Brian Shares Saturday: More of Ebeneezer the Sloth, Dolphin Preachers, & Bunnicula (Oh and by the Way, it’s Cold as Fuck)

I’ve spent a lot of time writing posts to ensure that next week is covered, but I forgot to prepare for today!

Luckily, Brian has been extra awesome thanks to the wonderful compliments that he’s been receiving for his part in the Brian Shares Segment of my little blog.

Here are just a few of the things that he has sent me this week…

Ebeneezer, Our Future Sloth

For those of you who are new here, Brian and I had been discussing the possibility of a pet, when we realized that what we really wanted was a baby sloth. So from time to time, he sends me videos, pictures, and gifs of sloths to share with you. which is probably why sloth searches are the number 1 Google search that leads people here. Crazy sloth lovers.

Sloth in a hammock gif

 

What’s really funny about this, though, is that in order to ensure that I receive said pictures and videos, Brian often will send them to me via text, e-mail, and G-chat.

Dolphin Preachers

I realize that the term “Dolphin preacher” is ridiculous in its own right. But shit. Once you see this picture, I hope you laugh your ass off as much as I did. I was at Mom’s when I read it, and she told me I was going to hell. C’est la vie?

Dolphins Neptune God of the Sea Preachers

I think that I was a dolphin in another life, so I feel like I have a special bond with the sea faring mammals. In fact, I’ll be seeing my best friends soon enough (Read: THIS WEEK).

Bubble Sports

Brian sent this gif to me with the title: THIS LOOKS LIKE FUN! To me I thought: This looks like life! I NEED one of these. Desperately. Then I can happily make it through life without, you know, falling down.

Bubble Ball Sports

Cool right?

Bunnicula

Please. Please PLEASE tell me you know what I’m talking about. Because Brian didn’t. First, he sent me this adorable gif of bunnies.

Bunnicula

And I responded with OMG yes! We need one! Please?!?! We could name him Bunnicula. And love him. And squeeze him. And feed him tomatoes!

And Brian responded… “Why Bunnicula?”

UGH! Only the greatest Bunny on the planet! Bunnicula, resident rabbit of the Howliday Inn. Obviously.

Cold as Fuck

It’s about to get cold here in the Chicagoland area… and just in case you are not as lucky as me to be escaping the brief cold weather of your home city, you should go pick up a pair of these sweet ass gloves. In fact, pick me up a pair while you’re at it. I’m going to be back in the Chi soon enough.

Cold as Fuck Gloves

Scrabble Genius Bonus

Brian found this quick blurb about Scrabble and I figured that it was important to share it with you. Should the letter values in Scrabble change? I think not. But that is because I am an evil Scrabble genius, according to Katie.

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!

Conversations I Have With Brian (And How We’re Totally Weird)

So Brian must really get sick of me asking him…Every single time….if I can write about something that he says. And usually (especially when it’s REALLY good stuff) he says no. And then I am stuck giving you less than funny conversations that happen.

But seriously, we have ridiculous conversations. Ridiculously AWESOME conversations. We talk seriously in knock knock jokes…case in point:

As we’re going to bed…

Brian: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Me:I don’t know, Brian, why?
Brian: To get to the lunatic’s house.
Me: I don’t get it.
 
Brian: Knock Knock?
Me: Who’s there?
Brian: Chicken!
 

It took me a while to get it.

Me: Very funny, BRIAN.
 

And then I laughed for real, because it was actually kind of funny.

Me: Why did the chicken cross the road?
Brian: I don’t know…why?
Me: To show the raccoon, the possum, and the fox that it can be done!
 
Brian: Knock Knock.
Me: Who’s there?
Brian: Interrupting cow.
Me: Interr…
Brian: MOO!
 
Me: Knock Knock.
Brian: Who’s There?
Me: Banana.
Brian: Banana who?
Me: Knock Knock?
Brian: Orange, right? Orange you glad right?
Me: You’re cheating!
 
Me: Knock Knock.
Brian: Who’s there?
Me: Gorilla.
Brian: Gorilla who?
Me: Gorilla my dreams! I love you! Except that really you should be saying this to me.
Brian: But you’re not the gorilla of my dreams…
Me: GIRL of your dreams, BRIAN. GIRL. UGH!
 
Brian: Cow walks into a bar. The bartender says, “we don’t serve food here.”
 
Me: Brian walks into a bar…
Me: Chrissy ducks.
 
Brian: That doesn’t sound right…
 
Brian: Two droids walk into the bar. The bartender says, “we don’t serve your kind here.”
Me: That’s not funny.
Brian: Oh. Actually that’s just a Star Wars quote.
 

And then I laugh hysterically, because his delivery was hilarious.

Me: Remind me to write about that…
Brian: People aren’t going to think it’s as funny as you do.
Me: Yes they will. It was really funny.

The next day…

Me: What was it that you said that wasn’t funny at all?
Brian: Two droids walk into a bar. The bartender says we don’t serve your kind here. And then I told you it was a Star Wars quote.
Me: That’s not very funny.
Brian: Which is probably why you JUST asked me for the thing I told you last night that wasn’t funny.
Me: But I thought it was funny last night.
Brian: But you were expecting it today.
 

What about you guys? What weird things do you talk about or do with your significant other?

 
Love is Finding Someone to be Weird With
 
 

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: He’s Back in Full Force

Well, let’s start with a little something Brian did NOT share, but he certainly made his opinion known.

Drunk Puppy

So Ash from That Ash Girl sent me this video. And it was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. So watch it. Watch it now.


And I felt the need to show Brian, because it was (I repeat) the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.

Here was the conversation that followed:

Me: wants
Brian: that video played a “get a free bible, mormon commercial”… haahaha! People came to my door in college with the same thing so I asked them for a bible written in Hebrew… which is why I have a bible all written in Hebrew in my bookshelves
Me: seriously?
Me: Secondly, that’s all you have to say about the SERIOUS cuteness of that horribly named pup?
Brian: I think it was drunk.  It kept wobbling around and falling down.
Me: UGH
Brian: ?
Me: You!
Brian: That puppy was CLEARLY drunk off his ass! He couldn’t string together a coherent sentence… probably couldn’t say the alphabet, let alone backwards…couldn’t walk a straight line…probably couldn’t touch his paws to his nose. He even had that reddish nose that some chronic alcoholics get.  Drunk!
Me: Unacceptable.
  A few minutes later…
Me: So can we get one?

He never did respond to that…

Here’s the dog tag that we’ll get our future pup who will NOT be named Tebow.

If you can read this I will lick you funny dog tag

 

More of Our Future Pets

The Lizard Attacking a Grape

Brian almost didn’t send this to me…but I was standing over his shoulder while he was trolling through Reddit. And when he watched this I said, “You better send that to me!” and of course, he did, because it would not have been nice if he did not. And then I would not have made him a delicious Irish Breakfast the next day with all the Irish meaty goodness and everything fried in the same pan, even the tomatoes and onions and eggs.

But he did send it, and so like I do on Sundays at Brian’s mom’s, I made an Irish Fry and it was delightful. Whoever invented Irish sausages (bangers, white pudding, and black pudding) should seriously win an award. It’s kind of funny because I eat all the delicious Irish food and drink tea with milk when I’m with Brian’s Irish family and they always forget that I’m Irish…and they say things like, “Are you sure you’re Polish and not Irish?” And then I tell them that I’m Polish AND Irish. And I love breakfast. And breakfast sausage. And tea kind of grew on me (though I still love me some coffee Monday-Friday and sometimes Saturday when I’m home with my Keurig and not at Brian’s mom’s house.)

Anyways…sorry for the LONG distracted ramble. (Not really.)

Pet Dolphins on Vacation in Florida

So, right after Christmas, Brian was talking to his dad about how he has several vacation days that he needs to use by February…And his dad was all, “You should come visit!” (Brian has made his way down to Florida during many a January/February to visit his dad & get some Vitamin D/warm weather…so this wasn’t a total out of the blue idea.)

Brian made the mistake of mentioning this to me…And I got so excited. I have a love affair with Florida that cannot be matched. (Obviously, we’re going. I mean…you get an idea into my head…and it sort of happens.) This will be my 8th trip to The Sunshine State. The 3rd in a 12 month period. Speaking of Florida, check out the article that Brian sent me about Disney World.

So Brian sent me this awesome picture of dolphins in Google Maps from Marco Island (where we’ll be going). My pet dolphins miss me. They want to play in the canals with us again! I just know it.

Our Pets: Baby Sloth and Baby Platypus

If you didn’t read my sonnet to Yelp, go do that now. I can wait…

OK, now, if you don’t know about our future pet sloth…you’ve got a lot of reading to catch up on.

Now that you’re on the same page as me… here are our future baby pets. Aren’t the sweet?

baby platypus baby sloth

Random Internet Pictures and Obligatory Kitten gif

kitten attack gif dog playing fetch with a statue baby turtle on big turtle

The Castle: Our Future Home

beautiful castle

Have a great weekend!

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: In Which I Told Brian You Missed Him (And Had Really Bad Grammar [And was wired on coffee])

Because OBVIOUSLY you missed him. He is sometimes funnier than me. And more often than not, he finds cooler things on the internet.

But life has been busy and he has not had a lot of time to share with me the cool things he finds on the internet. Like the article about dogs who fight and the male dog lets the female dog win (Yes, blog friends, I learned about this last night when Brian would NOT let me make decisions for our team while playing Ticket to Ride, even though all the other dudes let their ladies make the decisions…and I was stubborn and said “Fine!” like we were fighting and everyone was all “ooooohhhh! Should have said ‘yes, honey’…” and Brian was like, “Hey I read this cool article about how male dogs always let the female win if they’re fighting.” and I was all, “Why didn’t you show me THAT?!” And we were still fighting.

But. Because we switched off turns after that, we both got to do our own strategizing and managed to kick everyone’s ass and obliterate the competition and LOVE Ticket to Ride…. Yes, I meant to leave that “but” as it’s very own sentence. And yes, I realize that I am still in a parenthetical statement. And yes I realize that I am rambling on about a game we played last night. I had a very strong cup of Keurig coffee for breakfast and am ON FIRE today!) So basically I couldn’t find the article. But the male lets the female win. Did you hear that, BRIAN?

So a few days ago Brian and I had this G-chat conversation:

Me: Please feel free to resume sending random pictures and links. My blog friends miss you
Brian: did they say that?
did anyone comment on the Dark Matter article? I bet they didn’t
🙁
that makes me cry a little on the inside

And I guess it’s not so much a conversation as a comment and response, but whatever. I did not fix his grammar. (Even though my title is talking about my poor grammar and over use of parenthetical statements and the fact that I started every paragraph in this post with a conjunction and several sentences…AND have several run on sentences, but I blame coffee…I did it on purpose! Sort of.)

So go over to the Brian Shares post that sort of discusses Dark Matter (well, links to it anyways) and, for the love of God, comment on it, just to tell Brian that you have no idea what it means, but you love him anyways…otherwise this Saturday spot may cease to exist. Plus, no one needs to see my boyfriend cry. Especially not me.

He did FINALLY, after lots and lots of begging, offer me these two lovely pictures. On separate days.

Dolphins!!

If you don’t know this about me, you should. I have a dolphin obsession. Maybe it’s because they’re the only mammals, other than humans who fight and bang for pleasure. Maybe it’s because they’re so damn smart. Maybe it’s because I believe that I was a dolphin in a past life. I don’t know. But I love them. A lot. And Brian always threatens to eat dolphins. And I tell him that is mean and horrible. But then he sends me gifs like this (yes gif, not gift) and I still love him.

dolphin gif

I love the dolphin chomp. It’s what I do to bubbles! I could watch this video for hours.

Superman Meets Dr. Who

So I’ve finally started watching Dr. Who from the beginning. (OK the reboot beginning…I am lazy and don’t REALLY want to watch a show from the 60’s). I had seen many episodes and enjoyed them. But for some reason Brian doesn’t always know the difference between me falling asleep because I’m bored or tired…so he never watches it with me. So in order to show him “Hey! I’ll watch this awesomeness with you!” I started watching old episodes to “catch up.”

He sent me this, which was RIGHT after I watched the episode where a space ship crashes into Big Ben. Which apparently happens a lot in Dr. Who? And Brian said to me, “This is why Superman doesn’t visit London.”

Superman meets Dr. Who

The End!

 

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 Best New Year’s Eve. Ever.

I debated internally whether to have a politically charged Fiscal Cliff Bullshit post directed at the United States government or to have a fun New  Year’s Eve post to make my readers laugh. Lucky for you, I chose the latter.

Of course, when I say the best New Year’s Eve, I’ll bet you’re thinking some hoity toity event. Or a gathering of my closest friends. Or even hanging out with family. But it’s not.

New Year’s Eve has always been pretty high expectation, low outcome in my book. When I was a kid, the parents owned a bar…so we ALWAYS had babysitters. First it was Vicky. Then her younger brother Mark. Vicky was cool. Mark was a douche canoe.

Mark would throw parties and smoke weed in our house. Mark and his friends would eat all of my hard earned caramel delight cookies in one sitting. Mark sent my cousins and brother and I to bed at 11 on New Year’s Eve.

Sometimes, it would be my Gram that watched us. Sometimes we would go to my best friend, Kelly’s house and her mom would watch us. Always, though, Mom and Dad would try to make it as fun as possible for us without being there. They’d buy the sparkling grape juice and plastic champagne glasses to send with us. They’d give us noise makers and headgear. They’d make platters of shrimp cocktail and cheese with crackers. They’d try really really hard to make it awesome. And for us kids, it totally was.

But as I got older, expectations got higher…and the outcomes dwindled. In middle school, my brother and his best friend watched a South Park marathon, while I whined that I wanted to watch something that wasn’t ridiculously stupid. In high school my brother and I co-hosted a party…OK that was pretty awesome. A bunch of straight-laced high school kids on New Year’s Eve not even attempting to drink alcohol? I know you’re probably thinking what planet did this girl grow up on? But it’s true. We were Stepford Children.

After that, it was mostly downhill.My freshman year of college, I spent New Year’s Eve weekend trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere Indiana as the only single non-pot smoking girl with a large group of stoner couples with no phone reception, no television, no books, a lot of booze, and the only DVD they brought was the worst movie ever made: Dumb and Dumber (an apt title.)

I spent New Year’s Eve in New Orleans one year. It was like a 16 block square mosh pot. And I needed to pee. And I hate crowds. We watched the ball drop, then went back to our hotel and played MASH with our new-found friends/fraternity brothers (Alpha Phi Omega) until 4 in the morning…after I peed in the hotel lobby men’s room.

I spent New Year’s Eve in Denver one year, again for an APO national convention. It was okay. I kissed a boy from Texas at midnight. Despite his awesome accent…he wasn’t a great kisser. Let’s just say things aren’t always bigger/better in Texas.

Parties with friends seemed un-fun. I stopped getting excited about the “holiday” and started calling it amateur night. I had boyfriends during several New Year’s Eves…and guess what? None of them ever wanted to be there to kiss me at midnight. It was depressing, to say the least. The Ethiopian. The Bartender. Both were boyfriends who had nothing better to do, but refused to spend time with me on a holiday almost as much designed for making non-couples or girls in bad relationships feel bad as Valentine’s Day.

So in 2010, after a VERY exhausting year, I managed to have the greatest New Year’s Eve in the history of ever. The year that I accidentally fell into the presidency of my local Jaycees chapter. The year that I student taught. The year that I had no job, but worked harder than I ever had in my entire life.

The night before, I had pulled an all-nighter with some really amazing friends. We had drunkenly discussed re-playing the same evening over the next night, as none of us had New Year’s plans. My bestie, Lily, and some of our near and dear ones planned to do it all over again. But the next day, New Year’s Eve, we were all exhausted. And hungover.

I went home. Lily went home. We slept all day. When I woke up, I called Lily. She was still sleeping, so Mom and I went out to dinner. Dad was driving a limo at the time, so he was out of commission most of the night. Mom and I had a wonderful dinner. We came back to the house, and Buck, the bad dog, had consumed a pound of chocolate truffles. Oh great. Our dog is going to die. My mom started crying, and I started Googling.

“He’ll be fine mom. Seriously. He’s a big dog. He’ll probably just get sick.”

I called Lily again. She had just woken up. Going over to our friends’ was now out of the question. We were so over drinking. Here’s how the conversation went:

Lily: *moan* What’s up, Pookie?

Me: We going over to Jenna’s?

Lily: I don’t think so. I called her a bit ago and she feels like shit.

Me: Yeah. Me too. Wanna come over and watch movies?

Lily: Nah…you could come over here.

Me: Nah. I don’t want to leave the house.

Lily: Me neither.

Me: We had our party night. Maybe I’ll just go to bed early.

Lily: Shit, that’s my plan.

Me: OK. Happy New Year, Pookie.

Lily: You too, Pookie.

A while later, my girlfriend Hilary called and asked me whether I wanted to go to her party. I opted out, because I was playing Mario Kart on the Wii and had no intentions of doing anything else. And for 4 straight hours…I played Mario Kart. Like it was a regular old night. And it felt good. No one was calling me to ask questions or because some drama had happened in the Jaycees that I had to deal with. I wasn’t grading papers. Or working. Or surrounded by people I didn’t want to be surrounded by. I was just relaxing.

And then it was almost midnight. I turned off Mario Kart to watch the ball drop. Yelled up to my mom to see if she wanted to come down. She didn’t. My dad stopped home for a few minutes (they were always together at midnight). At exactly 12:00, several things happened all at once.

1. The ball dropped.

2. The dog vomited an exorbitant amount of liquid chocolate right. In front. Of my face. Seriously, he was 3 feet in front of me. I almost threw up watching it.  My dad, the amazing dad that he is, managed to clear the nasty puddle from the living room, while Buck looked at us, sad and confused.

3. I received the best text ever from Hilary, who was also a local Jaycees president: “Congratulations on surviving your year as president. We are so done!” I couldn’t have said it better myself. Relief washed over me as I was no longer in charge. I was no longer responsible. I was free.

4. I resumed playing Mario Kart while a flurry of texts and phone calls made their way to my phone.

No drama. No drinking. No driving. No bullshit. The lowest maintenance New Year’s Eve I’ve ever had. It was fantastic.

I suppose I can’t end this post without saying that last year was the first time I had someone that I really wanted to kiss at midnight…and he wanted to kiss me right back. And this year, I’ll again be spending the evening with him. And our friends. Relaxing and playing board games. As it should be.

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!

I Break the Hearts of Drug Addicts

Note: In this post, I am clearly showing off the stupidity of my younger days. The way I see it, these tales are over and done with…and they gave a story to tell. That is all. In no way do I ever condone the use of drugs.

When I was at the Bears game a few weeks ago, I was excited to see that I would get to watch my all-time favorite half time show. Kids vs. The Mascots. I couldn’t find a video of this year’s show, which included Staley the Bear and Benny the Bull dancing to Gangam Style, but I did find this gem:

There is nothing funnier than watching little kids get tackled by goofy team mascots.

Of course, watching the mascots got me thinking about one of my exes. Well, several of my exes, actually. (Pathetic right?) But I’m only going to talk about two, today.

Staley the Bear

This was the day that Staley the Bear gave me his phone number: 867-5309

The first, we shall call Staley. Everytime I see Staley the Bear dancing at Bear games, I think fondly of “Staley…” sort of. The way Staley moves completely and utterly reminds me of this guy, who I met on Halloween many years ago. I was dressed as Wonder Woman and he wasn’t dressed up at all. But he thought I was spectacular.

Halloween Wonder Woman Costume

With some of my pals–no, “Staley” is not in this picture.

I was going through a phase at this time in my life… I had finally and officially finished with The Ethiopian/Johnny Cash and I was out having lots and lots of fun. I had recently been left in the dust by this really beautiful and charming guy, who we called 6’6″ because of his height. One day he just stopped calling, and I found myself drawn to this guy who kept calling me Pretty Lady and Wonder Woman.

Little did I know that Staley had recently been dumped pretty hardcore, and was also a recovering heroin addict, who smoked a whole lot of not-cigarettes. So he had his fair share of baggage.

We had a relatively long “relationship” that consisted of me heading over to his house after the bars closed to watch movies and hang out. This was a time that I didn’t get a whole lot of sleep. I would leave there at like 5 AM and go home, shower, and go straight to work. I’m not proud of the drinking I did back in those days, but I’ve very much outgrown that stage in my life. In addition to his drinking and smoking, he would occasionally feel the need to find some additional extra-curriculars. I remember going with him to Galway’s (The late night bar for a big portion of DuPage county barhoppers) while he was in search of…stuff. I wasn’t a fan.

To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t Staley’s biggest fan, but we had a fun thing going for a while there. Until he started to fall in love with me. I remember him whispering in my ear when he thought that I was asleep about how he wanted to be That man, the one deserving of me… I remember he repeated himself over and over, saying that he just wasn’t there yet, but he would work really hard to be that man for me. The next day, I decided that was the end of that. But he still called. And pushed. And tried really hard to see me. And I was busy. I had shit going on. And I was over it.

Several years later, right after The Bartender broke up with me, I was feeling a little down. And I started doing the internet dating thing again. Katie and I called this: Experimental Year. I’m not proud to admit that I found this guy on Craigslist, but so be it. I did. He seemed awesome. He was smart. Funny. His picture was attractive. We talked on instant messenger for far too long though. I liked him before I even met him.

And then I met him. And his teeth were all messed up (likely from the drugs). He smoked a lot. Of everything. He put whatever he could find up his nose. But I didn’t know all of that yet. He reminded me of Staley, but he seemed smarter. Funnier. And like, you can get teeth fixed. The Drug Addict was a special breed. He lived with his grandma. He owned his own business doing computer-y things. He seemed like a responsible human being. Until one night I went on an adventure with him.

He was supposed to take me out on a proper date. Instead, he took me to a bar about 45 minutes away where he was to be meeting a “friend.” I told him that I had to work really early the next day (I was serving at a breakfast restaurant, so 5:30 start time), and I wanted to be home by 10. “Oh sure! No problem!” I think he may have even called me Pretty Lady. Seriously.

So it got to be 7:30/8 and I still haven’t been taken to dinner. I get crabby when I’m hungry and I started getting angry. So The Drug Addict bought me bar dinner. And we continued to wait. Finally, he got what he needs or whatever. But then wanted to go to someone’s house. I told him that I want to go home, but somehow I got talked into hanging out. I started texting my brother to see if he would come pick me up. No one was available to rescue me. I tried everything I could think of, but somehow still couldn’t manage to get The Drug Addict to leave.

Finally it was about midnight, and I finally got the dude to go. After I threatened to take his car without him in it. That apparently worked. I will never forget the ride home, though. I obviously had to drive…and the idiot was doing lines in the passenger seat. I was so over that dumbass.

So the next morning, when he sobered up, I told him that was the end of whatever that was. And he cried. A lot. And I had never broken up with someone. And I felt really bad. And he promised to quit doing the really bad stuff. And I was a fucking moron.

So I dated him for a little while. I never let him call me his girlfriend. I never let him get too close. He replaced his original unhealthy addiction with a different unhealthy addiction: me. I got bored. And annoyed. And officially ended it with him. And then he cried more. And was mean. And I was actually a little worried for a while there that he might do something crazy. But I never heard from him again after that. And I was thankful.

Those are the only two hearts that I’ve ever broken. Crazy, right?

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 Ex-Boyfriend: The Pike

Another ex-boyfriend story for your reading pleasure…

When I was fresh out of college and “on the outs” with the on-again/off-again boyfriend (The Rockabilly Ethiopian), I was jumping heavily into the online dating scene. This was in 2005, before it really hit big and fast. Of course, I was still sort of seeing The Rockabilly Ethiopian, but he kept pushing me away, so I kept looking elsewhere.

While The Rockabilly Ethiopian lived in Peoria, and I was trying to get a job in Peoria, I thought it best to find a new boyfriend in Peoria as well. Cue The Pike. The one and only real-life ginger that I ever dated. He was tall and sweet and seemed intelligent…and he kissed like a rockstar. I figured I’d keep him around for a bit.

The Pike had graduated from Bradley at the same time I did, and he was a former Pi Kappa Alpha (Pike). He was also a hockey player, so he was super strong and seemed totally bad ass to me…At first.

Within two weeks, he was asking me (over the phone) to be exclusive. He would drive all the way up to Chicago just to take me out on a date, and then drive all the way back home to Peoria the same night.

I was a wicked bitch, because even though he was technically my boyfriend, I didn’t want him to come to my home. I had very strict dating rules that included a meeting the family clause (this was supposed to only happen after I had been with someone long enough to know that he wasn’t going anywhere for a while). So he would meet me in Joliet (thus also minimizing his drive time to see me without making me drive all the way to Peoria.

I would also drive down to Peoria for job interviews and to hang out with my girls…and as a second thought, I would go on a date with The Pike. He lived with his grandma and little brother, so I opted not to stay with him while I was down there. One night we went out on a multi-date with two of my besties (Katie and Claire) and Claire’s BF/now hubs. Katie’s BF/now hubs was living elsewhere at the time, so he could only be there in spirit. The girls thought he was OK, but they judged him because Katie was single girl at the table, and The Pike didn’t offer to pick up the check. Really, the problem was that I just wasn’t that into him.

Strangely enough, at this dinner, The Rockabilly Ethiopian decided to express his jealousy crazy by texting and calling all three of us, asking what was going on. As a dude who kept pushing me away, it was shocking (and gave me those stupid happy butterflies) to see his reaction. It was then that I realized my purpose for dating The Pike had very little to do with The Pike. We dated for a few months, and during that time, I learned a few things.

  1. Apparently a lot of hockey dudes shave. (Like shave everything shave). Gross. So I’ll never know if the carpet matched the drapes.
  2. Dating guys who brag about shit is not cool. The Pike would often brag about how much money he was making at his multiple jobs, and unwittingly make me feel bad that I couldn’t find a job. Then he would insist on going halvsies.
  3. If you’re not into PDA with someone, it’s entirely possible that you’re not into that someone. I mean, there’s definitely a level of PDA that is acceptable vs. unacceptable…but if you don’t even want to hold their hand…they aren’t the dude for you.

So after his last trip to the Chi, in which we met in Romeoville with his little brother and my buddy, Cletus in tow, and ventured to the Museum of Science and Industry for an afternoon of museum fun at my fave Chicago Museum. Cletus still teases me about this afternoon, and laughs whenever it’s mentioned. Not because of The Pike, but because of my lack of feelings for The Pike…and how I non-verbally expressed the feelings. Of course, The Pike was a little awkward, too, though…gettin’ all PDA with me when PDA was SO. not. my. thing. He was all into me…but he was also The Marrying Guy. He wanted to settle down and make babies. Like relatively soon. I was definitely not there with him. I knew it was only a matter of time before L words started flying…and I feared L words.

I broke up with The Pike over the phone. I told him that I still had feelings for my ex (true) and that I just couldn’t get over him (true). I led The Pike to believe that I would be getting back together with my The Rockabilly Ethiopian…even though out of spite and jealousy, he too had gone and gotten himself a girlfriend.

Within a month, The Pike had a new girlfriend…Less than a year after I allegedly broke his heart, he was married…and a few years later, he was divorced. Was anyone else surprised by this?

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!

Adventures in Moving

Well, fair readers, it’s official. I no longer live in the home of Wayne and Garth. Goodbye Aurora, Illinois. Hello suburban town MUCH  closer to civilization.

Moving to a new home

I’m home! This is the only room that has been fully assembled. Though it’s missing the chatchkies. They will be arriving shortly.

We moved this Saturday. Brian and I were lucky to have Anna, Cletus,  Mark, and one of Brian’s pals to help us move.

The Moving Crew

Taking a break to check out “cool techy stuff”

The Trouble with U-Haul

It all started bright and early…as Brian and I had to drive 30 miles to pick up the U-Haul. This pissed him off immensely, considering we lived 5 minutes from a U-Haul location. He wanted to just go into the one near us and demand a truck. I called and they didn’t have one available…in any size. So we sucked it up and drove to the south suburbs. I asked if we had to pay extra for mileage. He didn’t know. He didn’t seem pleased with the question answer portion of our morning, so I stopped talking…and started texting Cletus to request his assistance.

Once we arrived at U-Haul, I told Brian that I was coming in. He looked at me with a Please don’t. You’ll only embarrass me. So I hopped out of the car with a shit-eating grin on my face. We walked in and I immediately informed the guy that we were not pleased with the 30 mile drive that we had to take. And I asked if mileage was included. 30 miles. Fuck. That. I told him that I wanted an extra 30 miles added to cover our drive time to the house. He made several suggestions on how to maybe save money, until I told him that we would be traveling about 90 miles that afternoon and he realized the issue. So the amazing and wonderful Eric of U-Haul offered to add as many miles as he could (as a regular employee) at no charge. For the record–it’s 70 miles.

I was prancing around U-Haul waiting for their slow-ass computers to work…and one of the other workers complimented my pullover… My Adidas pullover. She asked the dreaded chick question: “Where did you get it?”

“Um…it was my ex-boyfriend’s?” Yes. The sweatshirt in question belonged to The Bartender.

Heavy Lifting

My boyfriend has this weird belief that girls shouldn’t lift heavy furniture. Regardless of whether or not I used to be able to throw a girl 20 feet in the air…regardless of whether or not I have helped other people move…regardless of whether or not I have helped build festivals and haunted houses…I’m a girl…and he doesn’t trust me to lift furniture. He suggested I manage the Tetris of the moving truck…and unload things to the guys. He just didn’t trust me.

Well, he didn’t. Until he realized that these 3 other guys were rockin’ out and exhausted carrying our ridiculously heavy, but beautiful, furniture through the mazes to get to our new bedroom. And finally…on the last (and heaviest) piece of furniture, he looked at those exhausted men; then he looked at me…and said, “OK, let’s do this.” So I did…with a little help. We loaded the hutch onto the small dolly that they hadn’t really used at all. Brian and I rolled it around to the “front” of our new apartment.

Then, was time to carry it up the double flight of stairs. We got to stair number 2, and I may or may not have had to pause in order to figure out how the hell to best tackle this beast. So we tried another 2 stairs. And Brian, was all like, “OK, Cletus…time to help her out,” and the other two guys jumped in as well…and with a 5-person team lifting this thing up the stairs…we finally got the giant hutch into our bedroom. Maybe I needed a little help, but dammit, I could do it.

 3 Things I Learned from Moving

1. Set up internet and cable BEFORE moving. Like a week before. It takes 3-5 business days for internet stuff to arrive. That’s a lot of days without internet. Lucky for you I wrote this post last night, NOT from my new home.

Things I Learned from Moving

I miss the internet already

2. I have a lot of stuff.

3 things I learned from moving

I don’t even know where to start. So I’ll sit and ponder where to put my Christmas trees.

3. Brian and I have discussed this. We both feel so much gratitude for the amazing men who helped us. They were amazing. And helpful. And wonderful. But we will try never to make our friends endure this again. I promised Cletus that he would not have to help with the next move.  The next time we move-we’re hiring professionals.

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!

Man-Wife’s Bitch Finds Someone New

Maybe that title was a little much. It’s not that I’m angry. Or jealous. I mean… it all worked out, right?

As this is the second in a to-be-continued…we can also call this “The Bartender- Part II.” But let’s be honest. My original title is way better. (And the security in my current relationship allows me to write about those feelings which I no longer feel).

After many months of dating, and not an ounce of jealousy on my end (which was relatively unusual for Chrissy…just wait until I tell you about “the crazy years” I don’t think Brian’s ready for that…), The Bartender went back to school for the fall semester. Things were supposedly progressing quite nicely…he had planned his schedule around mine, so that we could have more time to go out and spend together.

It was then that I started hearing about Kirsten (Keer-sten), which I think is the dumbest name on the planet. (I’m really sorry if you are reading this and your name is Kirsten. You probably think Chrissy is a dumb name. Which is okay… Meanie.)

Kirsten’s family had season tickets to the Bears, just like Mom’s friend has season tickets to the Bears. They apparently bonded over the fact that they were both going to the pre-season game that I was taking The Bartender to. As if you couldn’t already tell, I was a little jealous. But not a lot.

For his birthday, I took The Bartender to a Blackhawk’s game. Where we ran into Dennis Savard on our way to our seats. It was really fuckin’ cool.

But shortly after his birthday, The Bartender started getting weird. He was a little more distant and I could tell something was up. So we talked about it. And he wasn’t sure. About the us thing. He told me that I seemed so sure and he just wasn’t. I told him, truthfully, that I wasn’t sure either, but that getting there was part of the fun. At the time, I couldn’t imagine going through the dating scene again.

So, I fought. I fought for him, even though I hated the way he gambled. I hated the way he always chose Man-Wife. I hated that he almost never seemed to have anything interesting to say. I hated that he never listened to me when I offered help or made suggestions. I hated that he wouldn’t accept academic help from my physical therapist friends (his chosen future profession). I hated the way he got super pissed (like scary mad) when I kicked his ass at Scrabble. I hated his obnoxious commentary on the Cubs, just to piss me off. I hated that all of his conversations went back to horse races or gambling boats. I hated that he never wanted to just hang out and snuggle. I hated that I felt like I was so much smarter than him.

Then a few months later…(while I was treating him to a fancy pants dinner that the secret shopping company was paying me to eat) The Bartender told me that he might be able to buy tickets to the Packers/Bears game. Oooohh! Exciting! Oh…right…and that he wouldn’t be taking me.

He was going to buy them to take Man-Wife.

WTF?

He was going to buy them from Kirsten.

WTF?

So I got a little upset. Though I was reasonable. And the subject was moot, because he wasn’t sure.

A week later, I excitedly told The Bartender that I was getting FREE Bears/Packers tickets.

He still bought tickets from Kirsten. He still planned to go with Man-Wife. This time, I was not reasonable. I was really fuckin’ pissed, and sad, and upset, and confused, and bewildered, and a million other things that I didn’t even know how to verbalize.

After a pretty hefty fight, The Bartender finally agreed to give Man-Wife and his brother the tickets as an early Christmas present and attend the game with me.

It was at that game that I discovered several things:

1. Tiny little Kirsten and her tiny little girlfriend, both wearing pink Bears clothes (ICK), were also in the seats. Apparently, The Bartender was not only fighting with me to pay to see a game with Man-Wife…he wanted to pay to see the game with Kiiiiirsten.

2. Kirsten’s seats were just a few rows away from the seats I frequent. (This would later become a problem.)

3. I hated Kirsten.

Less than a month after that encounter…Just two days after New Year’s… (The New Year’s that my boyfriend refused to request off to spend with me)…My boyfriend dumped me. I should have known based on the fact that my boyfriend of almost a year gave me a DVD for Christmas…(and gave my parents an autographed baseball). But I didn’t. I had no clue.

But he did. And I was…surprisingly okay. I cried some. I drank a lot. I escaped to Peoria to spend time with my lovies. But for the first time in my relationship life, I was okay within a week. The crying just…stopped. Easily. It was like I knew all along that he wasn’t the one.

Being Dumped Didn't Stop Me From Rockin' Out

And it wasn’t totally easy… I mean, I still got super panicky going anywhere near The Bartender or his place of employment. Like physically ill panicky. It was bad. And when I had to watch the Bartender and pink-clad Kirsten making out at several of the following season’s Bears games, I was less than thrilled.

But when I think I saw The Bartender a few weeks ago, I was fine. (I could barely tell if it was him. But I think it was.)

Of course, I’m of the belief that everything happens for a reason. If it weren’t for The Bartender, I wouldn’t have felt that I was worthy of the amazing-ness that is Brian. I would never in a million years thought that I was good enough for him. But I learned from The Bartender that I needed someone smarter than me (OK, just as smart, but in different ways). Someone who liked nerdy things. Someone who would think my quirks were adorable. Someone who had endearing quirks. Someone who I could love unconditionally. Someone who just…got it. Got me.

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 Bartender

Good morning friends (I figure if you’re reading my shit, we’re buds now, right?) We’ve been playing this oh-so-fun Chrissy’s life blog for a while now… It’s time I started telling you about boys. I think I’ll work backwards and start with my last real relationship before Brian.

Let me preface this by telling you about my state of mind when I met The Bartender(Please see my post about nicknames). I had just left my full time job as a catering manager to pursue a master’s degree in education. I was on the verge of claiming bankruptcy, I lived at home with my parents, I had no job, no money, and didn’t exactly feel “on top of the world.”

I met The Bartender at a Jaycees event, where he was bartending. We flirted all afternoon, and he seemed so adorable, I couldn’t help myself. The fact that he was flirting with me, even though I was covered in chili and wearing a hoodie…spoke volumes.

When I met the bartender

I’m pretty sure I hadn’t washed my hair in a few days, either…

The day I met my ex-boyfriend

You can’t see it, but there’s a HUGE chili stain on that hoodie…

I walked up to the bar with a plan. My bestie, Lily, and another friend, Ana, were there at the far end of the bar cheering me on. I strutted my bravado over to the bar and called The Bartender over. He asked if I wanted another pitcher, but instead of replying, (mostly, because if I didn’t do it immediately, I would lose all balls) I shook my head “no,” and used my favorite pick-up line at the time, “So,” insert the most sickeningly sweet, unbelievably adorable, irresistible smile “If I gave you my number, would you call me?”

Now, I’ve used this line, dozens of times…and to be perfectly honest, this is the ONLY time it worked and the guy actually called. We chatted. We flirted. He asked me on a date. It was kind of cute.

I dated The Bartender for a little under a year. But I knew for the better part of that year that I was, in fact, settling. As evident by the fact that I am no longer with The Bartender, it all worked out as it was supposed to. But at the time, I really would have stayed with him, for fear of never finding someone else to love me.

Except that…my quirks weren’t adorable. They were annoying. His quirks weren’t endearing. They were ridiculous.

The Bartender lived in this weirdly fucked up situation that I didn’t quite understand at first. He was in his early 30’s working towards his bachelor’s degree and bartending. So we were both in school. We were both poor. I lived at home with my parents…

He lived at someone’s home with that someone’s parents. Who? You might ask… Well I called him Man-Wife. Man-Wife was an older gentleman…I never discovered Man-Wife’s age, but for all intents and purposes, let’s say he was in his early to mid 40’s. Man-Wife and The Bartender shared a room. Two queen sized beds in one grown up room. I should have run screaming. But The Bartender was nice. And I needed a little nice in my life.

The Bartender was a sports fan (Bears, Blackhawks), but he was also a Cubs fan. This, I’ve discovered, tends to be a deal-breaker. It would have been fine, if The Bartender had ceased the obnoxious ranting on and on with stats about the Cubs. I couldn’t have cared less.

Now, the bartender was also a Bears fan… I even took him to his very first game. Lucky Bartender. He bought me a Bears jersey for my birthday. My first real-ish (non-Walmart) jersey. Of course, he informed me later that the only reason he could afford that fancy pants present was because he had won big at the boat. This was not endearing to me.

I really don’t like gambling. I went through a brief phase in my life in which I would spend a few dollars at the boat in order to procure free hotel rooms in Peoria. This seemed reasonable. But if I lost money, I was always very mad at myself…and I missed the shoes that I could have bought with that money.

Man-Wife loved gambling. Man-Wife, his mom, his dad, his brother, and The Bartender all loved gambling. That was their thing.

That and being crazy. The Bartender let Man-Wife and family dominate his world. This is probably a testament of The Bartender and I not being right for each other, but if The Bartender and I tried to make plans or he wasn’t going to be home when he said he was, he would have to call for permission. And sometimes Man-Wife would bitch at him for being late. For not coming home to cook dinner. For not going grocery shopping as a family.

Man-Wife. Noooo thank you.

The Bartender lasted for a good percentage of my adult life to date…so he warrants a two-part story…

To be continued… The Bartender Part II

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!