My family is on vacation, remember?

Well yesterday morning I got an email from my dad’s work account. I guess he was just checking in with office stuff. It was a short email, almost entirely work related- and a little on the tacky side. Okay.. a lot on the tacky side.

I reply back. Nothing bad really, just a response to the email.

About 2 minutes later I get my dad’s Auto Responder that says he’s on vacation and all mail is being forwarded to his coworker until he gets sent back.

Opps.

I tried to recall the message, but I was too late.

I bet that guy got a real kick out of reading an email string that wasn’t intended for him. He sure knows my dad’s opinions now that’s for certain!

How embarrassing.

I think we’ve all learned a valuable lesson here. 

I’ve learned a lot of very valuable lessons during my short stay on this Earth. For example- typewriters do not have spell check, you still look the exact same way even if you turn a mirror upside down, and you should never ever wear two different pairs of shoes to school (<- that last one is another story for another time).

As you can see, I've acquired a lot of wisdom throughout my years (ha). Today, my friends, I'd like to pass along a morsel of knowledge that I hope you embrace:

Be careful what you complain about. Your husband may end up being thoughtful.

Let me explain.

Two nights ago Will got home and went straight to the computer. I barely got a hello out of the guy. I quickly realized what was quickly approaching. The Fantasy Football Draft. I'll spare you the details. Rest assure I'll cover it many times in the near future. I've tried to be proactive throughout the years of our marriage, so I thought it would be fun if we did a league together. That means last year Will had three leagues- two of his own and one that was "ours."

Guys, I quickly realized how much I hated this "ours" business. Being a fantasy owner sucks. If you take it seriously like Will (ha- I don't have to tell you how fanatical he is with this stuff), you spend hours doing mach drafts, reading fantasy football magazines, and logging onto KFFL to see how your players are doing.

It's insane I tell you! It's like having another freaking job!

So, all last season I "played" fantasy football with Will. He would suggest something and I'd say, "Yeah! I've been researching that too, and I agree!" Of course he knew I was lying. Research football stuff for a fantasy football league? Pft. Please.

By the end of the season I was just a cheerleader telling him I hope he had a successful week. The days of being actively involved were long gone- and I was relieved.

So, let's get back to what happened 2 nights ago when Will came home.

Will was immersed in this mach draft. His eyes were glued to the screen, his fingers were flipping through his fantasy magazines, his entire focus was football. There was no amount of nakedness or fake news that was going to break his concentration.

That's when the pouting began.

"Why aren't we doing this together anymore? This used to be our thing, remember?”

We then got into a discussion about our old league and how it was good bonding time for us, etc. I didn’t think much of our talk after that night. In my mind I came to grips with the fact that fantasy football was Will’s thing, and while it was nice that I tried to be supportive and play along, it just didn’t work.

Until last night.

Will came home all cheery and proud. “I did something nice for you!” he said.

“You did!? What did you do?”

“I’ll have to show you. It’s on the computer! I was thinking about you today.”

My first thought was that he was going to surprise me and book one of these places during our Minneapolis trip. Of course, that would be the logical thing.

Rule #1- there is no such thing as logical when dealing with a football fan.

We get on the computer and he tells me to close my eyes. When he announces “open them!” I do and…

(drumroll)

It’s our very own fantasy football league!

(cheers and applause...not)

He was so proud, and all I could say was, “Aw! Thanks, you shouldn’t have!”

Really.

He then went into how this used to be something we shared and after my comment the night before he wanted us to have one together again- one I would actually participate in.

So- to motivate me to actually research and try to do well do you know what he did?

He bought us a $250 league!

I was so annoyed. I won’t even tell you how much that means he’s spending on fantasy football this year. The thought makes me feel sick to my stomach.

Why!?

WHY would he spend that much on a league when he knows I don’t care!? Why couldn’t we do a $50 league like his others, or heck- a free Yahoo one!

Uh- probably because I whined about it the night before.

He wanted to do something really sweet and shelling out $250 was nicer than saying, “Hey babe- I signed you up for a Yahoo League. You can use my screename and password to log yourself in!” Plus, he knew I wouldn’t bother. He’s a smartie. He’s locked me into fantasy football for a season now.

I’m sure that was his evil plan all along- Muuuahahahahahaha.

Rule #2- Fantasy Owners are not logical. Wait… I already said that…

So, I’m now the proud owner of OUObsessionIV (uh- no, I didn’t pick the name. You can thank Will for that one.).

You’d think I would have learned by now, but I just keep coming back for more.

So, the moral of the story is: It’s perfectly fine to tell your husband his hobby makes you want to kill over and die. It simply protects you from having to be apart of it.

Sigh, at least we’ll have lots of quality time together. It was really cute that he did it. I guess I should focus on that.

I’m off to enjoy the weekend. Let’s hope I have fun on this double date of ours!

<3

There’s something about a slutty dessert, shamelessly displayed in all supermarkets and menus across the world, that gets me all hot and bothered.

The dinner ends, and (as usual) I am still certain I can put away more than what I’ve just eaten (that’s all thanks to specific satisfaction-or some crap like that. It has to do with how your brain can tell your body it’s full of one item, but still be hungry for another. See? Now you have an excuse to eat dessert for the rest of your life.). Getting the dessert menu, holding it in my hands. Carefully paying attention to all the lustfully written descriptions, and finally eyeing the perfect dessert and deciding, “You. Tonight I want you.” Then anticipating the moment when the server finally presents me with what I had anxiously desired all evening. In the words of our dear- and ever so slightly disturbed- friend Paris Hilton, “That’s Hot.”

I’ve always had a love affair with desserts. Don’t worry, Will has known for a while. He’s done all he can, but has come to accept the fact that he is married to a woman with two loves.

Aside from a few things such as Orlando Bloom, black Range Rovers, cold rainy days, and Will- desserts might just be the sexiest freaking things on earth.  I mean really- can anything get a person fired up like a Godiva Cheesecake?! I think not.

Today, I was faced with a temptation that was much too hard to resist. I went into the PX to buy a box of Wheat Thins- because, as I mentioned before, I walk around with a box under my arms at all times:

Blow drying my hair,

Petting Boz and Lucy,

Showering (I hang one arm outside the curtain)…

I’m getting off track.

Anyway- I went in to get a box of Wheat Thins. As I strolled down the aisle. I saw them. Suzy Qs.

My mom craved them throughout her pregnancy with me, and for some reason there seems to be this odd innate mechanism inside of me that must drop my whole world to the ground and have a Suzy Q anytime I can actually find them.

See, I’ve never been able to find any in Oklahoma. I’m not sure why. Maybe because of all the porn laws or something- Suzy Qs are quite racy, you know. Every know and then I could find them at the Wonder Bread outlet my town had (and then freaking closed), but not always. Finding a Suzy Q in Oklahoma USA is like trying to find an umbrella in Kuwait .

But there it was, glossy clear wrapped with little smudges of cream protruding from the sides. Sitting on the rack, calling to me. I start panicking because I know the consequences of eating a Suzy Q- 440 calories and a pudgy stomach for the rest of the day- not to mention creme filling all over my face and nubby little fingers.

I quickly looked away and thought to myself, “No, Brittny. You musn’t (Yes- I actually said musn’t).” I walk further down the aisle, but they kept drawing me in. Staring me down. Suffocating me in the aisle. I grabbed two boxes of Wheat Thins and started my trek down the aisle, trying to avoid the Suzy Qs at all costs, but them some crazy force just came over me and before I knew it “swish!” my arm had taken control of the rest of my body and just snatched a package before I could even say, “Arm! What the crap do you think you’re doing!?!”

It was too late, I couldn’t refuse the Suzy Q now. I was already involved. I had to finish what I had started. I made my purchase and headed to the car. I went with a coworker, but she wasn’t finished. I sat in the car all alone with the AC blowing and decided:

It was time.

Eating a Suzy Q- or just about any dessert for that matter- is a very calculated thing for me. It’s crucial to appreciate every single moment you’re involved in the act. It was a million degrees, I was sweating all over myself and didn’t seem to mind. I looked around to be sure one could interrupt this ceremonial occassion. The coast was clear.

I gently unwrapped the package and ate every last bite of my Suzy Q- using surgeon-like hands and being extra attentive to every single smudgy piece of the cake. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t even make a mess. I almost always have crumbs ground into my shirt and, as I mentioned before, creme filling smeared everywhere. The fact that I had accomplished a perfectly non-messy eating of my Suzy Q just drove home the point that I was in face supposed to have one today. To put it bluntly- we were created for each other.

Yes, I admit it. Dessert eating borderlines a sexual encounter. Ha, although I wouldn’t go as far as this like Will does and OU football!

Sigh, I wish I had more time to discuss this matter. I have about 10 more paragraphs I feel the need to write. However, I must leave you now. I suppose I’ll save my food theories for another time. I’ve awakened your senses enough for one day.

This afternoon was fan-freaking-tastic. All because of a Suzy-Q.

Now all I have to do is manage to burn an extra 440 calories today. That will be fun. Oh the repercussions of lusty haste.

I’m off to enjoy my weekend (and hopefully some good dessert too!).

Friday morning I got the following text message from P:

Why don’t congressmen use bookmarks?

...

Because they just bend over the PAGES! Hahahahahahaha

When I got this text message I was confused. It was 7:30 a.m. on Friday morning (my “Sunday"), so I was still sleepy. I wondered why she asked me such a random question. I replied with:

I don’t know. To save money, maybe??

I didn’t hear back from her. I figured she was just venting for having to be a “coffee getter” or something.

However, this morning around 4:00 I was getting ready and thinking about P. I was thinking about the text messages I had gotten from her recently, that one in particular. It was then, at 4:00 in the morning, that it hit me.

I then totally laughed out loud and told her it took me 4 freaking days to get the joke. Ha ha. Nothing like a page’s political humor, right?

She couldn’t believe it took me that long to get it. Leave it to me.

I had a similar incident the other day. I came home to find a note on the table from our maid (yeah, yeah, shut up. It’s like 80 bucks a month here- you’d do it too) asking if she could change the day she comes. The letter said something to the effect of changing the day and “if you like send message so I know.”

I asked Will, “I wonder if our Indian maid watched the movie Clueless a lot.”

“Why would you ask that?”

“Well, because she wrote something a Valley Girl would- she said ‘If you’d, like, send a message so I can know changing is okay that would be totally rad and super!”

“No she didn’t. She’s still working on her English. She said it to mean, ‘ if you like the idea of me doing this, send me a message.”

We bantered back and forth, but I finally gave up and admitted Will was right. I still think it’s funnier to say she’s a Valley Girl though.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I (finally) finished transferring all my nest archives today. I feel very happy and satisfied that it’s finally over. I noticed I did a “Monday Update” post all the time. It was like (ha ha- “like.” sorry.) a staple during those days. I think I might implement it again, however perhaps it will be more of a Tuesday Update or something. I figure this is a way for me to slowly drive you all crazy with the boring mundane details of my life. What fun!! I was heavily tempted to begin this new (possible) tradition today, but I figure I will spare you- and warn you so you can run for the hills.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I got my Summer Swap gift in today!! I’m SO excited about it and I can’t wait to post about it tomorrow. That’s all I’ll say for today.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Okay, enough with the rambles. I hope you’re doing well and enjoying your morning. I’m anxious to head home and get tomorrow over so I can begin my extrememly thrilling (lie) and spontaneous (lie) weekend.

More to come…

<3

I sprayed Raid along the baseboards the night before last, being extra careful to make sure the dogs weren’t near it.

However, yesterday morning- in my mad rush to get ready- I sort of (yes, “sort of.” It makes me feel a little better instead of fully admitting what I moron I was) dropped the ball on monitoring the pups. I started hearing this noise but paid no attention. It continued for a few minutes, but I was still rushing around and not fully able to concentrate on anything else. I turned around and there’s Lucy, going to town on the baseboards. The noise was her licking the Raid off!

I seriously thought I was going to come home to a dead dog. I really thought she was going to be poisoned. I stressed all day long about what I would tell Will, and what would happen if she was sick. Turns out, she’s a freak of nature. She was totally fine. Although, she did cross her eyes and walk in circles a lot last night…

I still don’t think I’m ready for kids though. I’m having enough trouble keeping the doggies alive- can you imagine slapping a baby in my arms!?…

Electrical sockets that have pieces of a cover jammed into them

A gallon of bleach on the laundry room floor

Heavy doors that I slam all the time

Leaving the oven open

Guys- I’m a freaking mess!

Go ahead and call Child Protective Services. I know you want to. 

I’m supposed to be wearing a lightweight white sweater today.

However, as it turns out, I’m wearing more of an “orange-creme” sweater (the fancy color name makes me feel better).

I literally got dressed in the dark today.

Well, partially dressed, that is. I had everything on and was ready to go. I’m wearing a sleeveless shirt so I have to have something on top- a white sweater! Will was still sleeping when I got ready this morning, so I quietly grabbed the sweater, threw it on, and left. Afterall- I already knew what I looked like for the day. I just imagined that plus a white sweater. No need for a mirror check.

I got to work, did my normal thing for about 3 hours and then went to the bathroom. That’s when I realized what a disaster I was wearing! Apparently My white sweater got mixed in with the colors, because I’ll shades of oranges and reds. How in the world could I have missed that!? Even in the dark!?! It’s practically glowing. I’m like a walking orangey polk-a-dotted mess. Hmm, actually, it’s more of a tie-dye. It had a small comeback what, like 7 years ago? Sadly, however, I don’t think I can pull today’s look off as a fashion statement.

Note to self: Always, always get dressed with a light on.

***
PS- I also wanted to say thanks so much for the sweet and genuine words of encouragement when I needed it. I appreciate your thoughts so much. I felt so much better after reading what you had to say. It was also nice to meet some of the “lurkers (Hi Sara, Lydia, Megan! Well, Megan, I guess you don’t fully count. I hope you’re doing great!).” I feel a peace and a lot better about the whole thing. Thanks for listening.

I’m about to offend about 85% of you- so I apologize in advance. Please don’t hate me after reading this post. Simply agree. If you don’t agree, well, then I’m afraid I’ll have to come to your house and force compliance. This forced compliance I speak of will involve a lot of John Tesh cds and socks recovered from the army gym three weeks ago. For both our sakes- please, PLEASE agree.

I hate bluetooth ear pieces.

No, wait.

I DESPISE bluetooth ear pieces.

In fact- if you have one of those Secret Service freaking ear goiters in your ear right now, please, dispel of it right away.

Or at least until you’re done reading.

Guys- they’re driving me crazy!

Crazy, Crazy, Crazy!

Now- they’ve gotten on my nerves ever since they came out, but today- today I’ve been tempted to run up and down the halls of my work playing the role of the Ear Piece Bandit.

No wait- the Ear Piece Thief. That sounds even better.

Today I’ve fallen prey to the stupid freaking bluetooth ear pieces not once, but twice.

Maybe you poor souls have fallen prey to Attack of the Talking Ear Piece too?… If so I apologize.

I’ll tell you what happened during the 2nd attack. I call it The Accidental Join-in Attack.

I had to deliver a document to one of the “big wigs” in my company. I walked into his office with a friendly smile, information in hand.

He looked directly at me and said, “So what are you going to do about it?”

I gave him a look of confusion. “Well, I can set these on the table, if that will work.”

“That’s not good enough!” he replied.

I was baffled. Well! What the crap do you expect me to do!? Serve the papers at your feet while holding a tray of assorted grapes, cheeses, and olives!?!

“Well.. I could-” I began…

Ouch. I got the abrupt cut-off.

“Hang on. Someone is in my office” he said, clearly annoyed at my confusion. He took the papers, looked me in the eye. “Anything else?” he asked.

“No. Not at all.”

I turned around to leave but then stopped.

“Actually! There IS one thing you could do. You could warn someone that you’re on the phone for crying out freaking loud!! What a CRAZZZZY thought- right!?! I mean REALLY- you’re not THAT important. Can’t you hold the desk phone like all us “commoners” do? Ugh. This is your final warning. If I catch you pulling anymore Accidental Join-in Attacks on anyone else. Well, you don’t want to know what could happen.”

I then angrily stormed out.

...

Okay, I’m lying. The truth is that I really wanted to say that, but instead humbly said no and walked out of the office.

So you want to wear a fancy schmancy ear piece. Fine. But c’mon- can’t we establish some sort of social set of rules for these freaking things?

RULES! I NEED RULES PEOPLE!

I accept that these are becoming an “integral” part of society- like the cellphone, laptop, and jeans on Casual Fridays- but I think we need to monitor our freaking usage.

I mean, okay, so you want to talk and drive a car using both hands. Understandable. But really, do we have to have the ear piece glued to our face everytime we make a move?

I think ear piece wearers gotta let people know they’re on the phone the second non ear piece wearers start joining in on the conversation, innocently thinking you’re talking to them. We can’t fault the innocent Join-Ins for not knowing someone is on the phone.

I rest my case. I think we both know I could ramble on, but really- it’s not necessary.

Thanks, I feel better now. In fact, I feel a freaking extra-normal life update post in my future. Perhaps Wednesday.

A few weeks ago my ego suffered some trauma.

I’ve been anxious to post about the traumatic event, and time has finally allowed me the opportunity (ie: I’m way too lazy making an effort to breathe. Therefore the thought of Photoshopping my work badge out of the picture gave me an ice cream headache).

Will and I got to meet Drew Brees and Donnie Edwards, two very talented (and cute) NFL football players. Will was so excited the whole morning as we prepared to meet “the guys (yeah- I talk like we’re real life friends and swap low-carb recipes).” He even ordered an offical NFL football and had it sent here so he would be all ready for “the guys” to sign when we finally exchanged greetings.

We arrived, all smiley and ready to meet the guests of honor. Then we stood in line.

And stood

And stood

And stood some more

And I complained for a while

While standing

And then I told Will I had to go to the bathroom

No, Will, REALLY have to go to the bathroom

To which he said under no circumstance I was able to get out of line

Not even if God Himself told me too

But then he retracted and said ONLY if God Himself told me too.

Standing… Standing… Standing…

FINALLY we were next in line.

I told Will I was kind of nervous, to which he replied, “You’re weird.” I told him I had to know exactly how things would go down so I didn’t look or do something stupid. He finally realized I wasn’t kidding and that I actually was nervous and wanted to make sure I knew to hand Drew the ball with my right hand and shake with my left, or high five Donnie Edwards and tell him he totally rocks on the Chiefs instead of messing up and saying the Cowboys or something else offensive (like THE BEARS! ha ha, love you Mrs. BFW!).

We went over what I would do a couple times, and I felt pretty confident I couldn’t flub anything up. I would hand Drew the football while Will would shake Donnie Edward’s hand, and give him the poster to sign. We’d then switch.

Easy, right?

Right.

It was finally our turn. As Will and I were heading onstage to meet the guys, I ran into an old coworker- a photographer. He was taking pictures of the event and insisted he get a picture of Will and I with “the guys.”

But… but that wasn’t in the plan! I was thrown off.

We approached “the guys” and it went down like this:

I smile, hand Drew the football, Will does his thing, etc. Everything was perfect and smooth. I even confidently told them how Will specially ordered his football for their arrival. We even made small talk about Oklahoma. Everything was perfect. We were all going to be life long friends and their wives and I would go shopping while Will and the guys played flag football every Saturday. I could picture it all…

and then it happened.

A gargantuan horse fly started buzzing around. Flying, flying flying… And out of all the freaking places to land, all the places in the whole entire freaking world- ALL OF THEM!!- it lands on my lips.

I then flail it away, making annoying spitting sounds with my lips to ensure no fly remnants remained on my lips.

“Dude that fly almost went it your-”

“Say Superbowl!” The photographer exclaims.

We then smile as if no-man-eating fly ever attempted to swallow my face, take the picture, and then it starts again.

“Dude! That fly almost went in your mouth!” Donnie Edwards says.

“Yeah” I say, “What’s up with that!?” Sigh. There’s no way to pull the whole event off. Really, what was I supposed to say when I was getting clowned by Donnie Edwards?- “Maybe if you played as good as you talked the Chargers wouldn’t have gotten rid of you!”

“I guess that happens in the desert though, huh? Those crazy flies,” Donnie Edwards says- as if he really wants to drive it home that I had an embarrassing moment in front of him and Drew.

“Yep. Sometimes....” I say- gritting my teeth and smiling and dying to leave the premises. Did I mention a million soldiers were watching as this all went down?

“Drew! That fly almost went in her mouth!”

“I know, man,” Drew replies. I finally grab Will’s arm and yank him off stage.

Seriously- it was just a fly! Perhaps one the size of Drew Brees’ head- but IT WAS JUST A FLY!  Why did it have to be that big of a deal!?!

Who would have thought something as simply as shaking hands and getting an autograph would become such an ordeal!?

In fact- I think I should go to a Chiefs game and heckle him like he heckled me! “Hey Don Don! Duuuude! That ball totally went through your hands!”

Just a thought.

Anyhow, I’ve attached the infamous picture. You’d never know how embarrassed I was, or that Donnie Edwards totally went on and on about the fly that almost when in my mouth. Well, except for the bright red face.

Yet another reason to hate football.

Another B-Love Moment for the library.

We have little men and women that come around our offices and clean. We affectionately call them “the blue guys” because of their dark navy uniforms that you simply can’t miss in our arid, dusty brown scenery.

My coworker and I have made friends with our blue guy. Okay, not really, but we try to always be nice and say hello when he comes in. He only knows a few English words (they’re all from India, Bangladesh, etc.), but after slow-talking and making hand gestures long enough he usually gets what we’re saying.

Or fakes exceptionally well.

Occasionally people will pay the blue guy a few dollars to mop the floor, sweep the dust out of the office, etc (I have no idea why they aren’t required to do that anyway). Well, the other day one of my coworkers had the blue guy mop her office. Another one of the guys in our building came into our office and said, “How did she get Hajji to clean the floors?” We then explained the elaborate hand motions and slow talking you must use with the blue guy, and he finally caught on. “Great! Send Haji my way when he’s done!”

“His name is Hajji?” I ask. “I didn’t realize he actually spoke much. It’s nice that you can talk to him. I’ll have to remember his name so I can say hello the next time he comes.”

“Yeah, you should do that,” the guy said.

So, later that day I needed the blue guy- Hajji. I thought it was great that I actually knew his name.

I saw him a little off in the distance, so I called, “Hajji!”

He didn’t even flinch. He kept walking, his back towards me.

“Hajji!”

Nothing.

Finally I call, “HAAAAAAGEEEEEEE,” as if I’m calling for my long lost Calico.

He finally turns around, and with a puzzled look says (in his uber thick Indian accent- think the convenience store guy on the Simpsons), “My name is Sawatt!”

“Not Hajji?”

He violently shakes his head no.

“Huh.”

We finish our conversation. We finish our game of charades, and I head back to the office.

I told my coworker, “The blue guy’s name is Sawatt! I was yelling for him by the wrong name.”

“What were you yelling?”

“Hajji! That’s what J said his name was!”

Quiet pause.

Giant erruption of laughter.

....

3 minutes later-

“Brittny! Hajji is the name of a Muslim that has made the trip to Mecca- to the freaking HAJJ! He was being tacky!”

Oh my freaking goodness.

I was so embarrassed. I’m sure my friend “Hajji” totally went and told his other blue guy friends what a disrespectful idiot the blonde in the office down the street is.

Okay, so it’s not “funny ha-ha.” You pretty much either have to live in the Middle East or had to be with me for this to seem even remotely humorous. I figured I should chronicle this story, though. Just to remember what a nut I can be sometimes....

okay- most of the time.

I’m off to enjoy the extended weekend! 

“Your nuts are the best I’ve ever tasted!”

I think that’s pretty much a stand alone statement. I think we can both agree there is really no need for miles of explanation on this one.

In my defense (before you guys get all sick-o on me), he ordered these amazing pecans from some place in the states, and well, I was just showing my zeal…

only I didn’t realize just how zealous I sounded.

What a freaking moron… (mumbling to myself in a mocking voice, “Your nuts are the best i’ve ever tasted!")

Sadly, I still didn’t get a promotion.

Geez! What’s a girl gotta do around here!?

ha ha

Welcome back! I miss you on the weekends!

PS- Oh, and by the way- Remember how I posted that Will read my blog? Well, he totally freaked out when he saw that picture I posted of our bathroom when I was talking about needing a maid. Now he’s making me write clarification about the picture so you guys don’t think we’re sloths that find (and eat) Cooler Ranch Dorito crumbs that have been lodged in our seat cushions for 4 months, or that we have horrifying skid marks in our toilets (but really? We do. We love Seat Cushion Cooler Ranch Doritos).

That picture was taken after Boz and Lucy went on an angry rampage while I was at work.

There. Happy Will??