Can't I Have It Both Ways?

While rushing to get to an early staff meeting, I encountered the daily challenge of crossing the street across from my office. Sure, there's a crosswalk, but people don't stop. Even when I do my patented death stare and disappointed head shake at them.

A car on the opposite side stopped to let me go, but one look up the street told me I better wait, because the car on my side was flying. So there I am, giving the aforementioned death stare, when the car screeches to a halt. As I start to cross the street both the driver-side and passenger windows roll down and two guys lean out. I make the mistake of turning to look at them as I cross and am met with a "yeah, baby!" and some cat calls.

I am instantly pissed. It's 8 a.m. I am on my way to a very long staff meeting and I am tired. The last thing I want to deal with is obnoxious comments from some unidentified men.

As they drive off and I begin my walk down the street, a smile forces its way across my face. I am wearing the pants that make my butt look cute and my legs look super long. I do have on adorable stilettos that may make me strut just a little.

Then I get pissed at myself because what, now I like the attention?

Guess I can't have it both ways!

It's All Ridiculous

I was expecting some interesting searches that would lead people here yesterday. You have to expect it when you write about boobs. A look at my stats revealed that people were searching for, among others, "boobs", "big boobs", "little boobs", "my sister's big boobs" (um, ew), "breast milk" (did I write about breast milk? No.), "small boobies", "boobs get bigger", "blog girl boobs" and "milk maids".

I was also very surprised to see how many readers are in the same boat. It's nice to know I'm not alone in my frustration.

Moving on...

The weather was so nice yesterday that I decided to take a break from the office and go for a long walk. What I wasn't anticipating was that the warm weather had made the once frozen ground turn into a squishy, muddy mess. This caused me to step awkwardly around puddles and completely coat the heels and sides of my not-so-appropriate-for-walking-in-the-mud shoes.

As I started to head back to my office I felt pain on the bottom of my feet. Crap. Blisters. Just what I needed. Now the following is kind of gross, I'm not going to lie. But you've read about my bathroom habits, embarrassing moments and my issues with Things That Smell Bad. I think you can handle it.

The blisters had to be popped. There was no way around it because by the end of the walk I was hobbling up the stairs on tip toe. I'm no stranger to blisters. I was a dancer, after all. Blisters were a weekly thing. Once one healed, another formed. I was also on the crew team in high school. I once had a blister that took over the width of my hand. So gross. If they hurt, oh well. You danced on them, you rowed with them, you dealt with it. Pop, drain, repeat.

Apparently my tolerance has worn off because these new blisters? They HURT. Seriously, how am I ever going to give birth?

On a completely unrelated topic, some things that have been bothering me lately: men driving VW Bugs (it just seems weird), a house near work that still has headless scarecrows propped up on a bench that have been there since October, and the realization that with spring on the way, Mandals will once again make an appearance. You know, Man Sandals, those leather sandals with the open toes made for men?

Shudder.

Freaky

This is the weirdest thing ever. Try it.

1. While sitting where you are lift your right foot off the floor and make clockwise circles.

2. Now, while doing this, draw the number 6 in the air with your right hand.

Your foot will change direction.

Freaky!

I'm Starting To Think I have Issues...

My hair looks like crap today. I have a hair appointment tonight so you would think I'd be OK with my hair looking less than perfect now. But I'm not.

For some reason I think my stylist will judge me for having a crappy hair day. I feel like my hair should be voluminous and shiny and gorgeous to prove to her that yes, I take care of my hair! I'm not a shlub! I didn't throw my hair in a ponytail when it was still wet!

It's like making your teeth sparkle before going to the dentist or shaving your legs before a doctor's appointment. You want to present yourself as the best possible You. The together, competent You.

I seriously considered washing my hair last night so I would have time to straighten and style it today. Of course I chose to watch The Hills instead (Those girls have good hair. Bitches.) and didn't leave myself enough time to do it this morning.

Seriously, could I be wasting brain cells on a stupider problem? In a few hours I will be sitting smack in the middle of a salon and my hair will be sticking up in all directions between multiple layers of foil. In front of people. This does not bother me.

But a limp, semi-damp ponytail? Completely unacceptable.

Issues, people. Issues.

Dreamer

I had the strangest dreams last night. And I know you probably don't want to hear about my dreams, but it's my blog. So there.

The first dream was awful.

I dreamt Michael and I lived in this big house and we had a cat. We went out somewhere and when we returned we ran into a couple on the street. They had greasy hair and both looked like they were on some serious drugs. We started to walk by them and the guy pulled my arm and said with an evil sneer, "sorry about your cat."

The next thing I know we're in the house and everything is ransacked and for some reason I'm concerned that they went through my underwear drawer. Michael goes in the backyard and tells me not to come out. I go anyway and there is a bonfire. I never actually see it, but I know the cat is in it.

Weird. Creepy. Scary. What the hell? I have no idea where that came from.

The second dream...I know exactly where that came from. Last night before bed I was on the computer looking at rings. Yes, rings. So shoot me.

Michael asked me to go outside with him. It was snowing and beautiful and he had a box in his hand and I thought, "this is it!" He handed me the box and when I opened it there was about a dozen bands and fake diamonds in all shapes and sizes. I was supposed to assemble my dream ring with the pieces and show him the finished product. He told me once I was finished he would send away for it and the company would FedEx the real thing.

I remember being so disappointed because now it wasn't going to be a surprise.

Seriously, what did I eat before bed?

Booted

It snowed again today. I like snow, (when I'm not driving in it...which I was) and I have lived in the Northeast my whole life. But the thing is, I don't own snow boots. Or cold-weather boots. Or outdoor boots of any kind. So for the first snow yesterday I wore leather boots. With three inch heels. Not the most appropriate footwear, I admit.

This drives Michael nuts. When we met I was an 18 year old college freshman walking around New England wearing sweatshirts in the rain (plus an umbrella!) and sneakers in the snow. After about a year of dating and countless fits of exasperation from him ("You live in New England! You walk to class! You need a raincoat and boots!") he finally convinced me to buy a suitable jacket to wear in the rain. But boots? Not so much.

I know what you're thinking. How can someone who loves shoes so much not own a pair of boots? Well, I own boots. Cute boots. With heels. In lovely shades of blacks and browns. I just can't jump on board with snow boots. I've tried, I really have. I've looked at everything from Uggs to L.L. Bean. They just seem so clunky and unattractive.

This has always been a problem. Back in middle school I used to wear my snow boots to the bus stop and change them as soon as I got on the bus. They'd sit in my locker all day until I put them back on right before getting off the bus in the afternoon. That way it looked like I wore them, just like I was supposed to. (Hi, Mom!)

I realize that it's time to bite the bullet and buy a pair of boots I can wear in the ice and snow. I just don't want to look like I'm a lumberjack or a Muppet with oval feet.

I am open to suggestion. Help me, please.

Tagged

I don't usually do these, but Domestic Goddess tagged me and she rocks so for her, I will.

Six weird things about you:

1. I'm right handed, but I carry my bag on my left shoulder and hold my cell phone in my left hand.

2. I love to watch operation shows but pass out when I have blood taken.

3. When I was little I used to put baby wipes over the tops of lamps and would melt plastic figurines on light bulbs. This had nothing to do with being a pyro, I just liked the way the wipes and the plastic smelled when they got warm. This didn't last long because my mom caught me and flipped out. Something about how I could burn the house down...

4. Speaking of smells, I also used to love the smell of my mom's deodorant.

5. I love cleaning under my finger nails. There's something really satisfying about it.

6. I think sometimes dinner tastes better if you're eating standing up in the kitchen.

In Which I Say "Meatballs"...Twice

I woke up this morning to a text saying that Christmas music was on the radio. (Thanks, Jen!) I know it's a cliche, but this really is my favorite time of year. There's something about Thanksgiving through New Years that's so warm and cozy and happy. I love it.

So despite the fact that it's 60 degrees out, I listened to Christmas music the whole ride to work and now have it playing at my desk. Yay! Michael (a.k.a. Scrooge) will cringe when he reads this. He doesn't want to hear Christmas music until the week of Christmas, and even then he thinks it's too much. Too bad he lives with me!

I've already bopped around my desk to Mariah ("All I want for Christmas is yoouuuuu!") and am currently being serenaded by Frosty the Snowman. Love it!

On to some randomness, because really, it's Friday.

I confessed to Michael that I look at wedding stuff and that I might possibly (i.e. absolutely) have found the place for a reception. As in, I started drooling all over myself when I found it. And we could afford it! And...hi, I'm not even engaged.

His response? He wasn't surprised. Or freaked out. He laughed...and then smiled. He's so cute.

I really pushed myself at the gym last night (yes, I did go!) and as a result I am not wearing heels today. Legs = ow. But a good ow.

Tomorrow is a big day. Tomorrow I am going to Ikea. IKEA! The magical store that goes on forever and has stemware, couches, beds and meatballs! Couches and meatballs! In the same store! Oh those crazy Scandinavians!

I've been given some tips to survive my first experience within the window-less blue box. Bring a granola bar. Follow the signs. Charge your cell before leaving and always have a buddy. With these tips I'm sure popping my Ikea cherry will be a fun adventure. Details to follow.

Happy Friday!

"Siillllleeeent Niiight. Hooooooly Niiiight..."

Seeing Stars

Last month I wrote about my adventure on the sailboat. This included a good half hour of sea sickness that was just awful.

It's not just boats that make me queasy. Cars do it to. If I'm in the passenger seat, there is a good chance I'll be nauseous by the end of the trip.

And today I learned of another place that makes me feel dizzy and nauseous and gross.

The planetarium.

"What? The planetarium? You're weird."

I know! But apparently it's true. While I sat there trying to enjoy Orion's Belt and the Big Dipper and the North Star all I could think was "where's the barf bag?"

Totally uncool, people. And I was staring at the horizon! (Well, the horizon being where the dome meets the wall, but it's supposed to represent the horizon....) Isn't that supposed to help?

I mean, honestly. This is just too ridiculous to be justified in any way.

Hi, I'm Molly. Planetariums make me sick.

Useless And In My Way, But Here To Stay

There are some things in my house that when purchased, seemed like a really good idea. However, the more I think about it, I realize that these things are just....there.

For example:

Potato Masher- I probably make mashed potatoes twice a year. Maybe three times. And the masher? Awkward shape. Takes up room in the drawer. Makes me irritated when drawer won't close.

Candle Centerpiece for Dining Room Table - looks really pretty. Has been lit once. To see how it would look. Candles collect dust. Makes Molly mad.

Extra Large Space Saver Bag - great in theory, but the bag is HUGE. I don't have enough stuff to put in it to suck out all the air with the vacuum and store it under the bed. (I've done this with three or four Large bags...very fun

Super On Sale 20 Rolls of Our Favorite Toilet Paper - great money wise, not so great when the bathroom cabinet is thisbig and has to store everything else. I must say, I'm pretty proud of my TP stacking skills.

Ottoman- I still have hopes for this one. It's cute. It's functional. It matches the living room color scheme perfectly. It gets used as a giant coaster. Which. Drives. Me. Crazy.

Giant Mop - I (thankfully) cannot take credit for this one. When Michael was away for a month for work (bad, bad, evil away. Stupid work.) his grandmother stopped by one day unannounced. I hadn't vacuumed yet and she not-so-subtly told me that I needed to do something about the dog hair. (Hi, 120 lb black dog that blows his coat in the summer? You try keeping up with all the hair. It will kill you.) Her solution? A giant mop. No, not a Swisher that picks up dirt and hair and dust with static electricity. A mop. As in...mop. Yeah, the kind you put in a bucket. With water. And soap. How this was supposed to pick up dog hair, I did not know. But I tried it (dry) and I tried it (wet) and know what? It doesn't work. It's just a big ol' mop. That now resides in the hall closet just being a mop. Mopping around. Mop, mop, mop.

Also, for some reason, in the short time we've lived together we've somehow collected enough blankets and comforters to swaddle 3 million babies. (OK, maybe just 2 million.) There are only two of us sleeping there. And we use one giant, deliciously fluffy and warm down comforter. The guest room also has its own comforter. But the other 999,998 blankets...they've taken residence in the guest room. Where they will continue to live until I can figure out what to do with them.

The Extra Large Space Saver Bag, you say? Now, I've thought of that. But even the XL can only hold a few...and it's not really worth it to me.

Actually, I wonder if it could hold shoes.....

Realizations

I'm not feeling especially creative today, but instead of not posting at all, here you go:

It has come to my attention that there are some things I'm just never going to be able to do. This list includes:

- balancing my checkbook, thanks to the wonderful world of debit cards

- washing the dishes right after dinner

- putting my bag anywhere but the kitchen counter

- folding a fitted sheet (I just CAN'T DO IT. Michael does it perfectly. How??)

- not watching romantic comedies with sappy endings

- washing my car

- following politics, even though I know I should

There are, however, some things I'm pretty good at. For example:

- walking in heels

- folding towels (that's right, my towels look fabulous)

- memorizing quotes from Friends

- updating my blog (you're welcome)

- recapping exactly what happened on Gilmore Girls

I know. The important things in life.

**UPDATE**

Because my mother thinks I sound vapid, I must clarify. I do follow my banking, just online. I check my bank statement. I know how much money I have and where it's going. Also, I know what's going on in the world. I watch the news, I read the paper. I know about who I vote for and why. I just don't find politics all that interesting. OK?

In the Mood for Some Randomness? Yeah, You Are.

*I am not a morning person. I have never been a morning person, nor will I ever be a morning person. If left to sleep in I usually wake up around 8:30 anyway. Not wasting any precious time, people.

I can do the whole get-up-for-work thing. Somehow I actually manage to get everything done in an hour and out the door on time. But today? Today was not a usual day. Today was Get To Work An Hour Early Day for an all-staff meeting. Yaaaay.

Let me just tell you, even showering and making my lunch the night before did not make getting up an hour earlier any easier. Because, did you know it's DARK at 6 a.m.? And cold? And I had to wake the dog up because even HE was still sleeping!! Um, yeah. The only time I see 6 a.m. is when I open my eyes and groggily look and the clock and think "mmm, one more hour," before zonking back out. One hour apparently makes a huge difference. And three cups of caffeinated tea? Only makes you pee. A lot. So now I'm tired. And a little cranky. So I will complain to you.

*My boss is taping a segment on the Montel Williams Show today. (About our place of business, not because he's someone's baby's daddy. Well, he is...but he's, like, married to her and stuff....)
Did you know that show was still on? It is. In all it's glory. Yesterday we spent some time deciding what he should wear to the taping. He decided on a shirt and tie and looked very presentable and camera-ready.

But if I were on the Montel Show? I'd totally go Lycra jumpsuit. Way more appropriate for when I confront the audience members.

"Shut yo mouth! You don't even know me! I look good! I look good! Look at you! You don't even know me!"

OK....so that's more Jenny Jones. Or Ricki Lake. (Ricki! Ricki! Ricki!) Where did all the good TV go?

* I had to pick a speaker up at the airport the other day. While I was waiting for him an old man in full lederhosen walked by me. Then he stopped. And turned around. And hit on me. An old man. In LEDERHOSEN.

Better watch out, Michael.

I Said "Ketchup Only!"

Freaking Panera Bread.

Every time I go there they get my order wrong. Every. Single. Time. Someone please explain to me what is so difficult about NO ONIONS on a sandwich.

I know she heard me. I placed my order and she nodded while repeating "no onions." What the hell.

At least this time it was easily fixable. I begrudgingly pulled the onions off. I've been there before when they just botch the entire sandwich leaving no resemblance to what I originally ordered. And it's not even just one store. I've been to one in a different part of the state that does the exact same thing.

I'm not picky. I just like things the way I like things. The blog title is in reference to a late night Wendy's run in college where I very specifically ordered ketchup only on my cheeseburger. You can guess how that turned out.

I can't say I'll just stop going, because I won't. The food is good.

Is it too much to ask to have it be right?

Choices, Choices

I hate getting food from a place where the menu is up on the wall and you have to wait in line to order. It's not the waiting in line that bothers me. It's the ordering.

Looming in front of you is this giant board with hundreds (OK, maybe tens) of choices. And if this isn't an establishment you frequent often, you're going to need a minute (or five) to figure out what you want.

The problem is that the staff never gives you that minute. As soon as you walk in it's all "Can I help you?" or "What can I get for you?" Never "Just give me a holler when you're ready!" or something to that effect.

So here you are, sweating bullets as five staff members stare at you, willing you to make a decision NOW and you're all flustered because you don't know what you want and WHY ARE YOU PRESSURING ME?!!!!

And THEN, when you've made up your mind and are ready to enjoy your delicious breakfast sandwich/doughnut/ice cream cone.....there's no one to help you.

Where did they go? Where are the five eager faces ready to help assemble the breakfast sandwich, bag the doughnut or scoop the ice cream? Gone. Busy with the family of six, cleaning the tables, refilling the napkin holders.

So you wait. And you look at the menu. And now maybe you want that ice cream instead because you really like chocolate chunks and this one promises lots of chunks and.....

"Can I help you?????"

And the cycle continues.

15 Minutes of Pain

You know what would be really awful? To be one of those people featured on the news as "America's Obesity Problem."

You're going about your morning, eating your breakfast, ironing your pants (not necessarily at the same time) when BAM! Smack on the screen is your midsection, the CNN ticker gliding over your knees.

There's no mistaking it's you. How many people really own that Larry, Mo and Curly tee-shirt? (No, seriously. How many? They need to be confiscated.) Would other people know it's you? Would you care?

Or what if you were featured in the "Don'ts" section of Glamour? Sure, you thought the tapered, acid wash jeans cinched around your middle, giving you the ever popular "muffin top" was sexy. Yes, the neon, cropped, mesh shirt was popular. In 1986. And where did you ever find a mini-backpack these days? (Mine was black with a brown suede flap. I'm really impressed you found a clear plastic one...they were tough to come by.)

You made these choices. You thought you were styling. Would you consider your 15 minutes in Glamour to be a good thing?

Me? I would be mortified. The prospect of being on the news, for any reason, freaks me out. There is a chance that with the nature of my job this could one day occur. I'm so not looking forward to that.

Good thing I no longer wear red high-tops with Tweety Bird on them.

What? You didn't wear those? Yeah, um, me neither.....

The Great Cereal Debate

I've mentioned I don't like grocery shopping. But it's inevitable. Eventually I have to break down and go. Today was that day.

It wasn't going to badly. I started off getting a parking spot relatively close to the entrance. My cart did not have a squeaky, off kilter wheel. Only one of the guys behind the deli counter was staring and it wasn't the usual icky guy with the neck acne.

Fruits and vegetables? Check. (Healthy choices, healthy choices!) Chicken? Check. 27 different kinds of drinks because Michael is always thirsty and we go through them like it's our job? Check.

Doritos. ON SALE!!! Mmmmm cheesy, crunchy goodness. No. No, no, no! Walk away from the Doritos. Phew...that was close.

And then...the cereal aisle. I reach for my usual box of Special K with almonds. But wait! So many other choices! Do I want the Maple Frosted Mini-Wheats? What about the Cracklin' Oat Bran? Or the 3,000 different [Brand] CRUNCH!? (I mean, seriously, does everything need to be crunchy now? Does that crunch really make it that much better?)

And what does Michael want? Do I get one we both like an risk not having enough for a bowl at the end of the week? Or do I get him one of his own? And which one? And why are they all so expensive?

The struggle continues for a good three or four minutes. I am literally pacing the aisle back and forth....from Post to General Mills. Back and forth, back and forth. What do I do?

A lone mother with a cart full of three rowdy toddlers makes it in and out of the aisle with no trouble. What is my problem? This is easy. JUST MAKE A CHOICE!

Ok! Quaker Oat Squares for me, Maple Frosted Mini-Wheats for Michael.

Oat Squares? When have you ever bought Oat Squares? Is this logical? Is this really the best decision????? I slowly back out of the aisle.

Ugh. I hate grocery shopping.

I Know You Know I Know

Message received this morning:

"Hi Molly, this is Donna calling from [dentist's] office. Just calling to confirm your appointment for Thursday. Please confirm you got this message by calling to confirm your appointment. Thank you."

So what do I say?

"I'm calling to confirm your message confirming my confirmed appointment?"

The Wrong Words

For as long as I can remember there have been some words I don't like. It's not the connotation of the word, rather the way it sounds.

Some examples:
Moist
Mound
Crevice Lozenge
Bovine
Junk
Ointment
Unit

My friends think this is funny. They will even form sentences using as many of the words from the list as they can.

"The bovine had a lozenge stuck in his moist crevice." (Thank you, Brian.)

Or Michael will stretch out a word slowly and irritatingly until it makes me want to cringe. "Unit. Uuuuunit. Uuuuuuuuuuuuunit."

The worst is when I'm not prepared. I was once in a setting with people I didn't know and a woman offered me a lozenge. In my head I'm thinking, why not cough drop? Who really says lozenge anyway? But I couldn't say anything so I politely declined. Then she proceeded to offer up lozenges to people all around me. Lozenge. Over and over again. Lozenge? Would you like a looozzzzenge? LOZENGE!!!

Does anyone else have this problem?

Deli Delights

Seen while waiting at the deli counter:

A woman orders the two most disgusting looking (and sounding) meats available: olive loaf and head cheese.

Olive loaf. Pretty self explainable. A loaf of meat with olives nestled into it.

Head cheese. (Just say that out loud.....oh....ew....so gross.....)

A jellied loaf or sausage made from chopped and boiled parts of the feet, head, and sometimes the tongue and heart of an animal, usually a hog.

That's exactly what it looks like, too. Head cheese. Head cheese???? There are a few really nasty images that conjure up at the sound of that. There's not even any cheese in it. I mean, why not head loaf? Or variety loaf? Yeah, variety loaf. That doesn't sound too bad.

Variety loaf: a sampling of rare pieces of meat combined into a loaf.

Ugh...I still wouldn't want to eat it.

What Not to Wear

While taking a walk around the grounds I noticed three couples that were wearing matching outfits.

Couple #1: Black polos, jeans, sneakers. Child's outfit did not match the parents'.

Couple #2: Green tee-shirts (one sage green, one lime green...ugh), khaki shorts, brown sandals.

Child was wearing a striped green shirt.

Couple # 3: Bright Orange shirts. Woman in a tee-shirt, man in a tank top. Black shorts. Baby in an orange onesie, completing the pumpkin patch.

Is this normal? Do these couples discuss what they're going to wear ahead of time or is this something that comes with being in a couple. Do Michael and I dress alike and not even know it?

The Great Pumpkin family could not have been an accident.

What would Stacey and Clinton say?!