) was absent from the office. But really, folks, is that any reason to prattle on about your hoo-ha? NO! Good God, NO!

Maybe it's just me. Maybe for me the gene that allows women to talk about this stuff at work was replaced by the gene that allows me to kick ass at Mortal Kombat. (Well, I kick ass at least until my thumb starts to hurt. Usually about 10-15 rounds of best-of-three. Oh, and I'm a shitty winner, too. Just ask Dan.)

Alls I know is, it was all I could do to not cover my ears with my hands and sing la-la-la.

So, please, ladies of the world, keep the hoo-ha talk to happy hour at Chi-Chi's, and not at the office. The more dudely among us thank you.

More Adventures in Homeownership

So, if you have been following the saga of our adventures with renovating the house, you will know that this is the point in the dramatic arc where Our Hero is Struck Down by his O'erweening Hubris.

Yes, we redid the backyard. Yes, we successfully got rid of practically all of the ugly wallpaper. But then... then we overstepped our bounds.

It all started when Dan got the clever idea of turning our back room into a laundry/utility area. For most of the past year, this room has done nothing but provide a home for an increasingly smelly old futon. It is where the dogs stay when we are at work. So making it into a laundry room would not only give it a useful purpose, but would also allow guests to use the downstairs bathroom without looking at the contents of our dryer.

We started scheming. Handy friends came over and assured us that extending the utilities would be a snap. Dan pulled up a corner of the ratty carpet and discovered hardwood underneath. We figured out the best way to arrange the utilities for the washer and dryer, and maybe even put in a utility sink to boot.

Then, like Icarus, we flew too high. One day we decided to just Go Ahead and Do It, and we took everything out of the room.

With baited breath, we pulled up the carpet. Also with held breath, because it was stinky.

And then we discovered that the previous owners had neglected to put down a carpet pad underneath the carpet. Also, they decided to GLUE THE CARPET DIRECTLY TO THE HARDWOOD. Oh yes, there was flooring adhesive spread over every inch of the floor, except the little bit that Dan happened to pull up previously.

Holy shit. Can you even believe it? We never thought the wood would be in pristine condition, but we figured we be able to paint it, at least.

Nope. It's hopeless. We can't sand it down, because it will melt. (see, melt? Icarus? Get it? Get i- Okay, whatever.) We can't scrape it off because it will take thirty thousand man hours.

Also, my Dad pointed out that extending the utilities will probably require a plumber, not just an electrician, because of reasons too boring to list.

This would be the part in the home-improvement reality show where the color on the screen would slowly fade to black and white, and there would be a shot of me looking at the room and shaking my head in slow motion, perhaps accompanied by floating translucent dollar bills, and a Law-and-Order style "gung gung", because we do not have the means, time, or desire to do all of this right now. Unless money starts raining from the heavens like the feathers from Icarus's -- okay, okay, even I have lost patience with the mythology thing. I'll stop now.

The good news is, unlike a home-improvement reality show, we can wait to do the room over when we feel like it. Which also means that we can put a little more thought into the room than our normal "whatever happens to be on sale at Lowe's" method.

Also, since the room is completely empty, it is fun to whistle in there.

Wha'happened?

I know. A long time between blogs. Too long. Not-even-bothering-to-check-if-there’s- something-new long. I know.

So what has been up? Lots! Mostly work.

Did you know that I have a job? It’s true! Yesterday I spent 14 hours working at that job. The day before? Also 14 hours. But what about Monday? Oh, only about 13 hours. And what about the “weekend”? 5 hours on Sunday and 6 hours on Saturday. A real break. Very refreshing. Today, maybe I have only 10 hours before I can go home. But at least I get a nice fat overtime paycheck, right?

HA!

So what I’m saying is that I’m freaking tired. Here are the highlights since my last post, as near as I can reckon through the blinding fatigue:

• We got a new car. An ’03 Corolla. Very exciting. Last night I fell asleep in it at the Price Chopper parking lot. It is nice.
• Congratulations are in order for Marty Cohen, I believe. Now the only question is whether to address her as “Dr. Cohen” or “Marty Cohen Comma PhD”. Yay!
• Dan is getting older this week. Woo Dan! In honor of his becoming a man, we are going to NYC to see a Yankees game and visit BadPie and her guy there, what’s-his-face. Dan has never been to the ol’ big apple. He partially blames this on being from Buffalo, when in fact his sister, who is also from Buffalo and I believe still resides there, pops down to New York like ninety times a year. It is truly a paradox.
• It is track season here in Saratoga Springs. For those of you not familiar with this, it is kind of like a plague of locusts, only instead of insects the town is overrun with Very Rich People for six weeks. Yesterday Dan saw a Lamborghini Diablo. Parked. On the Street. Parked on the street! That is so wrong. Also, the prices at all restaurants go up like 25%. But it is fun to go to the track, because they let poor people in, too, and you can sit at a picnic table with a cooler and make $2 bets on Papa’s Delicate Condition and If Mandy Patinkin Were a Horse. Or pretend that you are in a movie about horses, because every movie about horses from the last twenty years was shot there.

Anyway, there’s the highlights. Tonight I am going to watch Project Runway, which hopefully I recorded. And then sleep sleep sleep. Tomorrow, I swear, I’m only putting in eight hours. Screw the Man! Eight hours I say!