Confession Friday: I’ve Taken My Love of Cheese to a New Low (or High)

Guys, I have a confession to make. While some of you may be new around here (Shout out to all my new blog friends from BlogHer!), the rest of you loyal blog friends understand my cheese obsession…

Or do you?

It has come to my attention that while some people sneak spoonfuls of ice cream out of the carton, and that seems completely rational, logical and relevant…

I am busy hiding in the corner of my kitchen with my hand in the proverbial cookie jar (in my case, the cheese carton. With a spoon.)

slide-almond-swiss

This cheese carton. Photo from Merkt’s Cheese website.

I know. I’m a little gross. But really…who needs crackers at a time like this? Especially when gluten free crackers are expensive, yo.

So yes, confession Friday ends with me. Eating Wisconsin cheese spread. With a spoon.

Why?

Because I can.

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!

When Hate Happens (I Probably Shouldn’t Write About This)

I try really hard to be a mostly positive person. Sure, I bitch about shit. Life’s life, guys. Shit happens. Bitching happens. And Hate. Hate unfortunately happens. Not my hate, though…someone else’s hate was spewed on me. Just like that one time I got hate mail from MySpace. And so my dear friends I am offering you a piece of my past.

I Used to be a Waitress Server

I grew up in a bar, so it wasn’t unusual that I found myself working in restaurants and bars whenever I wasn’t working a full-time job. For about 6 months, I worked as a waitress an Irish pub (you know, the dark wood, make the servers wear kilts and knee highs kinda place).

But at the same time. After that job, I swore that I would never be a waitress again.

I’m going to give you a little glimpse into the why.

One afternoon, two very unhappy looking ladies entered the bar and sat in my section. They ordered chips, soup and salad. No beer. No booze. And no smiling.

So I tried to be my chipper cheery self.

Unfortunately, they also got to meet my super klutzy self. As I was clearing their plates away (and God forbid they should have attempted to move out of the way just a smidge so that I could easily access the empty plates that they wanted removed…), I accidentally tipped the dressing boat/ramekin and some spilled out. Most of it went to the floor, and a few drops landed on this girl’s winter coat. I rushed to clean the mess, and apologized profusely, but I was met with disdain. Disdain for me being a lowly server. Disdain for my MASSIVE life altering error. Disdain for me as a human being. And I apologized. And this girl glared at me. And I offered to pay for the coat to be cleaned, because God forbid you spill anything on an old-looking, dark colored coat…

She paid the bill, and forgot to leave me a tip. I’m going to assume she forgot. I mean, she must not have realized that servers get paid like $4/hour if they’re lucky.

Seriously guys, I’ve spilled ice cream on bridesmaids that were nicer to me than this girl was. I went home and cried.

A few weeks later, my boss came to me with the following (on which I’ve blacked parts out to protect the guilty.)

Bitchy Waitress

Bitchy Waitress

The dry cleaning cost more than the bill she stiffed me on.

If you’re wondering whether I sent her the check? I did. A few weeks afterwards…I wasn’t making a whole lot of money at said bar…I didn’t think she was that desperate for the $20 based on the fact that she spends $20 to dry-clean one item…

Unfortunately for this girl, the check was returned to me about 3 weeks after I retired from waiting tables. Apparently, she gave me the wrong address.

I didn’t think it was necessary to seek her out.

For the record, guys…ALWAYS be nice to your servers. The Golden Rule ALWAYS applies. Even when it’s lowly, bitchy waitresses. Because one day, she might be almost famous and tell the story about how you were mean that one time.

Were you ever a server? Bartender? Anything in the service industry? Dealing with people sucks, amiright? Tell me your story!

 

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!

Confession Friday: Sometimes I’m a Hot Mess. Sometime’s I’m Not.

Let me start by saying this: Anxiety Disorder is a fickle bitch. For me, it’s like I’m a complete contradiction of myself. Take that one time I met Jenny Lawson, for example.

Within two hours of freaking the fuck out when I met Jenny Lawson (Shaking hands, heart racing, rambling uncontrollably about nothing, and basically making a complete fool of myself, when all I wanted to do was impress her with my clever wit and overall adorable-ness…neither of which I was able to showcase), I went out to the bar where I proceeded to stand up in front of an entire bar full of people, and sing a song about masturbation without a second thought. (I’m kind of a karaoke nerd. For the record, I was singing the Divinyls’ “I Touch Myself,” loudly. Proudly, even.)

Why?

No, seriously. It doesn’t make any sense! I can make a fool of myself (ON PURPOSE) in front of a hundred strangers…but meeting one famous person sends me into a pile of incoherent goo. IN THE SAME NIGHT.

Karaoke Queen Karaoke Queen

Do you have any crazy quirks that make you question your sanity? Tell me, Blog Friends!

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!

Confession Friday: My First Poem

Chrissy

Children's Poetry

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!

Confession Friday: Things I Did in College…

Ahh… not just things I did in college; but things I did in college that I STILL do today. Don’t judge me. In fact, I bet you do some of these things too. Be honest.

6 Things I Did in College That I Still Do Today

1. Use Febreeze as a substitute for washing clothes. Sometimes, I just don’t have time to wash my favorite pair of jeans…and I’ve already worn them 4 or 5 times. They could use a little freshening up. Especially when I pull them out of the hamper. From the bottom. Febreeze still works like a charm. (I don’t do it often and it’s never acceptable for socks or underwear…but I know it’s sometimes okay…until I find a pasta sauce/chocolate/soup stain on the shirt in question…several hours later…from the week before. Oops.)

Things I did in college that I still do today

I swear there’s a hamper under that pile… Also…this was a week ago. And I just did the laundry yesterday.

2. Waiting as long as possible to do laundry. I know that in college it was either take the laundry home for the weekend or break…or trek down several flights of stairs to the over-used laundry rooms, where dangerous or naughty things happen often and unexpectedly. (Seriously, go click that link. It’s one of the best stories I’ve written.) And I know that now it is a mere 4 feet from hamper to washer. But for some reason laundry just doesn’t happen as often as it should. (Of course, because Brian has significantly less clothing in general, I do have to do it more often than I did in college…but back then I would just go commando if I ran out of clean underwear…)

3. The 48 hour shower rule. Yes, I tend to shower every other day. I’m okay with this. If I’ve worked out, or have some strange odors coming from my body, I’ll shower sooner…But I mean, I wear deodorant. I brush my teeth. I wear clean underwear every day. I’m not totally gross. But when you’ve got hair the color of my hair and you want to keep it that color (especially considering how much it costs to get it that color)…you gotta be cautious with the hair washing/wetting.)

MAN, you guys probably think I’m the dirtiest creature ever. I promise that I’m not. I have excellent hygiene…I’m just a non-germaphobe who doesn’t like to do laundry and sometimes considers showering a chore. I don’t smell. I swear.

4. Go out of my way for a free meal. I know that I’m a grown up. I have some money. I am well-fed. But something about getting a free meal is exciting. And necessary. because I’m Polish and I don’t like to spend money if I don’t have to. So, I find free meals. And then I drive x amount of time to go and eat them.

5. I will fall asleep anywhere. Just last month…the night before Christmas Eve…I was exhausted. It was 3 AM. And yes…I passed out with my purse as a pillow on the floor of an ER curtained room. My mom freaked out on me for fear of the germies…but really it was the floor or a plastic chair. At least on the floor, I could stretch out.

6. I drink vodka. OK, so I don’t drink vodka in the mass quantities that I consumed in college, but I’m pretty impressed that I can still hold down my college poison without feeling like I’m still in college…Alright, so I can’t drink flavored Smirnoff anymore…but whatever. Bring on the Stoli.

There you have it kids…College me meets grown up me. Do you still do any of these things?

 

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!

Confession Friday: Cancer isn’t Funny…But I Might Be

Yesterday, in an effort to relieve the back pain that I’ve been in all week, I went to see my favorite massage therapist in the whole world. C has been there for me through the years. Through the boyfriends, the jobs, the sprains, and the slips. He’s my therapeutic rock. Not only do I get an hour to two hours of his time every month while he kneads the pain out of my back, neck, shoulders, and anything else that hurts, but the time is also well spent in conversation. It’s like therapy. Only better.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw C. I had just joined Massage Envy (If you ever decide to join–use me as your reference!!) and had seen a few different therapists. When I saw C for the first time, he asked if I had a regular therapist. I told him, “nope! I just see whoever is available.”

His next words to me were, “Let’s see if we can change that.”

Since that day, I’ve been a C-fan without question. I feel like I’m cheating on C whenever I go to a different therapist (and since his hours correlate with the normal working hours of normal people, when I have a full time gig, no C for me.) Regardless of his Wisconsin-loving Bear-hating ‘tude, he’s pretty much the greatest thing since sliced bread. Plus he thinks I’m really funny.

With the back pain this week, I tried to get in all week. Finally I was squeezed in this morning. JOY! As we chatted and C beat the crap out of Angry Lower Back, this conversation played itself out:

Me: “Sometimes, I think I’m a hypochondriac, but then I realize that I have legit pain…”

C: “Hypochondriacs feel legit pain. But I don’t think that you’re a hypochondriac.”

Me: “So, if I think that I’m a hypochondriac, does that mean that I am?”

C: “No, if you were a hypochondriac, you’d come up with more interesting ailments.”

Me: “But what if I’m a lazy hypochondriac?”

C: “So you would have come up with a disease, but you didn’t feel like Googling your symptoms?  I don’t buy it.”

Me: “Well, I could just say it’s all cancer. Like that angry ball in my lower back. It’s a tumor right?”

C: “Yep. Tumor. Definitely. You should have a fundraiser to pay for all of your medical bills and care. Then you can give me a cut of the money, when you’re magically cured.”

Me: “OK. So, massage therapy will cure my cancer. Then you can give me a cut of the money from all your new clients. When can we start?”

OBVIOUSLY, we were both joking around. But it’s nice to have a therapist who totally gets my humor. A massage therapist, that is.

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!

Confession Friday: I Watch Rom Coms with Pride

Aaaand because I was having some major difficulty posting…and now I am suddenly genius with computers, I was able to fix it. So I will direct you to my secret WordPress blog in which I talk about you behind your back write when I can’t get my blog to follow directions.

Top 10 Really Really Bad Romantic Comedies That I Love

Oh and while you’re here: Go vote for me on Picket Fences…because I need validation that you love my blog! All you have to do is click this button daily. No searching. No voting buttons. Just one click. 🙂

 

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!

Confession Friday: The Poop Story

WARNING: This post contains a poop story. It is highly inappropriate. It is (a little) graphic. It is poop. If you are squeamish (or eating), stop right now and come back on Monday. 

Disclaimer: My boyfriend would probably rather I did not post this story. But I couldn’t help myself. Also, if you know my boyfriend’s dad…never tell him this story. Ever. 

Dear Twitter followers, You’re welcome.

Last winter, Brian and I escaped the unusually-less-than-frigid Chicago weather with a long weekend away to Florida. Had we known that I would be losing my job a few weeks prior to the trip and take 8 months to find another one, we probably would have gone for a whole week. Regardless. Florida. Trip. Warm. Beach. Sun. Yay!

Brian’s dad lives on the coast of southern Florida. I spent most of my days barefoot on a beach. Brian spent most of his days sleeping until 2. It was the perfect trip. One of our days, though, Brian’s Dad took us out on a boat trip. This was very exciting for me. One of the perks of living on an island full of canals is DOLPHINS. If anyone didn’t know, I love love love dolphins. Love them. They are amazing creatures. (No, I’m not giving away free dolphins. If I had dolphins, I would keep them all to myself.)

Dolphin love

Yes, Brian puts up with me…even when I do things in public that embarrass him

So we took a boat from his Dad’s backyard through the canals out to sea. In the canals, as promised, I got to see dolphins playing! It was the most amazing experience ever. One day, I will swim with the dolphins, and that will trump this.

Dolphin in the Canal

This dolphin was not only 20 feet away in the canal…he also swam up to us and did wild dolphin tricks–stood up on his flukes to see what was going on inside the boat. It was the most exciting thing ever. Ever!

So we took a nice long boat ride in the Gulf of Mexico around the southern tip of Florida to a little island, which I will not name. The ride was a good hour from door to island. It was beautiful. We shelled along the beach, and had packed a picnic lunch. I was walking along, looking for sweet shells…when all of a sudden I felt a rumbly in my tummy. I tried to let it pass, but within two minutes I knew… I really had to poo.

Now in all actuality, I’ve got some sick digestive issues (that would be probably be diagnosed as something if I had health insurance and a doctor…), and there are times that I will go far too long without releasing the toxins. So when I gotta go–I go. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.)There’s no such thing as holding it. In fact, I don’t understand people who go and spend 20 minutes on a toilet waiting for it to happen. But that’s another story entirely.

So I walked over to Brian…

“Babe, I’ve got…a problem.”

Now, Brian is the best boyfriend ever, and he puts up with me talking about poop on a somewhat regular basis. That’s love right there.

“What?” He said to me, all innocent-like. He really had no clue.

“I have to go. Like bad.”

“Pee?” He looked hopeful. Squatting to pee on an island is not difficult.

I shook my head…

“Can you hold it?”

I shook my head again…

“Well, we’re about an hour away…even if we left right now.”

So I thought. And I thought. I didn’t want to embarrass Brian. Or his dad. Or make a scene. I wanted to enjoy the day. And I thought some more. And when I couldn’t take the stomach pains anymore, I said, “I’m going to go dig a hole. I’m going to need toilet paper. or napkins. or paper towels.”

So Brian and I casually walked back to the boat, as his dad was shelling. He acquired paper towels for me and waited by the boat. I walked deep into the not-very-sheltered island, where I found a semi-secluded spot. I dug a fairly deep hole. Took off my bathing suit (while keeping my skirt and shirt on–like MAGIC). Squatted. And birthed a small child out my rear end. I cleaned my person. Re-dressed. Covered the hole. Hand sanitized. and called it a day. I was proud of myself.

I would so survive on LOST. Or Survivor. Or even The Amazing Race. I am a winner.

I walked back to Brian, who didn’t want to know details…

…but I told him anyways.

We proceeded to picnic on the island…As we started walking in the direction of my man-made bathroom, I was fearful that we would end up dining a little too close for comfort. Luckily, we were still pretty far…ish away.

picnic on the beach

Cute picnic, right?

Funny Face Because I just pooped

The Best Boyfriend Ever

Plus I made him that sandwich (before the, um, incident).

When we got back on the boat, I texted Lily, as she is my go-to poop story friend. She was thoroughly impressed.

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!

Confession Friday: My Jealousy Complex Leads to the Project: Fairy Tales

Yes, it’s true. I have a jealousy complex. Honestly, I think that most people do…

I’ve always been a little bit jealous of the majority of my pals (I mean, they all have qualities that I admire–that’s why they’re my pals!), jealous of girls who are skinnier than me, prettier than me, taller than me, shorter than me, have more money than me, are smarter than me…you get the point. Jealousy. It’s a problem.

I love my best friend with all my heart. Alas, I am just slightly jealous of her brilliance (and her adorableness, and her amazing-ness). My favorite Word Worm over at Words for Worms proclaimed yesterday that she was participating in a super cool reader-blog-dealie… in which everyone reads a fairy tale of their choosing and then reads other versions/modernized versions of said fairy tale and discusses them in future blog posts (sometime in early 2013).

Obviously, I wanted to play. I realize that I am not a book blog. Or a reader blog. But I love reading. In fact, I have several posts dedicated to books. OK. I have two posts dedicated to books. But still… you get it.

Luckily for me, in her post, she directed me, just as I shall direct you to Project: Fairy Tale if you, too, would like to be as cool as the other readers and writers and play the fairy tale game.

The rules for said game are simple: Choose fairy tale. Read fairy tale. Read 3 like-stories. Write. Write. Write. Write. Excitement! I happen to have just the book for the assignment!

Classic Fairy Tales

I knew this book would come in handy one day!

So, I made my way over to the Project: Fairy Tale page, perused the already chosen stories, and decided on Rumpelstiltskin.

Rumpelstiltskin Fairy Tale

I’ve always been a fan

As Rumpel is my favorite character on Once Upon a Time, and it was one of my favorite Faerie Tale Theatre episodes starring Shelly Duvall, I got super stoked to look into his tale a little deeper…and find more stories like his.Wikipedia gave me a few suggestions, but I’m going to try to find some more.

So I’m pumped! I’ve already got a bazillion fairy tale esque blog post ideas brewing in my brain. The month this blog circle goes live is going to be so so fun.

From slightly feigned/slightly real jealousy to fun with fairy tales…does that mean a happy ending?

 

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!

Confession Friday: I’m a Bedtime Bully

It’s true. I’ve gotten in fights in my sleep. Multiple times.

When I was about 9 or 10, 3 of us were sharing a bed. Sleeping staggered. The girl who was sleeping directly next to me heard me, in the middle of the night, say, “Oh no you don’t!”

This may not sound like a fight…but when I woke up with a little bruise on my arm, and the girl whose feet were near me shoulder woke up with a bruise the size of Texas, we did the math…whoops!

Another time, when my cousin, sister, and I were having a slumber party, I was always the first to fall asleep. I like my sleep. But I woke up one night, and started yelling at them. “Where’s my pen!?!? I know you have it! Where is it?!?!” I swear I’m not crazy… I was just dreaming.

When Brian and I first started dating, I talked in my sleep a lot. I would have whole conversations that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. I don’t do that anymore, but I do occasionally still punch him in my sleep. Which wakes us both up. I don’t mean to do it…but my hand will somehow end up on his head or chest, which terrifies him to awake mode, and in a panic he calls out and wakes me up in a panic. It’s mostly a big ole mess.

Not only do I start fights, but I also steal covers. Anyone who has ever shared a bed with me knows this. My girlfriends can all attest to my bedtime bully tendencies. Brian and I usually have our own set over covers so that neither of us end up shivering…

And of course, that’s still not all…I’ve accidentally pushed people out of bed in my sleep. Clearly it wasn’t intentional, but still rather unpleasant all the same.

I don’t mean to beat up on the sleeping…I mean…I’ve even had my own fair share of falls out of bed. (One time I woke up in a pile of comforters chewing on my blankie.)

But you know what? I blame the badger face. (The badger face is this horrible face that I make when I sleep.) People are always so judgmental of the badger face that sleep induced Chrissy is worried that everyone is secretly judging her in her sleep. Which obviously, they are. Jerks.

So I’m a bedtime bully.

 

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!