Or Agony.

But really- aren’t they one in the same?

Oh- and sorry to all you auditors out that that may read this. I know it’s your job and it’s helpful to us and all that crap- but seriously?- audits suck.

And I’m sure you hear that all the time.

P says I should be glad I’m having a work audit and not a life audit. She says scientologists have life audits or something like that.

Is that true?

I’m pretty sure I would fail a life audit.

It would go something like this:

Have you been diligent to stay below your alloted fat and calorie intake on a daily basis?

(silence)

Have you helped old ladies across the street?

(silence)

Have you read all the Harry Potter books?

(silence)

Have you read any of the Harry Potter books?

(silence)

Have you made sure not to daydream about famous actors such as Orlando Bloom or James Franco?

(silence)

Do you know who the Secretary of Agricultural Relational Studies and Law is? (ha ha)

(silence)

Yeah… pretty sure I would fail a life audit. Although, I thought of a ton of freaking hilarious questions that may have come up during this life audit of mine- only to avoid you guys thinking I’m a total wack-o I kept it mild.

So, there you have it. Getting audited- but thankfully not life audited.

Hope you guys are having a good week!

1. I bought a shirt the other day from The Gap that Will doesn’t know about. In fact- it was only $5 but I still gave it to Rachel to hold until our next gym date. I’m a dork and have no idea why I did that. Perhaps because we’re going through Dave Ramsey’s course and I felt a little guilty? (yes- a freaking $5 shirt. What a crazy.) Anyway- I figured it was a good confession to share.

2. I saw someone I work out at the same gym with at Walmart this afternoon. I secretly LOVE that I ran into someone that works out at the same place I do- especially when I’m having a good hair day and look put together. I.look.beyond.awful. when I go to the gym, so I always feel Ace when I run into someone who has seen me sweating all over myself (you know- sweat dripping from every nook and cranny, red puffy face, veins popping...)- and then sees me “normal.” Trust me guys- I’m a scary sight on gym mornings.

3. I ate fried alligator today. Really- I did.

4. I did end up bringing a bottle of “water” with me to the wedding weekend extravaganza. It turned out to be a good decision.

5. I found out this afternoon that someone I work with was a stripper to pay his way through college. This in and of it self is sort of hilarious- to find out someone you have a professional relationship with used to wear textured and colored thongs and probably had some sort of signature “move."However, what makes it even more hilarious is how totally out of character it is for this person- a very cerebral, brainiac. Not the stripper type at all. Anyway- my confession is that everytime I saw him this afternoon I couldn’t stop laughing. I literally had to excuse myself from an office he was in today because I thought I might snort trying to keep myself from laughing. Good times.

Anything you need to share?

P:I just read your blog. I’m pleased to hear you were wearing underwear.

Me:Yeah- I was just going to direct you there. It was bad. I felt all dent-y and fat all day.

P:Believe me he wasn’t looking at that. He hasn’t seen young a** like that in 30 years. You just gave him his Father’s Day early.

***

Coworker:You should have just played it off and talked about it- making everyone else uncomfortable too! You should have been all, “Hey Mother-in-law- I didn’t mean to leave you out! I guess you need to see too!” and then pretend to lift your skirt.

HA HA

Yeah- I can just imagine how that would have went over with Pat.

Fun times. Just thought I’d share because both these comments cracked me up.

Watching “Jon and Kate” right now. I think they’re announcing their divorce tonight. I know we’re outsiders looking in, and we only see a portion of their life, but anybody have opinions on this situation?

More to come <3

There are times in my life where I really believe things happen to me simply so I will get off my duff and post about them. It’s as if the “blogging gods” look up from their golden computers and say,

“Hey! That ‘B-Love’ girl hasn’t posted in a while. What’s her problem!? Writers block? I guess she needs us to help our out. We’ll give her something to write about and make her so afraid of it happening again that she’ll continue to post on a regular basis to avoid our wrath. Muahahahaha” <- a giant strike of lightening flashes behind them and they all rub their hands together all evil-like…

And then the lightening hits their servers and they all cry and put their nerdy glasses and pocket protectors back on and try to remedy the problem.

Oh- but not before cursing me, of course.

So- yesterday that’s exactly what happened. It has been a while since I’ve posted- which of course translates into some sort of calamity. I should have known some sort of awful moment was lurking around the corner for me! I can’t go a week or more without posting and not have something happen to share.

We went to visit Will’s family for father’s day yesterday. We decided to have an early lunch, so we hopped in the car and headed to the restaurant. Pat and I sat in the backseat, while Will and his dad sat up front. As we pulled into the restaurant Will’s dad thought it would be nice to get the car door for me. He opened the door- and then it happened.

However, before we discuss “it,” I should explain something so the incident is clearer. I’m pretty low maintenance on the weekends. I try to do as little as possible to get myself ready. I’ve also become a big cotton skirt and dress wearer during the summer. They’re so comfortable and breathable and easy to throw on and look decent in… they’re amazing. Oh- and they’re even better when you’re feeling gigantic because they hide your fat and somehow make you feel a little better about yourself.

So- that being said, I was wearing a flowy black cotton skirt.

As Will’s dad opened the door a giant wind, what I have now begun to call, The Great Wind came upon us all. I swear it was so windy I saw a Chihuahua fly right past me. The wind angrily howled all around us- and before I knew it, the wind had somehow crawled underneath my skirt and raised it all the way up against my back- thereby exposing my entire lower body- black underwear and slightly hail dented legs for the whole world to see-

Oh and right (and I mean RIGHT) in front of my father in law!

Yes- go ahead and cringe. You can even scream if you want to, I know I wanted to.

Oh- and to make matters way, way worse- not only has Will’s dad seen downstairs- he’s also seen upstairs too. You may recall this post in which he saw me in my leopard print bra?

Yeah- I pretty much wanted to bawl my eyes out of embarrassment, and gouge his mind’s eye out of its socket.

I’m sure you understand.

So I grabbed my skirt and ran straight to the bathroom and tried to gain my composure. I was so so so mortified!

Mortified.

So what do I do? I run and tell someone what happened, you know, because that’s the totally normal thing to do- have something awful happen to you that you want to forget but run and text someone the whole story. Brilliant.

So, I texted P.

I kept thinking to myself, “Maybe he didn’t see?” Maybe I blinded him with my ghastly white legs so he wasn’t able to see a thing! I knew I hadn’t been tanning for a reason. I just kept thinking of ways that maybe I was overreacting and it wasn’t that bad.

But it was that bad.

I realized I couldn’t stay in the bathroom the rest of the day and that eventually I would have to come out and expose myself to the world. (<- ha ha, I’m pretty sure I had done enough exposing for one day. What I mean to say is that I needed to get out of the bathroom already and try to enjoy a meal with my in-laws.<- ha ha, that's funny. Enjoy a meal with my in-lawsIsn’t that sort of like an oxymoron?)

So- I came out of the bathroom and sat down at our booth. I always sit across from Pat when we eat- always. Always but for some reason yesterday of all days Pat took the inside and Will’s dad took the outside. Will was already comfortably sitting in his spot so I couldn’t really make a big deal about the whole seating arrangements. So- instead I gracefully sat down, directly in front of my FIL, and placed the menu right in front of my face.

Will’s dad made jokes like normal (um- NOT about what had happened, of course) and basically acted like nothing had happened which sort of made me feel better. I really wanted to believe he hadn’t seen my giant derriere flapping in the wind, so him just acting normal helped me to pretend that he didn’t.

Even though let’s face it- he so did.

Let’s just say yesterday’s lunch felt like the longest day of my life.

And let’s also say that a valuable lesson had been learned today-

No, it’s not that you should never wear skirts.

It’s not that you shouldn’t let your father-in-law open the door for you either.

It’s not even that you should have Casper white legs.

It’s that the wind is one sick, perverted, ancient old man that seriously needs to be contained.

It’s Thursday night and I still have nothing to talk about.

It’s so bad in fact that I’ve contemplated opening the phone book to a random page and calling some random person with an awful cliche’ prank joke.

Yeah… it’s been that uneventful.

Sadly, Will won’t let me. He says it’s totally immature to do something like that. 

What does he know, right? He never has any fun (ha ha).

Finally Friday. I’m sure more interesting posts are in my future. After all, the weekend has arrived!

So Will has a pair of pants he uses to do stuff around the house in. I call them “work pants.”

Today we discovered they had a small hole in the crotch- and Will asked me to “fix them.”

Fix them.

As if I ran around the house in a big fluffy skirt and pearls and had breakfast prepared at 6:00 on the dot each morning. Perfectly prepared eggs over easy- never too runny.

Sigh.

The truth is that I’m no Donna Reed.

Times are tough these days in America and I really thought it would be a good idea to help stretch these work pants- so I went to Walmart today in hopes of finding a sewing kit.

Only Walmart- the place that has “everything-” did not have a sewing kit.

So I opted for a needle and thread and a prayer that all would work out.

But we’ll get to that part soon.

So I began aimlessly threading my needle, wandering in and out of the fabric.

Um- it pretty much looked like a three year old hacked away at it. Remember those yarn paper weaving arts and crafts things you used to make?

It looked like that.

You have no idea what I’m talking about, do you?

Trust me. That means it was bad.

It was at that moment- when I realized I sucked and was cutting the yarn and hopelessly pulling it out- that it hit me.

I think as a whole we’re not nearly as domestic and self sufficent as we used to be.

I mean think about it- I freaking slapped pudding into a pre-made pie crust and topped it with cool whip and called it a pie.

AND

AND

I even complained about not being able to use INSTANT pudding.

Wow. How said is that!?

Sure- it technically is a “pie"- but seriously? That’s no pie.

I can barely sew a button. I will if I’m in a pinch, but the truth is that I have like 3 items of clothing that I plan on taking to a seamstress simply to sew.on.a.freaking.button! Seriously- I suck.

Do you guys realize that basic sewing used to be a household MUST like a decade ago? It’s so crazy to me to think how much things have changed over the years. It seems like are a lot of these sort of things in which were very common just a couple decades ago but are not as widely practice these days. Um- like making our husbands breakfast every morning, or stitching a dime size hole for crying out loud!

Yes- I realize it’s because we’re “out there” in the world, making a difference, changing the world, being amazing career womans AND wives and mothers. I get it.

I mean- sure I realize I suck for not being able to sew my husband’s pants, but the truth is that I’m in good company. I’d say there’s quite a few of us out there that don’t “make” our pies.

We hide dirty dishes in our oven when unexpected company comes because (gasp) there are times in which our house isn’t spotless.

We’re no Donna Reeds.

I’ll admit, I felt a little discouraged tonight when I couldn’t simply fix a tiny hole in Will’s pants. I should be able to do that! I should be capable of weaving a piece of freaking thread neatly in and out of a piece of thin cloth and taking care of my family! How hard can this possibly be!? Apparently pretty tough.

So I’m sitting here throwing myself a pity party because I’m not Donna Reed.

And I know you guys may think less of me-

but I want to be a Donna Reed.

There. I said it.

I want to wear high heels and make breakfast for Will and never sweat when I’m cleaning the oven. I want to be able to freaking sew.a.hole. for crying out loud!

more pity partying

So here’s what I’m thinking.

There are definitely things I can work on to improve my household. Small things.

The big things- you know- the seriously HUGE crisis things like sewing a pair of pants (ha ha)- I figure I’ll handle one case at a time.

...

Actually.

Guys-

maybe I am becoming a little bit of Donna Reed.

I mean- it’s 2009.

I can’t sew my husband’s pants.

I admit it.

However I know exactly where to go to get it fixed the right way. The first time.

I call that being smart. And resourceful.

Not only that- but I mean, while someone else is doing what they’re good at, I can work on doing something marvelous!

Like baking a real pie,

or- you know, painting my nails…

We’re living in a different time and Donna Reed is evolving. I guess it’s not about living our life like they did in the 50s. It’s about living smart in Donna Reed fashion, but also enjoying the modern technologies time has afforded us and combining the two into greatness!

So, although I can’t sew my poor husband’s pants, I can make a mean pie. And wear high heels. And paint my nails. And dial the pizza guy.

Genius.

xo,

The New Donna Reed

Me: It’s so humid today and I’m at the gym and it’s so busy and I’m sweating uncontrollably! I’m pouring! I’m so embarrassed.

P: Brittny, do you want to make me angry? 1. You went to the gym. 2. It’s humid which gives the effect of a sauna. So it’s like you worked out double. So jealous!

Forgive me friends for I have sinned. It has been several weeks since my last confession.

Because it’s been a while, I will plunge deep into my heart and provide you with quality, meaningful confessions.

Like this one:

1. My husband parks my car in the garage every.single.day.

No seriously- I swear.

I know.

Pathetic.

So here’s the whole back story.

When I was 16 I got a car and- like all 16 year olds- was very eager to drive and be TOTALLY responsible with it.

So the thing with my car was that it was really long and it barely fit in the garage. In fact, there were many times in which the garage door lightly smudged the back of my car. Not only that, but we had a two car garage growing up so it was a really tight squeeze fitting the car next to the big purple minivan. So- long story (somewhat) short- my parents parked the car in the garage for me. Yes, I was TOTALLY responsibile- but why risk me doing something stupid, right?

Right.

So- one night I was being TOTALLY responsible and coming home late. Instead of calling my parents and telling them that not only was I late, but I also needed the car put in the garage, I opted to be the “good” and helpful daughter and park the car myself.

As I pulled the car in the rear right side of my car let out a painful cry of torture-

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

I couldn’t stop! I kept driving, thinking it would be better.

It was worse.

Definitely worse.

I totally dented in the side big time. Plus the paint was destroyed.

Good job kid.

I know.

Anyway- ever since that I’ve been very leery of parking in tight spaces. Mostly because I suck. Mostly also because I have this reoccurring nightmare of doing something terribly stupid again.

So anyway, since we have the truck now it goes in the big part of the garage and we park my car in the third garage door, which is a tight squeeze (ahem- for me- not for anyone else, I’m sure).

Will knows this awful and totally embarrassing garage story, and although it’s been 10 freaking years, he still doesn’t trust me with “baby #2” (did you guys know that’s what he calls his car? I know- he’s crazy).

So there you go- I can’t park my own car in my garage. How’s that for a confession?

2. When it’s just me and Will eating at home I cover my baking dish in foil so I don’t have to wash the dish and instead just throw away the dirty foil.

Because I’m just that lazy. No other reason.

3.  Sometimes I pretend to be annoyed whenever I scoop ice cream (cookies and creme) for me and Will because “I’d rather he do it,” but the truth is that is that I totally love doing it because I always (always, always) give myself the giant pieces of cookies.

ha ha. I feel like I need to go to crunches after confessing that…

Anything you need to confess to lighten your load? 

"I’m 26 years old and I still loathe buying tampons. You’d think that was something I would have grown out of- but, no.

I wonder why, too? I mean- I realize it’s no big deal. I must admit, though, I really love when you go for me.”

“Yeah- but I don’t.”

“I know- but like I said, I hate it. When you go people know you’re just being a wonderful husband. They know they’re not for you. When I go, however, it is very, very clear that those super duper sized tampons are for me. Ha- or it could also be the gallon of ice cream I buy with them. That probably gives it away too. I mean- it’s this whole thing! Do you get a cart for the tampons, or do you tromp around the whole Wal-mart holding them discretely by your side while you casually walk to the entire other side of the store for the ice cream? Do you-”

(cutting me off)

“Brittny- lately it seems like anytime you talk about things or tell me stories it’s like you’re blogging.”

“Nooo. You’re crazy. I just like to drone on about things.”

And then I hopped out of the truck and began my tampon/cookie dough mission (thinking all the while about telling you guys about standing in front of the cookie dough section holding a jumbo sized box of tampons).

Um- between you and me? After assessing the most recent stories I’ve told Will this week? Yeah, he’s right. I totally talk in blog.

Today I had leftover chicken pot pie for lunch. It wasn’t too terribly awful for me so afterwards I decided to make lunch terribly awful by dipping vanilla wafers in a tub of peanut butter (I KNOW! So awful).

Oh, and before we move on to the rest of the story and I please, PLEASE tell you how much I hate calling those things mentioned above by their real name… “Nila” wafers? It makes me cringe. It’s like nails on a chalkboard and most definitely on the list of words I hate. It is for this reason I call them vanilla wafers- even if I’m wrong.

Anyway, I had about 6 vanilla wafers with peanut butter- straight out of the tub- and thoroughly enjoyed every awful second of it (until they were gone and I felt fat). It was at that point that I began to complain about my crappy eating choices.

I got in the car and headed back to work. It was on my way back I discovered I had several smears of peanut butter all over my right knuckles.

Like a kid.

Or a psychotic out of control binge eater.

Who gets peanut butter caked on their knuckles!? Who aside from the aforementioned categories!?!

It’s like having dorito crumbs tucked away in your neck fat, or dropping jelly on your shirt and licking it off. It’s awful. And desperate.

So-

as if that weren’t bad enough, instead of doing the normal, adult, 26-year-old-thing and taking a napkin and wiping the smeariness off, I stayed true to fat camp kid protocol-

licked it off,

and kept on driving.