I mentioned earlier that Lucy is a poop-eater. This is troublesome for many reasons. Most recently because she is due to have hernia surgery this morning and she isn’t supposed to have anything in her stomach (by the way, this is our third attempt to take her to the vet to get this done). Each time we’ve taken her we’ve gotten up early,

gotten ready,

chased the dogs all around to get them out the door,

had one escape and had to run around some more,

forgotten the car keys and had to run back upstairs to tear up seat cushions, pockets, and cabinets

only for them to be on the table where they’re always freaking are,

finally place them in the car,

gotten her all the way to the clinic for her to finally puke everywhere when they try to put her under. If it wasn’t all the fun listed above, it was that we caught her eating poop as we were getting ready to take her.

Well last night we thought we’d solved the problem. We thought it would be smart to make the dogs sleep with us to ensure there would be no poop eating while we were sleeping. Afterall, dogs don’t like to crap in their beds, right?

Correct.

However, I discovered about 30 minutes ago that although dogs don’t like to crap in their bed, apparently pee is a totally different entity.

Peeing the bed is soooo okay.

Apparently.

I was half awake this morning and couldn’t shake the pungent smell of pee. I knew Will had put them down to go on a puppy pad last night, and that they got back into bed immediately after. I didn’t figure the smell would be that strong, though. It just seemed to get stronger and stronger, almost as if my nose hairs were burning. I decided to flip over on my side, place a big t-shirt over my face and go back to sleep.

Pee Smell Remains

Still There

Yep, Still There

Finally I start to think maybe she peed on the floor next to me. I get up, look around and BAM there it is.

Pee

On my pillow

On the shirt I was using to cover my face.

On my freaking PILLOW!!

I throw the stuff to the ground and start smelling my clothes, hair, and Will.

Pee on the Pillow?

Check.

Pee on the Shirt?

Check.

Pee on my hair?

Check.

Check.

Check.

On My Pillow Guys!!! On the shirt I covered my face with!!!!

ON MY HAIR.

I think my freaking Lucy must have some latent anger towards me.

Lucy- 3, Brittny- 0

Wait- actually,

Lucy- 3 4, Brittny- 0

That little monster won out again. By the time we woke up, inspected the rest of the bed, and everything else, we decided we’d just call the vet and make an appointment for next week. I think she’s on to us.

Will thinks there is no direct evidence linking Lucy with the crime (this may also have something to do with the fact that he and Lucy have recently became pals).

I however feel differenly. Lucy sooo had a motive. She’s guilty, and I can see it in her face.

Lucy- I’m watching you. 

My father in law saw me in my bra Saturday.

Yes, you read this sentence correctly,

and yes,

yes I am scarred for life.

Saturday morning proved to be “one of those days” for me. One of those typical days I had grown so accustomed to in my normal stateside life. A day of at least one embarrassing moment, a day where I trip over my own two feet at least twice, and a day when at least once someone tells a joke and I give a hearty big laugh while thinking to myself, “I don’t get it.”

Ah, those days. I seemed to have been under the radar in Kuwait, but as soon as I returned stateside Mr. Bad Luck found me again.

My Saturday began early due to an 11:30 kickoff in Norman, Oklahoma. I got up at 6:00 to beat everyone to the shower (which has now become a game to me. I’ll have to post about this game later)- only to learn I came in 2nd place. 2nd place can sometimes be gratifying, but I can assure you, coming in 2nd place for the shower is NEVER a happy thing.

So, Jenny beat me to the shower (what a shock, right!?). I take my icy military shower, proceed to get out, and begin getting ready for the day. i’ve mentioned here that I get ready in a bra and my towel. I get hot so easily as I rush around each morning, that I have found it best to restrict the amount of clothes I wear in the morning. Nothing changes this happening- not even staying at my in-law’s house… or so I thought.

I put on my make up, begin to work on my hair, and decide it’s time to put clothes on. I exit from the bathroom and prepare to do what I have dubbed, “The Old Checkaroo.”

The Old Checkaroo is when I leave the bathroom and peer down the stairs to make sure no one is coming and when the coast is clear I dart to our bedroom, which is right past the stairs.

I’ll be honest and say I’m a little sloppy with this check, mostly because no one is ever at the bottom of the stairs. Ever. My peering is more like me standing in the middle of the stairway for 5 minutes and then running to the bedroom. I would make a terrible spy.

So, I leave the bathroom in nothing but my bra, towel, and smile, head towards the stairs in my bra and do my Checkaroo- only this time instead of seeing my usual “nothing.” I see something! I see my father-in-law!

Guys, I’ve never believed it when people say they are paralyzed in fear- but I promise you all it is a real thing. I froze in a state of panicked embarrassment. I was a deer caught in the headlights- only MY headlights were the one beaming at my father-in-law!

It’d be one thing if I were in a huge grandma bra, but ladies- I was wearing a sexy leopard bra(grrr). To me it just makes the whole thing more mortifying.

I finally realize I’m not dreaming. It was as if I was standing there staring, trying to make sure I really was seeing a person down the stairs. I finally come to and dart to the bedroom…

only to realize I left my freaking clothes in the bathroom!

idiot!

I then have to run back to the bathroom to get my clothes. At this point I want to cry. My heart is racing and I am terribly embarrassed. I know it’s like being in a bikini (that’s what my sister said to cheer me up), but guys- it’s so not. It’s a bra- and I’m their daughter-in law. Family… but not quite- you know!? I get dressed and know that I won’t feel better until I tell someone (by the way, why do we do that!? Why do we do the stupidest thing and then run to someone to tell them!?). I prepare a very detailed text of the event and send it off to my sister.

Only instead of sending it to my sister I accidentally send it to my dad. (since I’m sending it internationally I just type the number in as I send it and don’t use my phone book)

I couldn’t win for losing Saturday!

My dad responded with a, “What!?”

I then feel even more embarrassed because that’s the last thing you want to tell your dad! (okay, maybe not the last… but you get what I’m saying)

I then forward the text to my sister who always manages to make me feel a little better- or at least make me laugh at the situation. I had a good laugh and felt a little better, but as soon as we got done texting that sick feeling returned to my stomach when I realized I was going to have to go downstairs and face him, this time with clothes.

My stomach continued to ache as I finished getting ready. Everyone was ready to go, and waiting downstairs. I told Will I really didn’t want to go down, but he told me everything would be fine. My stomach began to gurgle and cramp.
Then I realized.

Not only was it my nerves… it was the laxative I took the night before.

See, because of my diet change from normal food to vacation food, i’ve been having bathroom issues (see my last post!). I’ve pretty much lived off Benefiber and Exlax the last 2 weeks. I’m determined not to freaking plug the toilet up for a record 3rd time (my BIL told me that no one has ever plugged it up before… ever. 2 Points for Team Brittny!) Yeah, yeah I know that’s terrible, you don’t have to tell me.

So- everyone was sitting there, checking their clocks, and I’m sitting on the toilet losing about 5 pounds and crying about my father-in law seeing me in my bra. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

Guys, I’ve had some really embarrassing moments in my life and this one doesn’t even top the list, but it had been so long since I’d had one, that I guess I got a little “rusty” on how to handle these situations.

I pulled myself together, gathered my pride, and me and “the girls” walked downstairs.

I can only pray that next Saturday goes better than the past one.

So that’s my latest update. Mr. Bad Luck is back.
*************************
In other news, we’re off to Possum Kingdom, Texas this week! Will’s aunt and uncle have a house down there and they’re letting us (us as in the whole L family- father-in-law included) use it during fall break. It should be really nice and relaxing, as long as I keep my clothes on. 

There’s also this crazy chance that I might be meeting up with a nestie tomorrow too! Let’s all cross our fingers that Sarah isn’t some crazy 63 year old man that sits at the computer all day in a wife beater and brown-stained undies while eating Alpo and ritz crackers (ha ha I love you) I’ll keep you all posted on events as they unfold.

It’s starting to get hot out and I’m dying to wear shorts and tanks and fun and cute girly summer stuff. However, I don’t have that luxury here.

I have to dress “modestly” and wear capris and sleeves and everything that makes sweat run down my back.

Okay, retraction, no matter WHAT you wear here sweat is going to run down your back and your neck and your butt crack and you even get that nasty unattractive upper lip sweat.

Ew.

I miss being able to go to Wal-Mart in shorts and a tank and be considered totally normal. I told Will back in Decemeber when we were home I was going to wear shorts just because I could! I didn’t end up doing it because it was cold, but it would have been nice. I don’t even remember the last time I wore shorts in public. That is really sad!

I have a confession.

When we came home for Christmas I thought all of you stateside ladies were hussies.

Yep.

Sorry.

Being Totally honest here!

I would see women in short skirts and low cut shirts and I would instantly think, “What a tramp!”

How funny!? What am I!? An 88 year old woman?!

I guess so.

It’s almost scary how my thoughts on clothes have been morphed. Okay, not morphed, because as soon as I get home I’m walking around in the fewest articles of clothing possible (ha ha), but it sort of has changed because I’ve gotten used to things here.

I guess 2 weeks ago an American got arrested for wearing a bikini. A bikini! I initially thought, “Oh my gosh!! She was wearing a bikini!?” Like I was totally shocked someone would do such a “terrible and audacious thing,” but then I thought, “Crap. That’s what I have in my drawer too!”

Who AM I?

Honestly though, I don’t think you would want to wear a bikini here even if you were allowed. You would probably be the only one and you would scream, “Hey!! Look at me! I’m a big blonde obnoxious American that can’t respect your culture!” Well, at least that is how they would see it. Although, because I’ve been clothes brainwashed I would think the same thing too. Ha ha.

So, I guess I’m forced to sweat the entire summer in my modest clothes. Thank God I don’t have to wear an abbaya. Now THAT would be hot. Those black things suck in so much heat from the sun they could probably be an energy source.

Bzzt! (that’s an electric buzzing sound for you ladies that wondered)

I think I’ll get off that subject now.

It’s only March.

I will wait until July when it’s 135 and I feel like a slab of teriyaki beef jerky because of the fierce heat.

Yeah.

Prepare you hussy women! There will be lots of complaining of heat in the near future.

What!?

You’re mad because I called you a hussy!?

Ugh. You’re so sensitive!

Okay, okay. You’re right.

I’m sorry.

I was only joking.

I was generalizing.

I know you’re not a hussy.

I love you!

Are we cool now?

Are we?

Please say yes?

Okay! Okay! You caught me!!

I’ll admit it!

I’m jealous!

I want to walk around in summer clothes and I can’t! It’s the truth I tell you!

Sigh…

My tantrum is over for the moment…

Do you want to talk about something else now!?!

Lets!

Today is Friday. It’s so funny how embedded the American work week is in our brain. Wednesday will forever be Friday to me and Saturday, when I come back to work, it;s always Monday. I guess that’s just a weird quark.

I have to go home and clean tonight so I don’t totally freak out and so I won’t be in a bad mood all evening. Something about a disaster of a house puts me in a terrible mood and I tend to project that onto others.

It’s sad really, I know… but true!

Will has to pick up some new people at the airport tonight so I think it will be a boring evening. We’ll probably go to be early so he can get up late and pick them up (they come in at midnight). I don’t really care what we do. I’m just glad to be off.

Have I ever told you guys I want a new job?

Have I?

Have I?

Maybe jus tonce or twice, huh? Ha ha. What a laugh.

Okay, I think I’ve said enough today. As you can probably tell, I’m a little excited that I get to leave this cage and finally have a weekend. What gave it away?

Can’t be sure…

Well thanks for reading! I can’t wait to catch up on your girls’ blogs!

In the meantime you have to do something for me.

I don’t care if your in Michigan or New England or Colorado or Indiana or any other northern place darn it!

You have to wear shorts for me!

you heard me! Don’t be skerrd (scared for you normal people)!

That’s right. I want to see legs EVERYWHERE! I don’t care if it’s 24 with the windchill.

Take one for the team!

Do you think I’m crazy?

I’m not.

I promise.

Well, at least there have been no confirmed reports at this time…

Sending you a BIG WARM SWEATY Kuwaiti Hug!

Your Friend,

The modestly dressed, upper lip sweating, microbooger wearing, smelly fairy friend,

Britter

Because I feel I’m among friends, I will start with a paranoia I’ve been having all afternoon.

Girls, I think my feet smell.

What is worse than that!?

I have been so worried all day long and trying to take big whiffs of air to make sure I’m in the clear.

See, I’m wearing ballet flats without socks. That isn’t typically a problem for me, except it miraculously rained here today (which is very odd for this time of year!) and my shoes got all wet and sloshy and so now I know, I just know I’m steaming off something bad.

I mean lethal bad.

I think my nose is used to the smell. “Please God, let everyone else’s’ nose be immune too.”

Okay, that is my paranoia. I had to get it out because I’ve been worried all afternoon and I can’t call “Ethel” to tell her about it because everyone will then know it’s ME emanating the scent that made their flowers die and fruit spoil.

The Horror! The Horror!

Okay, sorry. I will now move on- that is if you will still read this post after I announced the worst thing ever!

Actually…

Let’s camp out here.

I hate feet. In fact I hate them so much I don’t even like to say that word. I can say it once or twice and not want to throw up, but for the sake of this post I just can’t keep saying, “feet” without getting sick. In fact, I just threw up a little.

Let’s call them fairies.

(Too funny, you’d think I was talking about nether regions or something. Nope! Just feet.)

I am not a fairy person at all. I never have been. Only recently have I gotten a lot more comfortable with the idea of fairies.

This is largely due to the fact that when I had my fairy surgery they were constantly fondled and stroked and rubbed and ever sexual word you can think of and twist to make seem miserable.

That’s right. If I wasn’t okay with fairies before, I had to have a quick come to Jesus meeting last spring because my fairies were on debut for the world to see!

If having my family know about my fairy problems wasn’t bad enough, Will’s sweet mom- totally meaning well- told the whole freaking world about my fairies. I had no choice but to come to grips with them! I think the turning point was the February family get together, full of grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins where I was kindly asked every intimate detail about my fairy surgery and on top of that, “Show us your fairies!” Um, can I die now please? Oh that AND the whole month I was on her Sunday school prayer list. I mean, I so know the sweet woman loves me and genuinely wanted prayer for me, but my view of fairies is comparable with being stripped naked and standing in front of her whole class.

Yeah.

About the same thing.

Anyway, I’m more open to touching Will’s fairies and letting him touch mine. Oh my gosh- how sick did THAT just sound!!? Sorry. Maybe I should have used the real “f” word in this instance instead of fairies to avoid any miscommunications and random google searches when my blog comes up under hot sex or something.

Before, I would totally freak out if someone wanted to touch my fairies or wanted me to touch theirs- not that I get a lot of requests for me to touch people’s fairies, but you know what I’m saying…

I remember one time I was on a mission trip in Romania and at the end of our whole trip we went down to the river and were supposed to wash each other’s fairies, just like Jesus did with his disciples. I totally freaked out.

“Are you there, God? It’s me, Brittny. Hi. Look. I know you did this whole washing fairies thing and all and wanted us to follow your example, but can you make an exception on me? You understand, don’t you?”

Okay, I didn’t really say that, and I totally washed my team’s fairies and it was a really awesome experience, but trust me, I was freaking out inside.

The scary second toes longer than the big toes,

the hairy tops,

the corn infested bottoms… it was hard to “Let Go and Let God” that night, let me tell ya.

Luckily I’ve grown up a little since then. I can handle Will’s clean fairies now and it’s not a big deal. In fact, if he wanted to touch mine I might get grossed out and wince a little at first but then be totally fine soon after. It’s pretty bad when you don’t even want to touch fairies with your best friend!! Sorry Will, nothing personal. Anyway, I’ve made great strides this year and am not ashamed to say I’m becoming okay with fairies!

In fact, I should hug a podiatrist today.

So anyway, I give you that whole stupid drawn out fairy conversation because I’m a little nervous about my wet shoes and the smell they are producing. Sorry girls.Thank goodness the day is soon over. For me and for everyone else!

I don’t know if I am able to talk about anything else now that I just said all that. Am I? Can I seriously justify a real conversation after all that nonsense? I just don’t know!

No… I think the answer is no on this one. You can send the hallelujah chorus in right…

About…

NOW!

Do you remember that game?

Will and I played a feisty round this morning.

Actually, it was more like 7 rounds.

That’s right.

49 minutes in heaven.

Will is a stud.

Oooohhhhhh yyyeeeaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh.

This is how it went:

“Beep Beep Beep Beep”

SLAM.

Elapsed time: 7 minutes.

“Beep Beep Beep Beep”

SLAM.

Elapsed time: 7 minutes.

Repeat 5 more times.

That’s right, 49 minutes in Heaven with my sweet Will.

What better way to spend a morning?

What did you have in mind?

Actual love making in the morning?

Please.

We know what’s important in a marriage and it’s adequate sleep!

Ha ha, okay. Just kidding, but this morning we both preferred the rules of this game compared to the traditional way.

The alarm was set for 3:15 with the mutual understanding we could hit the snooze once and be up by 3:22.

Sidenote- Who in their right mind gets up at 3:!5 to go to a job they don’t even really like!?

Who does that!?

Who!!!!??????!

I’ll tell you who!

NO ONE!

No one in their right minds gets up in the middle of the night to go to work. There has to be something seriously wrong with people who live this way. Anything before 6:30 is just plain rude. Don’t you agree?

Okay, back to the matter at hand.

3:30 rolls around and I barely budge. Will groggily rolls over and violently attacks the crap out of our alarm. I don’t think he meant to slam it 37 times, but he did. I’m surprised it went off again.

We didn’t get out of bed until 4:10. I was in a panic.

We jumped in the shower. I felt like I was in army basic training. “Go Go Go! 2 Minutes! 2 Minutes! 2 Minutes!” I just knew that any second a muscular and menancing drill sergeant was going to rip open the shower curtain and give me a dreaded pink belly while simultaneously flushing the toilet.

Anyway, a strange thing happens to me when I’m feeling rushed. For whatever reason, when I’m in a hurry to get ready, my nose starts to run out of the blue and uncontrollably. Isn’t that weird!?

I don’t know if it’s because I’m rushing around and snorting and breathing like I’m Sea Biscuit or what, but I snot all over the place. When this occurs, I do what any normal person would do (ha).

I stick toilet paper up my nose to catch the flow. Yep. That’s right. I have a walrus sort of thing going on but instead of huge white spears coming out of my mouth, they’re coming out my nose.

I know you’re wondering how hot it makes Will. Trust me, he can’t keep his hands off me when I’ve got my walrus look (ha again).

So today as I rushed I was Brittny the Walrus.  I had one nostril under control, but when the second one started to flow I really thought to myself, “I’m sitting here, trying to do my hair, sweating like a pig, with Quilted Northern Shoved up my nose.”

There comes a point in every woman’s life after playing 7 minutes in Heaven when they simply question their dignity.  I did just that as I aggressively brushed my teeth while trying to keep the tissue from sticking to the toothbrush.

Oh I feel so dirty.

Who am I?

So I started off the morning a little rushed- and still debating whether the extra sleep was really a good idea.

I got to work and decided that after the “rushy” morning I should get breakfast at the mess hall and bring it back to my office. I was all set and good to go. I was enjoying my breakfast and checking my email when all of a sudden a piece of my egg white omellete fell in slow-mo, plummeting between the H and the G of my keyboard. “BAM,” it resounded as it bounced in between keys. I let out a slow motion, “Nooooooooo” as I watched my breakfast lodge itself into the black abyss. I tried my best to dig it out to no avail.

I hate- HATE- a dirty keyboard. It drives me bananas (B-A-N-A-N-A-S). I can’t stop thinking about it. It has consumed my thoughts all day. I’ve tried everything. Even those air dusters. I’m afraid my breakfast is destined to remain trapped In GH forever.  How gross.

So that was my morning:

Oversleeping,

snotting all over myself,

dropping my omelette between G and H.

Yep. That’s about right. Sounds like another typical day in my life.

In other news, the current rumor at our camp is that OPRAH is coming next week. Apparently one of the ladies in our office thinks she’s coming because she wrote her and asked her to come visit. Now, who knows if this is true, but apparently it’s even been in the papers. I won’t believe it until I see her for myself. Rumors are constantly circulating about stuff like that since so many famous people are in and out for the soldiers. Anyway, I’m counting it as rumor, but to be safe I’m bringing my camera everyday next week. J

I am having quite possibly the funniest work day ever. My mom, dad, and I are all three way emailing and it is cracking me up. My mom just called me and couldn’t even talk. All she was doing was laughing, which made me bust out laughing- which was embarrassing because my office was quiet. Oh my gosh. I wish I could put the emails in here but I can’t. Trust me, I’m in tears from holding back hysterical laughter.

So that’s it for now.  Your walrus friend is going to get back to work.

I will simply say today: be warned. The beginning isn’t bad… but it gets worse.

With that said I will start.

I flushed a wash cloth down the toliet.

Isn’t it amazing how many of my posts deal with crap? If I look through the archives I can think of at least 3 with toliets as a main topic- and that’s 3 too many!

My junior high best friend’s parents teased that I would have to start going to the bathroom outside after a plug up incident at their house. Oh if they only knew all the major feats I had yet to accomplish in my high school and college career… they would be so proud.

Anyway, I flushed a wash cloth.

I am officially an idiot. I just finished my work out and headed to the bathroom. Because I have the elliptical in the privacy of my own home I can do whatever the heck I want! If I want to exercise in MC Hammer pants and a lime green sports bra with a purple sweatband on my head I can freaking do it! Since I have hyperhydrosis (I say that but I don’t know for sure. I sweat like a man that’s all I know. To me that’s too much. Thank God for Certain Dri) I have to constantly towel myself so that my eyes don’t burn from all the salt infused sweat I rain. I keep my little cloth tucked in the back of my shorts- like in the waistband by the small of my back. Okay, enough of all the stupid details.

I finished working out (as I already said) and went straight to the bathroom. As I flushed I noticed my toilet paper looked a little fluffy. Then it hit me. I flushed my freaking wash cloth!!

And you know what!?!?!

IT WENT DOWN!!

Will has been freaking out about it. Apparently just because it went down doesn’t mean we’re in the clear- at all. There’s a good chance it will get lodged in there, and with my luck I will have eaten a load of mexican food and overdosed on Fibercon only to flush after birthing a moose and have my toliet violently puke all over the floor in protest to the whole wash cloth thing.

Ew.

Yep. That is sooo my luck.

Next week you’ll see a post about this. I pray not, but probably.

As I flushed, and as Will was freaking out as I yelled what I had done, I had flashbacks to my early grade school years. I had the flu and was really sick and shaky and had the runs so bad it was probably unnatural.

Anyway… PAUSE- am I REALLY talking about this to you guys!? Do you REALLY care!? Of course not! Why then am I sharing this horrifying information with a large group of pretty and sophisticated ladies!? AGH. I feel so embarassed. I’m debating whether I should delete this… I know I should… but I won’t. I’m in too deep to my story.

Okay, anyway, I was changing the toliet paper roll when all of a sudden I dropped the plastic holder thing the toliet paper rests on in the toliet! As a 7 year old I had no clue what to do- I just knew I wasn’t going to fish that thing out!

So, I call my dad.

That’s what dad’s do right?

Well because I was a young and dumb (ha, now I’m old and still dumb. so sad...) I thought it was best not to verbalize what I had just done and instead lift a cheek so that poor old dad could see my damage.

“Ew britt, flush,” he said so tenderly and sympathetically (ha!).

I had to say, I was shocked to hear him tell me to flush, but he was dad and he knew everything and if it was going to flush and he wasn’t concerned, then by golly, neither was I!!

I finished up and flushed and then mentioned that the roller went down just fine. he looked at me with shock and asked what I was talking about. Apparently he just thought I wanted to share my love with him by showing him the art I created on the toliet bowl. He falied to notice the freaking black toliet paper holder floating right in the middle!!

Dad- why in the world would you think I would just want to show you that! Yeah, I was 7, but please! I have a little more couth than that- even at 7!
The toliet was surprisingly fine that day but then the next day it turned into a huge mess. Water went everywhere and warped some of the wood in the next room. It was just a little lake in our house. All from a little 7 -year-old.

huh. 

We had to have a German plumber come and fix it. that’s all I remember.

anyway, that was my flashback. I could just see us having some huge leak and water splurting everywhere and having to call a plumber to come here on a holiday weekend (it’s a Kuwaiti holiday this weekend- sidenote, it is PANDEMONIUM here, but maybe I’ll talk about that later). We would be told Ensha Allah (not sure of the spelling, sorry!), which means “If it’s God’s will.” So- Ensha Allah I will be there tomorrow, but it could also be 2 months. It’s sort of a scary term because you never really know when things are going to get done.

So, now we play the toliet waiting game. Praying that little washcloth will join the ranks of all the other great “non flushable” items that have gone on before it.

“Swim little wash cloth! Swim!”

So there you go. Another stupid and embarrassing story I am sharing with you guys even though I shouldn’t. Oh well. I guess I’m brave… or just weird. One of the two!

Do you speak another language?

Are you quick at translatng?

Would you like to become well traveled and see a different part of the world?

Then you, yes YOU are encouraged to join the dynamic, ever changing, never a dull moment CrazyGirlInc.

We here at CrazyGirlInc. feel you are more than capapble of taking on the duties necessary in carrying out the company’s mission: to keep Brittny Lynne’s head together and make sure she does not fall apart. Yes, I know this task seems far too big for just one person, but we believe you are more than capapble of rising to the occasion.

Interested?

Then you have a job spending your every waking moment with me, translating the gibberish I hear everday! Okay, so the beginning was totally dorky, but what do you expect by now!?

A couple days ago I was in a situatuion in which these ladies were speaking their native language- of course I have no idea what they are saying, and for that matter, I don’t even know what language they were speaking all together- but I think it was something I should have known. It was one of those bad feelings I got as I heard a few key words.

The lady I ride to work with is from a different country. On top of that, she moved to britian and is a citizen of the UK- so she is a ________ (WPP protected) with a British accent. So- she has 2 accents going on. She is great, but I have a hard time understanding the asdfjsdklfjkljf (that mess represents the language, that is what my stupid interpretation) with random Enligh words thrown in, not to mention when she is just speaking English period.

I feel bad constantly saying,

“What?”

What?”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Once more time please?”

I seriously try really hard to listen, and I know she is trying hard to get me to understand but sometimes it doesn’t work.

Anyway, today she had to pick up one of her friends and on the way to work they start talking whole sentences mixed with English and their other language. That’s fine by me, I’m just along for the ride so it didn’t bother me at all. However, a few minutes into our ride I hear “sdfja;sdlfjksjd… the safety concern.” Okay, so I don’t understand “a;ksjiouer,“ but I understand safety concern, and not only that, but THE safety concern. There’s a safety concern? what safety concern? I try to hear more, but all I get is, “ s;dfjeurwoeiru,” and then bomb threat.

Okay, I’m no rocket scientist or even masters degree grad for that matter, but hearing the words “THE safety threat and bomb threat” within two minutes of eachother had me feeling like I just ate 50 Snickers bars and rode It’s a Small World 86 times at Disneyworld (I had a bad experience). The blood drained from my face.

Then!

Then!

Guess what happes next!!!?

THEN I hear, “aslfjweoriu Britney Spears.”

Followed by:

“ha ha ha ha ha ha ha,” An erruption of laughter.

Hmmm, do you think that was in reference to a paticualr person? Like the blonde in the back seat?

Nah…

I’m just paranoid.

So I really need to learn a language here. There is so much diversity here. I have truly enjoyed getting to lear about the many cultures here. It is very interesting, but it also makes most Americans feel pretty “normal.“ I know few people that can speak any of the many languages that are spoken here. So many different nationalities live here and they all speak their own language and I have no clue. My high school and college intro to German have done me No good.

Okay, so I am now trying to link the last 5 minutes of my ride as I’m regretting the bottle of water I had earlier that morning. I have a bladder the size of an 85 year old woman and when I get all nervous (I usually get all worked up about nothing!) I gotta go. Okay, THE safety concern. I’m an “analyzer” as it is anyway, so there could be absolutely NOTHING going on at all, and I would be fully convinced that there was a full scale evacuation of the entire country later that afternoon. In fact, my mind wandered there. Hmmm, I wonder if I’ll have time to grab some extra underwear, deoderant, oh yeah… and our pictures (you have to get the “important” stuff you know. ha ha) Bomb threat? How does that tie in? I don’t think that’s really the pertinent question. All I know is that it does. Now, what about that crazy Britney Spears? That silly girl. What is she up to? I had quite a ride wondering what they were really saying as the conversation switched from the country’s evacuation that day to “Britney Spears.” Okay, so I’m sure it was about the baby, but one of the ladies had called me Britney Spears last week, so I had to wonder. What!!? Is it because I’m freakin’ blonde and pale as Casper and look like a freak here!? --> whole other post. Now I’m just being flat annoying.

Anyway, the ride was Its a Small World All Over Again.  So, I’m taking offers for translators to hang around each day. I promise I would be a good employer. All I know is that Britney Spears is the huge safety concern in Kuwait and she is making bomb threats. You’d think with the whole just giving birth to Kevin’s third child thing would have slowed her down.

Guess not.

To inquire about positions in CrazyGrilInc. click the feedback button below and someone will get back to you shortly. We are an equal opportunity employer, meaning we will review all applications, even those who are not “crazy” like our CEO.

Yes, it is official. I am going crazy.

Just X out of this post and pretend you NEVER read it

Are there any constant key losers in the group?

Please stand up.

Anyone that has after getting in the car has to frustratingly get out to make sure both the curling iron AND iron are turned off?

You’re welcome too.

I have serious problems. I am calling on the creative Nesties to create a trend so I can overcome this terrible annoyance.

I think I lose or forget to do something on an everyday basis. I whine, “I lost my chapstick!” to Will at least 3 times a week. I am constantly having to be reminded, “Did you have the keys?”

” Are you sure?“

“Show them to me.“

It really gets on my nerves when Will does this. I almost always have to physically have to show him the keys or money or whatever before we leave. It really aggravates me, but I have given him EVERY reason in the world to have to do this, so I figure until I can be a “big girl” and remember the simplest things, he probably is justified in asking me to show him where my money is and that it is zipped up, or where my keys are.

You win Will.

Yesterday topped it all. I will officially for the rest of my life have to surrender the, “Show it to me” crap.

I’ll be honest, a lot of times if he doesn’t ask me to show him the keys or whatever else and just says, “Are you sure?” I will just say yes so we can get a move on. Yes, I’m not the brightest blonde in the bunch.

I did my “checks” before we left.

“Do you have a key?”

“Yes.”

“Money?”

“Yes.”

“Phone?”

“Yes.”

(I really did have those things)

So, we head out and go to Buffalo’s for lunch. We had an enjoyable time, and then it was time to go. I get my stuff together and of course get my, “Are you sure you have everything, Britt?” question (I sound like an OLD lady don’t I!!?). I do my passing, “Yes, Will,” without looking, which I’m sure was my demise.

We then head to Marina Mall to catch a movie. We got to the theatre and Will reminds me to turn my phone on silent (I really DO sound like an old lady!!). I start searching through my abyss of a purse…

“Where is that stupid thing?”

Nothing.

I pull everything out of my purse and can’t find it. I was sick. Not the best weekend in the world to lose a phone.

It was gone.

After the movie we went back to Buffalo’s, though I didn’t expect anyone to fess up if it had been left. It’s amazing how much trouble you can get into if you steal something, but a lot of the third country workers do it anyway. I went in, and of course it wasn’t there.

I was so mad at myself.

Will was pretty mad at me too. It was more of that terrible parental disappointment. I got the “irresponsible talk“ the whole way home, which didn’t make me feel any better because I was already mad at myself and didn’t really feel like hearing Mr. Responsible’s take on my carelessness.

We got home, and I tried to call my number, hoping someone would answer. Nope.

I went in the bedroom and plopped on the bed. I knew Will was still upset with me because now we would have to buy a new phone when it could have been avoided, but he was pretty merciful. He took me in his arms, and while I knew he was upset with my constant “scatterbrainedness,“ he told me it would be okay and he would buy me a new phone today, and not only that but he would get me the exact same one I had before (which was a little pricey). for some reason I felt worse! What a dork. I guess I felt like I should get a piece of crap phone this time just for like a probationary thing or something, but my sweet husband, annoyed with me as he was, is going to take care of me.

So that’s good. It really sucks that I have to get a whole new number and stuff now though, and all my important numbers were in my other phone. Grrr. The way 98% of cell phones work here is that you buy a phone, get a chip from the one cell phone company that is here, and then you use prepaid phone cards. So my phone is not only gone, but my chip and number and everything else is gone. You can’t cancel your service here.

Anyway, I am now convinced I need someone to design me something fashionable that is able to have my phone or chapstick or whatever the case may be attached to my clothing or purse or something!!!!!

Any ideas?

Maybe I need to have someone constantly with me making sure I have everything with me...wait… that’s Will’s job, and we see how great that worked.

How can I be so flipping in my own world? Not like a stuck up in my own world, but just thinking about tons of stuff and wondering about things and looking at the flowers on my way out the door…

Only me I guess.

If you watched The Apprentice this past season I was thinking I needed to enlist the group that made pockets to hold ipods in the American Eagle clothes to design something comparable for me. I may not be joking.

Anyway, I get sad on Fridays because my weekend is almost over and yours is about to begin. Nonetheless have a great Friday!

Do you have your keys?

Your money?

Your phone?

Anything else important?

If you haven’t already realized, I say tend to say some pretty dumb things sometimes. I regularly say something that leaves Will simply looking at me in disbelief and saying, “Are you being serious?“ It goes back to the whole book smart and blonde dumb I think.

I stuck my foot in my mouth BIG TIME yesterday. As if my first few days weren’t nightmarish enough, I just went ahead and went all out.  If Will would have been there, I know for a fact his jaw would have dropped to the ground and he would have told people I was his derranged sister that wants to hug on him because and call him husband because I have emotional problems, if anyone asked if we were married.

After the big meeting I didn’t have anywhere to go, so I hung out in my mom’s office. I know the people she works with, one of them being a friend my mom has gotten to know fairly well since she’s been here.

This lady is so nice. She has a different ethnic background than I, and she is very proud of her heritage. I truly enjoy learning about her culture and the customs and practices. She has a lot of stories about her family and their life. She talks about her culture a lot, so there are times you are talking about one thing and somehow we get on the subject and I don’t even realize it.

So yesterday she was teaching me a few things about their food and stuff. The conversation ended and I went back to typing an email. A few minutes later, my mom tells her something and starts to give her a hard time. The lady (can’t say her name or it will give it away) starts teasing around and says, “What do I know, I’m just a _____________ (can’t way the term, pretty derogatory)!“ She starts laughing.

My mom laughs too (because they have that sort of friendship).

I don’t say anything.

“Do you know what that stands for Britt?“ she asks.

“No.“

“It stands for: _____________ (still can’t say, but whatever you thinking you are probably right) .“

“Oh! How cute! That is too funny that you guys came up with that!“

She just gives me a strange look. Not really a mad look, just a weird one.

A few seconds later she says, “ Do you know what other names there are for us?“

She then proceeds to give me a few, all which I totally knew.

“Yeah, I know all those. People called me cracker. I guess that is one of those terrible stereotypes our society has. I think it’s great that you guys have a name you use that shows them who’s the boss!“

She just looks at me and says nothing. She then says, “______ is not a name we came up with, it is a name others gave to us. It’s a terrible insult.“

Insert foot in mouth.

I had no freakin’ idea what _____ was. I’m sure I’ve heard it in passing but never thought much of it, but boy will I remember forever now! I can’t believe I said it was freakin’ CUTE!!

I was so embarrassed. Talk about insulting a culture! “That ______ word is so cute! You show those people who’s boss!“

What an idiot.

So last night we all went to dinner and I asked Will and my sister if they knew what ______ meant. They first told me to quick talking so loud because I’d get us all shot, and then they looked at me like I was a cave woman that had been frozen in 1000 B.C.

Apparently EVERYONE knows what that term means… everyone but me!!

Thanks guys, I really could have used some street knowledge on cultural sensitivity before I had that conversation.

Do you ever think in some ways college has made you stupider?

I mean, you spend all this time focusing on one main area. It’s like your brain totally forgets basic things everyone should know. Give me a map of the world and ask me basic geography questions like where mountain ranges in Asia are or whatever else, and you would laugh in my face. My sister had algebra homework last night. Basic Algebra 2, and as I glanced at it I thought, “Are these REALLY things I will HAVE to know in life? I hope not.“ The last time I attempted math was my freshman year in college algebra. I got my first and only C in my life and was done with math forever. That stupid class is the reason I wasn’t magna cum laude and just cum laude… stupid class… I’m not bitter though…

Case in point- college made me stupider. All I came out knowing dealt with interpersonal communication or the UN.

No math. No gravity. No XY=USHEUS squared.

You think I’m crazy don’t you??

Okay, so maybe I’m alone on this one, but last night Will and I had a moment when all I could think was, “Wow. If we ever decide to have kids, they have a chance of really being on the dumb side.”

Okay, so we’re really not “dumb” (I caught you smirking!), but I do wonder how we could be “smart” for our lives and then not be able to do basic things…

Will got Madden a couple of weeks ago. I think this game’s demographic is like from 12-30- I have absolutlely NO clue- but I know it attracts both young and “old.” Anyway, one of the features is getting to create your own player, sign him to a team, and make him this all-star.

To do this you have to do fun stuff like create what he looks like and pick his parents and stuff. Well, before you can get drafted into the NFL, your player has to take a 2 minute, 20 question I.Q. Test of “real” questions.

“Yes! Our guy is going to be a genius on and off the field! Everyone is going to want to draft him!”

We start the simple I.Q. test. It didn’t help that we were both trying to take the test, and as Will was reading I was shouting the answer before he could even finish the question. We take the full 2 minutes to answer…

and we get a 60%!!!!

Wow. That is a D. We got a D on those stupid, “If Sara is X times the age of her brother, and her brother is X times the age of their aunt’s second cousin’s estranged mother in jail, then how old is Sara?” Something like that. SEE! I can’t even MAKEUP the stupid question! How am I going to answer it!?

Anyway, we totally died laughing. Our “agent” left a message on our phone saying, “Your I.Q. test was less than desired, Idon’t know how the draft will go.”

Wow. College grads flunking a video game IQ test while 12 year olds are acing it. Hmmm…

We deleted “Whittny L” (we tried our best to combine our names, I goofily suggested Willttny, but Will just thought I was a dork) and started over.

We had to take our test again. It had different questions, but I refrained from yelling and answered politely and after Will had read the whole thing.

And we got an 80%. A B.

Wow.

Did we not learn anything in school?

It really humbles you when you fail a mindnumbing, brainsucking, “We don’t want you to be smart, we want you to sit here and play video games all day” I.Q. test on Madden, a game devoted to “dumb jocks.”

The game should say, “Madden: rated G for Genius’ only.

Have a good day back to the grindstone.