Things You Shouldn’t Do When the Side Effects of Your Meds Include Anxiety

I pinched a nerve in my back. Which, if you’ve never done so, is one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever had the “pleasure” of dealing with. I believe that’s what I did about a month ago, when I thought it was just from yoga-ing without stretching…but now I think it was just something waiting to happen. And the yoga-ing was the straw that broke the camel’s my back. It wasn’t nearly as debilitating the first time, and it went away relatively quickly.

This time, it came back with a vengeance. A vengeance that was not willing to part with me quite so quickly. And it all happened days before I was supposed to board a plane to New York for one of the biggest parties of the year. Brian almost didn’t even let me go!

So I went to the doctor. Who prescribed muscle relaxers(corti-something something) and steroids (prednizone) after taking 37 seconds to press my back in 3 places (which will cost me something in the 3-digits)…thus diagnosing me with a pinched nerve in my lower back (sciatic nerve methinks, but non-radiating). She has since refilled the steroids (with a different, apparently more potent version) and told me to get my butt to physical therapy, a place I’m all too familiar with. And now that I’m  off the drugs, I’m stuck with a twice-daily PT routine that feels as tough as my most intense yoga class. Or personal training.

But when I was on the drugs, I got some serious fucking anxiety. Now I have a tendency toward anxiety and depression,  and whatever good Prednizone did to my back, it was wicked and evil to my brain. It was the worst anxiety attack I’ve had in years. And I’ve had a few.

So I did what any normal girl would do when hopped up on pain killers with a side of anxiety. I did everything wrong.

Things you shouldn’t do during an anxiety attack

When the meds for the pinched nerve in my back made me absolutely insane, I decided to do these really stupid things that only magnified my anxiety to the nth degree. Learn from my lessons people.

Have your palms read

In my infinite wisdom, while out with some girlfriends at a ladies day out event, I thought it would be brilliant to have my palms read. Sure I didn’t really believe in any of that mumbo jumbo but figured I’d give some quack 20 bucks, and she’d tell me some of the badass things in my future. Of course, I didn’t realize that her visions would be vague and could lean toward the negative or positive depending on where my head was. And fucking being the lunatic on drugs that I was,  I definitely leaned toward the nego. And my anxiety was through the roof the rest of the day. And just to drive the nail a little deeper, I fucking believed that bitch. The minute she told me I was on a lucky streak, I took everything she said and mentally filed it away.

Consume alcohol

With all that anxiety, you may find yourself in search of chocolate. When the only chocolate in the house requires baking (fuck that) or is the last piece of Easter candy (a hollow cookies and cream bunny) that you planned to snap photos of for a potential blog post next Easter (that you’re probably not going to write anyway), you know what you have to do. You open a bottle of Bailey’s and pour a largely portioned shot (twice) and take pictures. Since your tolerance is pretty much shite, you’re drunk…and you anxiety is now magnified even more. You’re probably going to start crying pretty soon, aren’t you? Oh, you’re too smart for that shit? Me too, guys. Me too.

Upgrade your website host

When your anxiety is already raging, there’s no time like the present to fix what ain’t broken. Well, my site was kind of broken. But not really It was running super slow, and the people at DreamHost told me if I  spent more money, my site would run faster. And everyone wants that, right? So I jumped on my computer after a few shots and went to town. I also panicked the fuck out and spent 30 minutes chatting with customer support who told me I should avoid making any changes for a couple days while it transferred over. They also said some other stuff which I promptly forwarded to Brian.

Contact your boyfriend who’s out with his friends

So now I’m freaking out about my stupid soothsaying palms, drunk, with a broken website…and alone. Brian was out with a friend,  catching a flick. After movies, they tend to stand outside and talk…sometimes for hours even when it’s balls cold outside. I couldn’t handle that much more of my anxiety alone. I needed to drag someone else into my crazy bullshit. Since Brian voluntarily lives with me knowing I come with my own brand of crazy… I played the part of psycho girlfriend.

First, I checked the runtime of said movie. Then, realizing he was still in the movie, sent a text…something along the lines of “hey. I’m crazy right now. My anxiety is killing me slowly. Please come home as soon as possible so I don’t accidentally die over-analyzation.” I made that last part up. I don’t think I actually thought I was going to die. But my brain was not pleased with where I was at.

When he didn’t respond shortly after the movie was out, I sent a Gchat message. Because crazy requires company…and gchat lets you see if someone has seen your message.  And I could be a little less anxious knowing he hadn’t actually seen my message. See? Batshit crazy. But I was just like…”hey no big deal, but just…let me know you saw my message. Kthxbye.”

When in doubt, visit Facebook

As if my anxiety wasn’t already rockin’, I took to Facebook where everyone’s joys were flying all over the place. Why is it that when you’re super anxious, Facebook is all look how happy everyone is? And when you’re flying high on life, it’s all, “OMG look at all this SAD.” Why? Because Facebook is a dick. Luckily, I have some pretty bad ass friends who I shared my anxiety with. They told me I probably shouldn’t have done anything I did, but hey while you’re here, let’s talk about squirrel-foxes, macaroons and nannies. Best. People. Ever.

Thankfully,  the drugs are out of my system and I’ve returned to normal levels of crazy. Well…normal for me, anyway.

When have you had to deal with crazy side effects?  Any experiences with psychics or palm readers?  Do you get anxiety? What have you done while anxious that just increased your anxiety tenfold?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

How to Make Your Boyfriend Hate You

If you’re new around here, you may want to start The Grown Up Story from the beginning. But you may not, and that’s okay too. This story stands alone.

The Grown Up and I had been dating for approximately a month when I decided to bring him along to a birthday party for a friend of mine, Brad. He was several years my senior-we were celebrating his 30th birthday, and it was kind of a big deal.

My girlfriends and I had spent the previous year hanging out with Brad and his group of friends, drinking, flirting, drinking, drinking, and more drinking. It was a group of hot messes all dealing with their own version of relationship anxiety (each of us were battling our own volatile demons from relationships past), and in order to forget about them, we drank. A lot.

Recipe for disaster - new boyfriend plus bar.

By the time The Grown Up came around, we were all starting to drift to our own spaces and rebuild the worlds that crumbled to bring us together. So I hadn’t actually hung out with this group in a few months. But was anticipating a shit show of a party-one we’d been talking about for a year, and so of course, I RSVPed yes for both The Grown Up and myself.

We arrived for dinner at an upscale bar in the suburbs, where we sat near one of my most lovely, cheerful friends who was SO giddy with excitement to meet The Grown Up. She squee’d and oohed and awwed because he really was smart and wonderful as I had described to her. She told me, as good girlfriends tend to do, I deserved someone this amazing,  and I believed her.

Unfortunately, she would not be joining us for the second half of the evening. And none of my other girlfriends had decided to join us for the epic birthday party to end all birthday parties. So I had a grand total of two actual friends (the birthday boy and his bestie) and several acquaintances to hang out with me and my new boyfriend on a party bus downtown to a bar in Wrigleyville.

Why was I the only one who couldn’t see this was a recipe for disaster?

So we hopped on a party bus, and the Grown Up made quasi friends with some of the guys in the group. If you recall, on our first date he revealed he wasn’t good with people, but it felt like he was doing a pretty damn good job with them from where I was sitting.

When we got to the bar, though, all hell broke loose. There was drinking on the party bus, and then we had a table just off the dance floor reserved for bottle service. For those of you who may not know, bottle service is when they have full bottles of liquor at your table for your group’s consumption. Needless to say, I got pretty fucking drunk. The Grown Up wasn’t a big hard alcohol drinker, so he had a couple of beers, but nothing crazy.

I dragged the poor man on the dance floor and rubbed up on him like a horny college student. We danced with my friends, and some of the girls in the group became my dance floor besties, grinding on each other in a fight to be the sexiest group of girls under the colorful LED lights. We weren’t. The music seemed to get louder, the smoke thickened around us, and the room started spinning. I was there, but I wasn’t.

Eventually, The Grown Up returned to our table. I followed, realizing that I wasn’t being the generous, sweet girlfriend that I wanted to be. He seemed, frustrated, but I didn’t know how to respond. So, I apologized. For what, I don’t even know. Was I apologizing for being drunk? For him not having a good time? For not knowing everyone in our group? For my friends who weren’t entertaining enough for him? I just knew I felt awful. And drunk. And feeling awful and drunk is never a good combination. So  I drank more. I sat down on an elevated booth bench that extended out past the booth and The Grown Up stood in front of me, trying to make conversation over the music. It didn’t work out well.

Somehow, whilst sitting (SITTING) on the booth bench, I managed to fall over. I wish I could tell you how. I really really do. But I couldn’t. And I fell. Off the bench. Onto the floor. Like a complete asshole. I wasn’t even showing off that time. I fell down, and The Grown Up helped me up as I apologized. Again and again. We collected my purse, and the items that had fallen out of it. The Grown Up was growing increasingly frustrated, and we couldn’t just…leave because we had taken a party bus to get there. We were slaves to the party schedule.

We left the dance floor area, and proceeded to sit at a table downstairs, where I continued to apologize profusely for my errors. The Grown Up tried to chat with me, but I could tell that I was irritating him. I thought I was going to start crying right then and there. But I didn’t. I braved through the awkward last 45 minutes with my boyfriend of less than a month and got on the bus. I continued to apologize until the moment I passed out in The Grown Up’s arms on the bus, about 2 minutes into the drive home.

On the drive home, The Grown Up was almost puked on. Someone DID puke, just not on him. Someone almost spilled beer on him. He ended up helping clean the bus a little bit. He gave extra money to the person who organized the party to tip the driver extra. And I slept. Like an asshole. And kept apologizing when I woke up.

We left the bus and The Grown Up drove me home. I was supposed to sleep at his place, but he took me home instead. I panicked. And apologized even MORE.

I was a hot mess. I felt sick to my stomach. I had really fucked things up, this time, I was sure of it. What was I thinking?

The Grown Up told me to go inside and sleep it off, that we’d talk the next day. But I couldn’t understand in my idiot drunken stupor what was going on. Was he breaking up with me? I didn’t know. But I was terrified.

Eventually, I went inside. And cried myself to sleep.

I really hoped he would call the next day.

How do you handle problems when you’re drunk? Have you ever freaked out about your relationship because of something you did or said? What’s the stupidest thing you’ve done while drinking?

Click the image for the final story in the tale of The Grown Up.

I waited a long time for this. And now it's the End of an era

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Things I Did to Make The Grown Up Dump Me

It took me a while to figure out how to tell you guys this part of the story. Because I was a hot mess when I met The Grown Up. I knew he was pretty fantastic, but I had been seriously messed up by the ghosts of boyfriends past. He was going to turn out to be just like the rest of them, so I figured I might as well lead the horse to water. Like any self-respecting lunatic, I made it my business to convince The Grown Up that I was bat-shit crazy. I tried desperately to show him my crazy without really trying.

Now, I’d been in a couple of relationships before. I had even broken a few hearts. But there was something different about The Grown Up. Either he didn’t scare easily or I was superb at keeping my crazy in check…or he wasn’t smart enough to recognize that I was insane. Because it took a lot to get him to truly want to kill me. I tried all my regular tricks…

How to lose a guy in 6 steps

When the guy you've been dating for a week or so seems too good to be true, you start busting out the big guns to see how far he'll let you go. Sometimes relationships are really weird.

Continue to stalk him

The day after our first date (when we had that glorious kiss, and it was quite apparent that he really did like me), I messaged him several times to chat. While he was at work. Because, you know, I really like liked him. And that’s what you’re supposed to do. I finally found him on Facebook (I guess when you’re super clever and computery, you have multiple e-mail addresses…and don’t use the one that you signed up for Facebook with when you e-mail girls. At first. I caught on and found him. Although it didn’t seem like he used it all that often, so the only pictures of him were…a little strange. I wasn’t going to be showing off his long hair days to my friends), so I added him as a friend. I also called him to chat when he was home from work to invite him out…Because I was hanging out at a friend’s house pretty near his place.

Lie like a rug

That night, he turned down the opportunity to hang out with me because he was supposed to have dinner with a friend. I messaged him several times, optimistic that when he arrived home from dinner, he’d want to see me. Because I’m an idiot. I only called like…three times…and left like…two texts. That’s not stalkerish, right? When he still hadn’t responded, I started heading home. I was on the highway when he called. I pulled off the first exit and talked to him. He wanted to see me! I  was already halfway home and didn’t want to seem like a crazy person who turned around for a guy, but I definitely wasn’t ready to go home…

So I lied.

I told him I was still at my friend’s house and just a few minutes away. And let’s be honest. The second he called, I more than just got off the highway. I got off the highway and turned around, heading toward his house. I wasn’t stupid, even if I was a little more than insane.

Be in his space all the time

For some reason, I just couldn’t seem to leave. I didn’t want to go home, and The Grown Up certainly wasn’t kicking me out. Half the time, he would pick me up on his way after work. So I became a regular fixture in his house. I almost felt guilty for his roommate, but I was living in this weird glowy universe where nothing bothered me. Something was definitely going to go wrong.

Talk too much

As The Grown Up drove me home some mornings, I would ramble on about this person at work or that thing I love. It was all morning gibberish nonsense, but he was often silent and unresponsive. I apologized for talking too much, and he told me it was okay. He didn’t seem to mind me talking, as long as I didn’t mind that he wasn’t going to respond all that much in the morning. It was a match made in heaven. Was this guy for real?

Rush into a relationship

Within a week, The Grown Up became my boyfriend. I wasn’t really into titles, but I knew that I was going to be monogamous with The Grown Up. So I asked the dreaded question – “So, what are we?” He told me that if a girl was spending every night in his bed, she was probably his girlfriend. I swooned a little bit that night.

Piss off his roommate

The Grown Up’s roommate had a fancy black car. One day, I showed up, and the car was a little dusty. Of course, feeling secure in my sense of humor, I wrote a message with my finger in the dust, “Clean me.” According to The Grown Up, his roommate didn’t take too kindly to my little prank, and I needed to apologize. At that point, I got that oh-my-God, nervous stomach, I-hate-confrontation feeling. Now I was in my comfort zone. That anxiety was more along the lines of what I was used to. I decided that I would just curl up in a little Chrissy ball and never show my face again, rather than feel like an asshole. I vaguely remember asking The Grown Up to tell him I meant it as a joke – and I don’t actually remember if I apologized or not, but I absolutely remember how embarrassed I was. But even after that, The Grown Up still wanted me around. It was too much.

I was going to have step up my game. It was time to introduce him to my friends. That would surely scare him away.

What stupid things do you do when you start relationships to test your suitor? What are your signature moves? Have you been in a relationship where you wondered how the hell someone put up with your bullshit?

For the next episode in the saga, click the image below.

Recipe for disaster - new boyfriend plus bar.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Dear Cary Elwes, I’m REALLY Sorry.

Cary ElwesDear Cary,

Can I call you Cary? I hope so. I’m going to assume that you’ve probably forgotten all about me. And Brian. I’m really hoping you forgot about Brian.

So, I’ll start with this. I’m a big fan. Huge, actually. I remember seeing The Princess Bride when I was a little girl, and it premiered on television for the first time. We recorded it on our VCR. You were the perfect knight in non-shining black non-armor. And then there was Robin Hood: Men in Tights. I can’t even count how many times I watched that one. And Kiss the Girls. Loved it.  And of course, the original Saw. The most terrifying movie I had ever seen to that point…My girlfriend and I opened every door and turned on every light that night when we went home. So you’re pretty awesome in my book. Even if I’m barely a blip in yours…and well…let’s just hope our meeting didn’t put me on your non-blip, non-awesome list.

Let me give you a refresher so you understand where I’m coming from. It’s Valentine’s Day. In Naperville, Illinois. You’ve just finished a beautiful Q & A with someone who appears to be one of your biggest fans. You made us laugh. You told stories. You hugged some ladies, and I knew you were going to be perfectly wonderful when I met you.

Cary Elwes in Naperville

As I stood in line with my book (I was FIFTH in line, my friend. FIFTH), I watched as you helped people move the signing table across the hall so that everyone could get nice pictures instead of being drowned by the sun streaming through the windows in the background. You were so sweet. You shook hands with people. You made light small talk. You looked like the nicest guy ever.

Excited to meet Cary Elwes

See how excited I was?

I couldn’t wait to meet you.

And then it happened.

I had asked Brian (my adorably wonderful boyfriend – he really is. You just got the wrong impression of him. He didn’t mean it. I promise) to take pictures with my camera, and was planning on letting the camera girl from the bookstore use my phone. But Brian REALLY wanted to ask you a question.

I questioned what he wanted to ask, but I’ll be honest with you…it sounded kind of like Charlie Brown’s teacher. He just looked so INTERESTED…and it was Valentine’s Day. And I had dragged him to a book signing…so of course, I said sure.

IMG_1592

You shook my hand, and Brian apparently tried to take pictures…but he really wanted to ask a question…and so he came forward. I introduced you to him, and then he asked you what your thoughts were on the Dread Pirates in the news. I believe his actual question was, “How do you feel about the Dread Pirate Roberts being prosecuted for an online drug ring?”

Cary Elwes

You looked…

Well…

Very confused.

That one time Brian confused Cary Elwes

That one time Brian confused Cary Elwes

I’m SO sorry. It must have been embarrassing for one of the first people in line to catch you off guard like that. You see, there’s this whole Internet drug ring going on…and the guy in charge is calling himself the Dread Pirate Roberts…and the site got shut down. The guy was in court…And another one popped up. A Dread Pirate Wesley so to speak…

Brian thought it would be very interesting to hear your thoughts on the whole situation and your character being used for Internet misbehavin’.

Wow. I guess that sounds really bad.

And of course, the girl who interviewed you looked…SO ANGRY…I think she knew exactly what the Dread Pirate Roberts thing was. If looks could kill, she would have decapitated my boyfriend on Valentine’s Day.

That one time Brian really pissed off some random girl

That one time Brian really pissed off some random girl

Well, Cary…I walked away; it seems we were almost ushered away more quickly than I could even imagine…

The girl with my phone apologized. She tried to take pictures. She just couldn’t seem to get a good shot. She got the ones I showed above.

And I just kept thinking to myself…

What the fuck just happened?

It was awkward. It was weird. And I’m so sorry if it was embarrassing. I’m really good at making an ass of myself in front of famous people. Especially at book signings. Like that one time I met Jenny Lawson.

I walked away and fought back the tears. Everything I had been hoping for was shot down. I was going to try to make some adorably witty banter or ask you a question about your stay in the Chicagoland area. Were you going to see Mandy while you were here? Instead I found myself smiling like an idiot, confused, bewildered and done.

I wanted to go home, but we had planned to stay for the movie. We had dinner plans afterward and it would have been silly to leave.

Watching The Princess Bride made it a little better. It’s hard not to swoon and smile and laugh.

But nearly a month later, I’m still sorry. And I do hope that you’ll forgive us. We’re just a little awkward. We didn’t really mean it.

Sincerely,

Chrissy

PS: You’re still as handsome as ever.

Hey Blog Friends, have you ever embarrassed someone famous completely accidentally? No? Just me? How about something you did that embarrassed someone else or yourself?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

The Rules of Blogging According to Brian

I wanted to title this post, “I Know Something You Don’t Know,” but then I didn’t. Because that would have been sassy and taunting…and then there would have been something that I know…that you don’t know…or that you might know because I’m a big blabbermouth, sometimes.

Now is not one of those sometimes.

Because this post is all about Brian. And his trickery. And his rules.
image

Obviously (or maybe not quite so obviously), I am a grown adult and I do what I want. But sometimes Brian requests that I do or do not do certain things. Here is a list of those…requests.

Do not tell secrets on the internet

Sometimes there are things that I want to tell you. On Facebook. Or Twitter. Or Instagram. Or this blog. And Brian says no. Because they’re still secrets. And of course, then he’ll say, “You do what you want…but…” and it’s the but that makes me second guess my secret-telling on the internet.

Do not embarrass me on the internet

And by “me” I mean Brian. Because he gives me mostly free reign to embarrass myself on the internet. His family teases him enough for writing about him the way I see him and not the way anyone else sees him. God forbid I should tell you all the delightfully adorable things that come out of his mouth (words, OBVIOUSLY).

Always post smart things I say on the internet

Brian’s a really smart guy. He may not admit to this, but I know he wants you to know that he’s a genius. He always wants you to know the brilliant things that he thinks. It’s unfortunate for him that I often forget the smart stuff he says (because I may or may not be falling asleep as he says them) and instead post only the hilarious or ridiculous verbiage. But rest assured, he says A LOT of smart things. He just likes to be show-offy and smart when I’m tired and ready to go to sleep.

Don’t let the internet hurt your feelings

Because I totally put myself out there with this blog and all the lovely social media outlets that I play around on, I leave myself open to the cruel and unusual punishment that is internet bullying. Brian is an advocate for my feelings in every way possible, but he thought the whole Reddit thing was fucking awesome (except for the people who said horrible things. Because those people are not awesome). Mostly because of the crazy way my stats jumped. Even if 90% of those people never come back, some will. And whether it’s to find new ways to hate me or because they actually do enjoy my sense of humor, my writing style or my personality in general, it’s a win for me.

Do not tell secrets on the internet

I mean, it’s not like I have a secret or anything. Especially not one I’m not allowed to tell you about. Because that would be unfair. But if I had a secret, I wouldn’t be allowed to tell you. Because Brian said so.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

OK, Try to Suffocate Me!

Last Friday was date night. It was rather fantastic. Brian and I ordered pizza from this little pizza joint in Chicago suburbia (Aurelio’s). Then we ate on a bench in the cute little downtown area of our hometown. Afterwards, we meandered into the classic theater to watch Gatsby (LOVED Gatsby). When I say classic theater, I mean one of those historic relic theaters that has curtains and an organ player…It’s where we saw The Wallflowers a few months back.

After the movie we made our way to the homefront, laughing, happy…overall just enjoying each others’ company. We plopped down into our delightful squish bed chat chat chatting away. We were snugglin’ (don’t hate on our adorableness, yo) and I felt like I was upside down, so I told Brian he needed a pillow. I put it half on his arm and half on his face, and propped my head on top. “You okay?” I asked him.

“I’m fine” he mumbled through the pillow.

So I moved the pillow over his whole head. “How ’bout now?”

“Still great!” (I think that’s what he said…it was a little hard to decipher because of the pillow.)

So I pushed down with my head. “How ’bout now?”

“Maybe not so good.” So I let go.

And then Brian went off on one of his Brian rants about how weird it is that in the movies people always suffocate others with pillows. Like that would really work. And he looked at me dead serious, “Seriously, it is impossible to kill someone with a pillow.”

So OF COURSE I looked at him, and said, “OK great. Try to suffocate me!”

He looked at me for a second and then apparently though, what the hell…because moments later I was on my back and Brian was ready to cover me with a pillow. “Wait!” he called out…”We need like a code. Tap twice on my leg if you really can’t breath.”

“You got it dude.”

And then he pillow suffocated me. And I was laughing so hard. “How you doing?”

“I’m fine. Try harder.” And I kept laughing. And then I started flailing my arms around yelling, “Heeeelp! Ahhh!” in between laughter.

So Brian’s all, “That wasn’t the code. Are you alright?” And I just kept on laughing hysterically through the pillow. “Can you breath?”

“Of course. It’s getting hot in here though.”

And then he removed the pillow. And we laughed for another 10 minutes. Reading this through, it doesn’t sound as funny so much as a sexual adventure gone wrong…but it really was just good clean fun, you dirty birds.

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

My Boyfriend…the Artist

You guys.

I’m starting a Zazzle store. This has been in the works for a while now…but Brian has finally agreed to share something with you. His art.

Yep. His. Art. He has art.

Without further ado, or a whole lot of rambling…I give you a whole lot of awesome.

Art of Brian Moran Art of Brian Moran Art of Brian Moran Art of Brian Moran Art of Brian Moran

Birthday Giveaway #2

If you didn’t catch yesterday’s surprise giveaway (which will run until tomorrow morning), you should go check it out. Plus you get the story of my birth, from, you know…my mom. Today, a random commenter will receive the very first Brian Moran original art coffee mug. Choose the piece that you like best from the pieces above (oh and tell me what you like about it!), and the coffee mug could be yours. As always, sharing is caring…and people who share get bonus entries.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

In Which My Boyfriend Is “Cooler” Than Your Boyfriend

I, along with a couple of our friends received the following e-mail last week.

From my boyfriend.

Yes, yes…He IS sometimes more creative than me. One day, I’ll show you the first e-mail he ever sent me. Maybe.

<knock><knock>
 
Good, you’re all here.
It was getting pretty late and the night watch has a price on all of our heads. Yes, Yes… BananaMan… the price on your head is still the highest. What? No! We have to continue using our code-names so they can’t track us down. Did you bring the map?
 
The Map
 
Good… good…. wait! No… that’s USELESS, BananaMan! Get your head in the game! That’s a map of the whole city. We need more specific intel about our targets.
 
NaughtyNurse, what kind of information did you get from the guards you cavorted with last night?
 
Gen Con Website
 
That’s better! Good job NaughtyNurse!
 
Gen Con Hotel Info
 
Hmmm…. Yes… we’ll need to regroup near the target but our “Investor” has backed out. We’ll have to fund this operation on our own, but I think the payout may be well worth the investment.
 
What’s that? No! You CAN’T change your codename to “QuirkyChrissy”, CheeseWiz. Yes…. yes… we all know how much you hate cheese-wiz… you’ve been complaining about it ever since you were assigned that code-name… you KNOW its short for “Cheese Wizard”. Fine… Fine. Ok.ok.ok.ok…. pick another type of cheese then.
 
OK.
 
Oh. you have some scouting information for our basecamp? You think that close proximity to the target may be expensive and that one of your “contacts” may be able to stash us away for the duration of the caper? Do you trust them, though?
 
Travel Site 1
 
Travel Site 2
 
Well… that’s a start at least.
What? No I didn’t actually have an assignment.
I’m the team leader!
What?
No. No one voted for me…. well, see, there was this chick in a lake that handed me a sword…
 

But…you’re probably asking yourself…WHAT does it all mean?

We’ll be spending the entire 4 glorious gaming days in August at Gen Con. At a hotel that doesn’t have bedbugs. AND I need a new code name.

Pictures from Gen Con 2012.

Gen Con Gen Con Gen Con

I’ve got LOTS of questions for you guys!

So what should my code name be? Do you go to any cons? Which one(s)? Would you participate in Cos-play (dressing up in nerdy costumes at conventions)? Should I? I’m thinking about live blogging while I’m there. What are your thoughts on that?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Brian Shares Saturday: Dolphins, Sloth in Space and Creepy Koala

I know. You’ve missed him. He’s one of those contributors that a real humor blog needs to keep things short, sweet and amusing. It’s been a very long couple of months, and so Brian was sending less and less cute and funny stuff. But alas! He’s back! And this week he sent me three wonderfully fun images to share with you.

creepy koala on a car

The koala looks so creepy!!

Dolphins colliding

These poor dolphins made one misswim…and BAM! Collision

sloth in space suit

One small step for sloth. One giant step for slothkind.

Have a great Saturday everyone!

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

By the Way, Yesterday was April Fool’s Day. I Promise I’m NOT Quitting You. Or the Blog.

A conversation/interaction between me and B before getting on the train home.

Me: Did you bring me snacks?

Brian: Maaaaybe. I don’t remember. Maybe not.

Me: What snacks did you bring?

Brian: I think I forgot. Maybe there are some from last week.

Me: *sad face*

Brian: Maybe tomorrow.

Me: That’s okay. I have cheese and cracker sticks. And jelly beans.

Brian: Really?

Me: Yes.

Brian: *unzips backpack and looks at me expectantly*

Me: *Opens backpack and discovers trail mix.* Sweet! *Begins snacking immediately.*

Brian: There’s string cheese and apple juice too.

Me: Best. Boyfriend. Ever. It’s like a real life after school snack.

Brian: Sure.

Me: Want some?

Brian: Nope.

20 minutes later…

We have this textversation on the train.

text conversation with Brian

Before I worked in the city (3 days a week), Brian used to always let me know what train he was on, so I could plan dinner…sometimes.

At which point our conversation restarted…

Brian: But it’s part of the wifely duties.

Me: I don’t see a ring on my finger. I’m definitely not cooking you dinner.

 

Blog friends, tell me something cute that your significant other does for you. I love adorkable tales, you know.

PS: Thanks to all you lovelies who commented on my April Fool’s Joke. While I am not planning on quitting the blog, I really appreciated the support and suggestions. You guys are amazing. That is all.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!