i am no good at making decisions.

and yet? i've been given a choice.

it's either this:



or this:


j is being sent to Cabo San Lucas for work (oh, woe to him... my poor husband... being sent to paradise..) and he can take me with him. however, if i go with him, it means that we cannot get the puppy we've been considering. this isn't that puppy, but it's super close.

decisions, decisions....

It turns out I married a 10-year-old (but, apparently, so did my sister)

Ever since the Pretend Husband and I got a Wii, we've used it in moderation. Sometimes we'd play a couple of nights in a row, then it would sit for a few nights. That is, until Kat's lil sis and her husband got one and kat's lil bro-in-law figured out how to go online and play against the PH.

And they haven't stopped playing since. Last weekend, they played for at least four hours straight (I lost track because I finally went to bed), taking a break only when Peyton needed a diaper change while lil bil was on baby duty.

And lil sis and I agree that it's getting a little out of hand... especially the trash talking (or actually, "trash texting.") There are a lot of "F" you's that go back and forth and the latest is that one of them texts or calls the other to tell them to "suck it." (When did I become my husband's mother because I find myself having to tell him to watch his language!)

But the best was lil bil's text message the other night after he got beat by the PH. The text talked about what he did wrong and how he'll win next time and ended with, "i'm so mad i can't sleep. i hope you fall out of the bed tonight."

Well, at least he kept it clean.

Dad, when I wrote "sex," it was code for "praying"

My dad called last night and said, "Tell the Pretend Husband I made some great soup from the turkey carcass he gave me."

I said, "Wait. Did you just call him the Pretend Husband? Do you read my blog?"

Dad said, "Yes, I read it all the time."

And then I died. The End.

Holy cow, my dad reads this blog?!? Even this post? And this? Oh no! Not this one, I hope! (I'm kind of hoping my dad doesn't know about clicking on links!)

Somehow, despite my begging my family and friends to read our blog, and pretty much plugging it every chance I get (I sent out an email telling people I was engaged, but linked to the blog if they wanted to read the whole story), I kind of figured no one had taken me up on the offer. Then, slowly, I have started getting comments that freak me out at first (how does my friend from college/neighbor/aunt know about that?!?) until they explain they have been reading but not commenting (you sneaky buggers, you!)

But my dad?!? I had no idea! I asked him, "Do you, um, feel like you know more about me than you ever wanted to know?" and he said, "Yes, and about [Kat's lil sis] too." (Ha, ha, Kat's lil sis! Now do you regret writing about your cervix?)

So, knowing that my dad reads this blog, I will now be writing about nothing but my church attendance, volunteering at soup kitchens, saving kittens from fires and that time I meant to wear black slacks, but got all the way to work before discovering-- ha ha!-- that I had put on my navy blue ones.

OK, I'm kidding. I will get over this shortly and be back to my usual raucous self. And really, SJ should be the one who is embarrassed. At least I never discussed nipples with my mother-in-law!

Oscar Night: Someone get the popcorn.

I don't usually do this kind of blog. And by usually, I mean ever.

I decided since my original Oscar night plans fell through, it doesn't mean the glamour has to be missed (was going to attend glamorous party in fantastic blue retro inspired dress, but j and I are having a rough weekend. and he's leaving for KC first thing in the a.m.). So because of this, I chose to bake and stay home and record my thoughts via text (to various friends, but notably, our blogger friends -- Poor, Pat. It must be annoying for someone who doesn't watch many movies but has much to say about people's outfits to randomly text you.) and Twitter, where I laughed out loud at our friend Andy.

I didn't watch any of the red carpet stuff until we got home. I turned in at 8 p.m. Now, I love me some Oscar fashions. Mostly, I am jealous. Mostly, I envy their perfect size 2 figures.

However. That said, I also think that if I had their budgets and figures, I could do better.

See?

I figured, no sense letting this great outfit go to waste. So I'm dressed up, old Hollywood style. It seems only right.

My initial thoughts on fashion:
Someone has stolen the sleeves off of Kate Winslett and Marissa Tomei's dresses.
Daniel Craig has to stand 10 feet away from Carrie.. I mean SJP in order to give enough room to her dress.
Jessica Biel, fire your stylist.
Amy Adams - love that necklace.
Anne Hathaway. Meh. Looks like Xanadu - the ballet.
The girl from Mamma Mia looks awesome.
The girl from High School Musical looks like someone went a little crazy with the bows.
Tilda Swinton is really beautiful. Last year, she scared me a little.
Angelina Jolie could probably wear a bag and look awesome.
Mickey Rourke scares me this year.
The girl from Slumdog Millionaire looks gorgeous.
Reese also looks like her dress changed its mind. It was going to have wide straps. And then, no. Narrow straps.


Other Oscar moments:
I was so hoping for song and dance with Hugh Jackman. He didn't disappoint.
FTW: did SJP actually introduce Matthew Broderick to an interviewer? Say what?
I forgot Roy Scheider died.
And I also forgot about Richard Widmark.
And the girl from Gone With the Wind.
And Cid Charese!
I was wondering what happened to the Heath picture, and then I figured they must have done something last year, because he died in January 2008.
"Wow. Slumdog Millionaire won again."

And granted, they're not over yet. But I'm going to guess that Slumdog wins best picture, and go to bed. I am hoping that Kate Winslett wins. Because she's awesome.

Let me know if I was wrong about Slumdog. I'm heading to bed.

Please assure me bad things only come in twos and not threes...

This morning, on my way to work, about 13 seconds after I thought, “Man, what a great day I’m having. I’m so lucky to have such a good life,” a rock was kicked up by the van in front of me and hit my windshield, causing a pretty big ding in the glass. (Yes, I’m a dork for having my own little hallelujah sessions and I can’t even get too mad about the van because it was a Red Cross van delivering blood so how evil would I be for being angry at it, right?)

Then, I got to my office, went to turn on my light… and not only blew out the light bulb and kicked off the battery backup on my computer, but I blew a fuse.

I should not be allowed anywhere near small children today.

(Dudes, just to be clear, this doesn’t even come close to qualifying as a bad day. I just thought it was funny that the two events happened within 30 minutes of each other. And it’s made me be a little more cautious today. But I forgot to mention that when I went to find a replacement light bulb in the office storage closet, I instead found a box of chocolates that looked as thought it had been there since Valentine’s Day… 2005. But it still had a few pieces left, so score!)

what I do when my husband isn't home part 2

i sent this pic to my husband who had to work on monday. i did not. i also informed him that i picked up the dog poop in the yard and reminded him we had plans for dinner with KAT and SRG and their hubbies.



he told me i was the best wife ever. i think, however, if he had other wives, i probably wouldn't retain that title. and we probably wouldn't be married.

as for dinner? such a great time. as always. i love SRG and KAT oodles, mostly because they are fun and don't pick on me for wearing renaissance outfits and singing to twos of people. oh wait. they *do* pick on me for that. but i love them anyway. silly bitches.

current itunes song: "all my friends" LCD Soundsystem featuring Franz Ferdinand

We turn the thermostat all the way up to 64 for guests!

If I had to sum up the FunnyGal KAT family in two words, they would be frugal (or "cheap") and disorganized. Some of it can be blamed on a very expensive house renovation that has us still living out of boxes, but we're going to have to take responsibility for the rest.

On Friday, the Pretend Husband noticed that our oil tank was almost empty. When I called the oil company, I was told they couldn't come out to fill it until Monday. So we spent the weekend keeping our fingers crossed we wouldn't run out of oil. Oh, and trying to conserve oil... by keeping the thermostat at 58 degrees (it's usually not above 62 so it wasn't a huge sacrifice).

I just called the PH, who had the day off from work today, to make sure the oil was delivered.

PH: Yes, the guy came a little while ago.

Me: OK, what I want you to do is... jack the heat up to 75 about an hour before I get home. We're living it up tonight!

Don't be a hater, yo

Oh man, all you single people are going to be soooo jealous when you hear how awesome married life is! I mean, you might be feeling like your Valentine's Day plans to go out to dinner with a group of friends or rent sappy movies and eat ice cream are lame, but wait until you hear what the Pretend Husband has planned for us. We are going to spend all of Valentine's Day... are you ready for this?.... are you sure?.... here goes... cleaning out the garage!

OK, settle down, he's mine and you can't have him. Before the PH finds out I'm mocking him on the blog, I'll be fair and tell you all that we agreed not to do anything special for Valentine's Day this year... well, except wait until all the candy goes on clearance and then stuff ourselves full of chocolate-- that's romantic, isn't it?

And the cleaning out the garage plans aren't that lame because they mean our renovation is almost over! The majority of our furniture has been stacked in the garage since our family and friends put it there on moving day and we've been living out of boxes ever since. We've been slowly moving things into the house as we finish different rooms, but this will be the last of what we need (except the kitchen stuff, but don't ask me about that unless you're ready to pick up the pieces of brain after my head explodes in frustration...)

And the best part? Cleaning all the stuff out of the garage means we'll be able to park our cars in there. No more chipping ice off the windshield, no more frozen bottles of water on the front seat, no more risking my life to skate across the driveway to my car. Yay! So, actually, I guess the PH is giving me a usable garage for Valentine's Day which, if I'm honest, is way better than flowers and a card anyway.

From SJ to SJ

Dear Ass,

I'm really sorry I fell on you today when attempting to walk down the stairs.

In my defense, you should be smaller, then you'd be easier to haul around.

Love,
SJ

***
Dear Feet,

WTF? Why must you always let me down? Do I not provide you with the finest in fashionable footwear? Do I not limit the amount of times I wear high heels out of respect for your feelings?
And this is how you repay me?

Not cool, feet.

Sincerely,
SJ

***
Dear Mind,

I don't know where you've gone to, but I wish you'd come back.

I'm lost without you.

Yours,
SJ

Important Work Memo

Note to self: The word "pooch" sounds an awful lot like the word "cootch" so you might want to think twice about yelling at the man at work who just asked you how your cootch is doing in case he really said pooch. I'm just sayin'

For the record, I did think twice and stopped short of describing my last visit to the gynecologist to some random dude. But, seriously, perhaps next time he could just say "dog"?

SJ's Adventures in Animal Husbandry

So I was in 4H as a child, as I've previously discussed. You'd think that would have prepared me for my afternoon adventures pimping out rabbits.

It didn't.

What's that, you ask? You want me to elaborate on pimping out rabbits?

You asked for it.

J and I stopped by to visit my parents, like we try to do every weekend. Only this time, on our way out to the little barn in back, dad asked us to "breed the bunnies."

me: "Wait, what?"
dad: "You were a 4H-er."

I was. But for the record, my trophies were in Wood Working and Flower Arranging.

Ergo, comedy ensues.

We figured really, how hard can it be? Put the male bunny into the female bunny's hutch, and let them have at it. We figured that can't be hard. So we take the black (male) bunny, and put it into the hutch of the white with black female lop bunny. My goal here was to try and get a black lop bunny out of the deal. I realize there's a science here, but, I was kind of more relying on the fact that there are only two colors at work here, and one black bunny plus one black and white bunny equals at least one black bunny.

J holds up on the hutch as I grab the black bunny and put him into the hutch of the shy black and white bunny. I felt badly. I mean. I should have at least given her some flowers? Maybe turn on some music? Within 10 seconds, the black bunny was. Um. "Finished."

"Do you think they want to cuddle?" J asked.
The black bunny stomped his haunches. I scolded him. "That is *not* how you win her love and affection."

All in all, the first one went off without a hitch. I wasn't sure, however, if I should have put a curtain up so the other female couldn't see what was going on.

As it turns out, I probably should have.

Next we tried to mate the male grey bunny with the other lop - a pretty white with brown and grey spots. Let me just stipulate that my father swears that the lops were both female.

So imagine my surprise when I put the grey male in and the lop mounts him immediately. He didn't so much as put up a fight! We were floored. Not as floored, however, as when the male then mounted the female's head.

"They're doing it wrong!"
"What do we do?"
"Get him! I feel like I'm watching Oz!"

We let them go. um. after each other a few more times. And then the two of them laid down in the corner.

"OH MY GOD! They're cuddling!"
"He's gay."
"He's NOT GAY! He's sensitive."

Finally, without a small degree of scurrying, I managed to grab the grey one and put him back in his hutch.

And then we had to explain this to my parents. Which, honestly, can be a little awkward. Go ahead. I dare you. Try to explain the concept of the male mounting the female's head to your mother.

"I know what it's called when *humans* do it... but..."

All in all, I'm not sure I'm cut out to run a bunny brothel. I think maybe next time, I'll leave it to the experts.

He's Just Not That Into You

In honor of this movie coming out today (and yes, I will be going to see it opening weekend because a) I love me a good chick flick and b) I may be able to relate to some of these characters), I thought I'd come up with my own list of Ways to Tell if he's just not that into you.

I'd like to point out that hindsight is 20/20, and had I actually been able to have an out of body experience in my past dating life, it would have been a little easier on me because I could have given myself tips. Or I never would have dated anyone, and would be alone living with several rabbits (because I'm not much of a cat person) and maybe would have learned to knit.

So, here are my tips based on real life events that I've dealt with at some point in my dating history for evaluating just how into you he really is. If at all. In my estimation. Which could be way off. And in fact, probably is.

1) You meet him for a blind/internet/random date. Thankfully, I've met most of my ex boyfriends in person and didn't really deal with the uncomfortable blind datey-ness. But I dealt with it enough to know that if he is avoiding eye contact, checking out the waitress or any other female in the room and constantly looking at his phone, he's probably not into you.

2) You have a date. He calls with a lame excuse and asks to cancel. And doesn't call back. Probably not into you.

3) He is a famous movie star who starred as Mr. Darcy in the BBC verion of Pride and Prejudice. You are a schoolmarmish yet attractive bookworm from Connecticut who's idea of a good time is playing Boggle in a coffee shop or scrabble over a bottle of wine. He's probably not into you.

4) You have a total connection. You like him. He likes you. You're certain of it. You click. You have a great makeout session. He calls you one month later to tell you sorry. He's been busy with work. Chances are? He's not into you. Maybe you are not the fantastic makeout queen you think you are. But then you make out with someone else, and realize, no. You are. He's just not that into you.

5) You throw up on him. He asks you to marry him. Ding Ding! He *is* into you.

Really, what it comes down to is that there is no accounting for chemistry. I cannot explain it, having dated a swath of either side of the dating spectrum.

It's not about looks (although, it's oddly true that only one of my past love interests has had perfect vision -- I seem to dig guys with four eyes), or height, or intelligence -- although I have my preferences. There's just something that clicks with a person -- even with friends.

Some people you like, some people you don't. And if you try (AHEM, my dearest friend whom I affectionally call 'pea') to understand why, you'll drive yourself crazy.

I say this, of course, immediately after having 231 conversations with various friends about all of these situations. Except maybe number 3. I realize that if Colin Firth ever met me, he'd totally fall in love with me. I've already warned J that he'd better stop discussing our marital issues with random waitresses.

And really. Knowing that he's just not into me? Just not enough.

I can't believe I don't get invited to more parties!

Just another Tuesday night with the Pretend Husband...

More love letters from SJ

I know, right? How freaking lazy can I be? I post like once a week, make a mad dash for your blogs, comment and then abandon the blogosphere? In truth, I have not. I'm a little busy lately with stuff, including a number of freelance consulting projects.... and that's the last work word I vow to use in this post.

Instead, I give you:

Dear Mother Nature,

Seriously? What? Have you had a really bad period for the past 3 months and we all should suffer? How else can you explain the Minnesota weather in Connecticut? I understand that it's winter and I live in New England. But cool it with the commuting-time piss poor weather. I drive a Volkswagen, Mom. I don't have the fortitude to crush large snow banks in it.

Thanks!

Love,
sj

***
Dear Manufacturers of my awesome rubber boots,

You, sirs and madams, deserve heaps of praise. I can't believe that I can wear rubber boots with cute little cherries on them in New York and no one points and laughs. It's awesome. You're awesome. You and your pretty patterned boots are all super.

Granted, when I was on the Metro North train from Darien to GCT, I was getting some funny looks from the super trendy girl in the 4 inch stiletto boots. And I was alarmed that she may have snapped my picture to show up on Don't Spotting and therefore stalked that site everyday for fear of public derision. But no. As it turns out, my boots *were* super-cute and totally appropriate for the weather.

So thanks!

Hugs and kisses,
Warmfooted SJ

***
Dear KAT,

It was awesome to hang with you guys on Friday night. I laughed so hard, as I always do when I'm with you -- it was truly good times. And do you like how I pretended I couldn't possibly eat that entire chocolate chip cookie sandwich and then wolfed the entire thing down? Yeah. That was convincing. I thought so too.

You are super fantastic friends and I'm so glad I share a blog with you. I'm glad for other things too -- like how we can go outlet mall shopping together, or go to the casino together and play penny slots while the boys play poker... like maybe next Sunday? What are your thoughts?

Sincerely,
SJ

If anyone from Child Protective Services is reading this, I swear it's not indicative of my ability to care for children...

I made chocolate chip cookies the other night and, of course, one of my favorite parts of the process is where I get to snack on the raw dough. As I did, I started thinking about other types of baked goods that are delicious even in raw form and thought about how fun it would be to let my kids lick the spoon while we baked together.

But then I remembered a blog I read where the writer posted a photo of her kid licking the batter off a spoon and people fah-reaked the heck out. OMG! Salmonella! Your child is going to die!

C'mon, really? Is this something we should be worrying ourselves silly about? You, how many times did you end up in the hospital near death as a child because your mom let you lick the spoon that may or may not had some raw egg residue on it? Oh, that many? Really? Wow.

OK, you're not a good example. Let's take me, for example. It never happened to me. I ate all sorts of things as a kid and did all sorts of things and got (mildly) injured in all sorts of manners (we joke that my parents could only afford to send two of their three kids to college, so it was survival of the fittest to see who survived childhood and got to go). And, eh. 

Let the kids have a little batter, I say. It's not like any of us know anyone who died from it. Oh wait, you do? Three people? Remind me never to use you as an example again.