I had a great Thanksgiving and for lack of anything exciting to post, I will simply fill my blog with pictures, lots and lots of pictures. Lots of huge and not properly sized pictures that will probably make my blog look funny. YAY!

I posted a crap load on flickr and will probably get bored and won’t finish posting all of them on here- so if you’re bored too, you can look for the rest there!

I thought this sort of summed up life here. Covered ladies all in a row.

Have I mentioned Will hates taking pictures?

Making room for turkey.

My Angstgiving 2005 Guide. I have no idea why I still have it. Please don’t ask.

We got matching jerseys! Surprisingly enough, Will was the one who thought we should get them. Pretty cute. Too bad we won’t get to ever freaking wear them to a STUPID OU NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP GAME! WHY!? WHHHY Sam Bradford? Get well soon. PS- I need all other 5 and higher ranked teams to lose next week. Can you arrange that?

My mom would kill me if she knew I was posting this- so don’t tell her. I thought this shirt was freaking hilarious. It came free with their Sopranos set. Nothing says “Happy Thanksgiving” like a mom in a shirt with a bloody knife! You know what I’m sayin?

Me and my bird.

Me and P. Did you notice she went brown? It’s such a change!

Me and P again.

The Turkeys

Will and Boz throwing up their “number ones”

Will trying to get Boz to look at the camera.

This picture is freaking GENIUS! This is P doing our The Shining cover. She looks like Jack Torrence, right?

My rendition is not as good as P’s.

P and “Tony” <- another thing from the movie.

My mom got us all Advent calendars to count down to Christmas, but we’re using it to countdown to our vacation home! YAY!

Alright, so that’s that. Sorry I’m not more exciting. I had a really good weekend though. I ate entirely too much and was too lazy.

Good “whatever it may be” friends (I figure if I say morning this post won’t be finished until the afternoon, and knowing me I may not even publish until this evening… we’ll just stick with “whatever it may be.” It’s safe)!

Well, here it is again- Thanksgiving. The good news is that this year’s holiday (hopefully!) won’t be another Angstgiving as in years past. We can only hope, anyway.

My family and I are celebrating a little early this year because of our trip to Jordan. The plan is to have Thanksgiving tomorrow, so keep your fingers crossed. See, unfortunately there’s a chance I might have to work. I’m just going to put my foot down and tell my boss I’ve got a freaking 16 pound turkey that’s been defrosting in my fridge since Sunday night and dang it, that bird is getting tossed in the oven, and if not- HE’S going to be the stuffing!!

What do you guys think?

My coworker and I agreed we could come in Saturday, so hopefully that will suffice. I even said I could do some work from home while the bird was in the oven. While we’re on the subject of work, will you guys say a prayer for me? I just found out some disturbing news that might have me searching for something elsewhere. I really hope not, but please just say a prayer for me. My stomach feels yucky over everything.

Okay- this post is NOT about work. It’s about Thanksgiving! Let’s get back on track!

The original plan was for me to go over to my parent’s house tonight, bird in tow. I was going to stay the night with them so I could get up early and make the turkey at their house. You might remember last year’s Thanksgiving drama. As you can imagine, I don’t want a repeat of that, so I thought it best to let Will do his own thing in the morning and let me get the turkey ready at my parent’s house. Transporting the stupid thing was a sloshy juicy mess last year, and this plan will not only make for a happier wife, but a happier Thanksgivng overall.

I’m not sure I’m going to go over there now, though, if I’m going to do some work from home. I figure I’ll be distracted if I’m at my parent’s house. There’s no way I can resist goofing off with P. Besides- what loser tells their sister, “Now now, pipe down. I need to focus on my studies!”

Exactly.

I’m sort of bummed because I thought it would be fun. I know all I’ll do is worry if I go over there instead of taking care of my crap. We’ll see. Again- PRAYERS guys, please. I really want to seek God’s will for my life and job.

So- plans are still up in the air for tomorrow’s festivities. The plan is for me to make a desert tonight and the turkey tomorrow. We’re going with rather unconventional desserts this year. My mom is making key lime pie and I’m making a chocolate buttermilk pie- only because it’s from a Semi-Homemade cookbook and it was one of the first pie recipes I turned to. Plus it’s chocolate and you can’t go wrong with that.

I’m looking forward to tomorrow. Did I ever tell you my sister and I have a really morbid Thanksgiving tradition? We LOVE to watch The Shining Thanksgiving night. How random, right? I don’t really know what started this tradition, but it’s become a staple in our holiday fun. Will and my parents don’t get it, I can’t understand why. Will already informed us he won’t be participating in this year’s viewing. What a party pooper. Oh well.

Back to turkey. I’m making the same one I have the past two years- the orange-y one. I had pictures on my old blog, but when I had to transfer all the archives (copy and freaking paste. It took FOREVER) over to this blog, I got lazy and didn’t insert all the pictures. So- sadly, if you ever read the archives (ha ha yeah right), I have a ton of posts where I’m all, “Look at our trip! Here’s me with P doing such and such, and here’s Will skiing in Dubai!” only there aren’t any pictures underneath. I suck.

Okay- this post has literally taken me all stinkin’ day to write. I started this morning and got so busy that now it’s time for me to leave- and the best part of all is I GET TO WORK FROM HOME! 16 pound orange-y turkey… get ready to be basted!!

Love you guys. Pictures of the big day to come tomorrow! 

It’s funny to me how grown, professional, working women still resort to high school petty jealousies at the first sight of a newbie.

Why are we like that? I swear- we’re more territorial than a grizzly bear.

We might as well go around peeing on desk chairs and fax machines so we can properly mark our territory. “It’s Miiiiiinnnneeee. Alllll Miiinnee! Steal my job and I’ll rip your tacky coral cardigan to shreds!”

In some odd way, wizzing on a HP printer seems a little more dignified than the typical office games I’ve watched play out around here.

Guys, I feel like I’m in an episode of Man Vs. Wild. Survival I tell you - that’s what it’s about.

Remember The Beatniks (if you’re too freaking lazy to click the link- as I usually am- they’re the couple we went out with a few times)? Well, Mrs. Beatnik has temporarily been working in my department. She’s “on loan” the next few weeks, and if things work out she’ll probably get hired over here.

Nothing was said to any of us about her arrival, and they’ve sort of been hiding her away- like maybe we won’t notice that a grown woman is camping out in office 234.

That’s a whole other story.

Weird, I tell you. Weird.

When I found out she was here, I was sort of hoping we’d talk some, maybe go to lunch, but- no.

We’ve barely spoken.

We talked for like 15 minutes on our way from the BIDFY the other day, but that’s been about it. It’s been incredibly awkward. Forced. Uncomfortable.

I bet our football obsession turned her off. Or maybe it was dog thing (they don’t like dogs).

Note to self: get a new hobby and lose Boz and Lucy- they’re cramping your style.

Anyway- that’s another story and I’m getting off track-

I’ll admit I, like everyone else, was a little taken aback at her arrival. I mean, Hel-lo! What about the application I put in 2 weeks ago? My job had nothing to do with what she is doing here, but I was still hoping my managers would take some action since they went to all this trouble to bring someone else in for additional help. Aside from that, I’m laid back about the whole thing. What’s the big deal?

There have been some in my department, though, that have totally gone off the deep end about Mrs. Beatnik’s arrival.

Guys, they’re scaring me.

I’ve got the mother lion on one side of me licking her chops as she prepares to go for the jugular and feed the family, and I’ve got a freaking boa constrictor on the other side, ready to squeeze the life out of anyone that so much as looks at her the wrong way.

Please! Please dear God I pray- Just pee on the freaking chair already for crying out loud! I can tolerate your urine much better than your psycho-fly-off-the-handle employee relation complaint threats and whining!

Perhaps it’s because she’s pretty. Perhaps it’s because she wasn’t overly friendly to some of the staff. Perhaps it’s because she’s smart and good at whatever it is they have her doing in her super secret office. I don’t know. What I do know is that people’s panties are getting all wadded up over the fact that she’s here.

Can’t we all get along? Seriously- I’m having flashbacks to my awkward junior high days. Please don’t make me go back there. I thought this work relationship crap was supposed to be easier than junior high- why is everything digressing? Don’t they have seminars for this stuff?- “Love Your Cubical Mate” and “How to Foster Healthy Work Relationships While Maintaining Your Sanity” or “Killing Your Co-Worker: Why It’s Not Worth It.” I bet there’s one for “Chill Out, You Freaking Moron. That New Girl Isn’t Out to Steal Your Job- and PS: You Smell Like Icy Hot.” If there’s not, please, please somebody do something.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m the moron here. It could very well be. All I know is: Thank God for iPods. Seriously. There’s no better way to drown out the sound of high pitch territorial shrills like a good dose of Thievery.

Gotta go. People are continually loitering around my desk.

It’s as if their killer instincts have sniffed out this post and they’re circling me, preparing to pounce…

...

or maybe even worse…

the won’t invite me to the next office birthday party. (gasp!)

There’s nothing that reminds you of your fatness like jean shopping.

Seriously.

I would HANDS DOWN rather go swimsuit shopping instead of jean shopping. I mean, at least when you’re buying a swim suit you know what to expect. You know you’re going to leave the store in a pissed off mood because the suit you picked out single handedly made you gain 20 pounds in one split instant. ( I love blaming stuff on clothes)

You know that your entire body will be exposed in that horrifying fluorescent light that shows every single body blemish ever. “Heeeey! I didn’t know I had a scar there!” or “Hmm, that freckle looks like Rudy Giuliani!”

You go into the situation knowing that.

Jean shopping, however, is a different story. You’re fully covered! Nothing is exposed (well, unless you try on the ultra low rise jeans and you’ve got not only the muffin top thing going on, but ALSO the half moon as well. We’ll get to that later though), yet you still leave in a terrible mood.

Explain to me how something that covers your entire body can make you so angry!?!

I hate jeans shopping.

I would rather be just about anywhere than in a dressing room trying on 40 pairs of jeans praying that maybe, just maybe one will fit- or that jeans will become extinct. I pray that too sometimes.

I become slightly holier during jean shopping. You know that whole pray without ceasing verse? Yep, I’m all over that one.

You see, jeans provide you with no “give.” You are what you are in a pair of jeans. No stretching, no “easing into them.” What they look like in the store is how they’re going to be forever, or even worse after the dryer shrinks them. Sure, eventually they start to fit a little looser- but that assumes you have the time to do 25 squats and 2 sets of 12 lunges every time you wear them! Not to mention the fact that it’s totally unacceptable to do these forms of exercise in a dressing room. Trust me, I’ve tried.

You are what you are in a pair of jeans.

Not only that, but my body is all weird. Apparently I’ve unknowingly agreed to house a school of children in various areas of my body-mostly below the waist region- and this often causes complications with trying on jeans.

Trying on anything, really.

Stuff fits in the legs and then

breathe in!

squeeze!

hop!

PRAY!

That’s what happens as I approach my hip region. Ladies, I have a normal body below the knees and above the waist, but somehow in between those two areas I think God accidentally paired me with someone that was meant to be larger. So- I’m convinced there’s a rather large lady walking around the world somewhere that has a tiny butt and cute little round hips, totally confused about her odd proportioning too. Have you seen her??

So, in short, my jeans get stuck around my hips and I have to really concentrate to get them to “slide” on. This often requires large amounts of sweat, prayer, and Shea butter. Let’s also not forget The Pants Dance. This dance is a must in all jean outings. Seriously? You need to go read that post and come back here. It really sums up what it’s like to to try on jeans. I totally made myself laugh too. I’m such a nerd.

Hmm, where would I rather be than jean shopping you might ask?

*The Gynecologist- check

* Cardio Boot Camp- check

*At a John Wayne Movie Marathon- check

That’s right, I’d rather be at all of those places compared to looking for the perfect pair of jeans.

So, because of my immense hatred for jeans shopping, I basically have to be dragged to the store, and since Will isn’t a big shopper I’m never really in a MUST BUY JEANS situation.

Until this past weekend.

Will actually forced me to go jean shopping (brave man). I don’t think he realized what a big scary grumpy mess I turn into, or else he would have brought in serious back-up.

Lucky Brand was having a buy one get one pair free sale at one of the malls here. I gotta admit- that’s a pretty good deal. That’s the only brand of jeans Will has worn since I’ve known him, so he wanted to go ahead and take advantage of the sale.

For some reason he convinced me to do the same.

I think we must have had this conversation in between sleep and consciousness, because that’s the only way I would have agreed.

Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been jean shopping people!?

AGES.

YEARS.

LITERALLY!

The last pair of jeans I bought was back in the late spring of 2005, right before coming to Kuwait. Will and I bought a pair from The Buckle from my Stillwater buddy Megan (Hi Megan! I’m glad you sold me those jeans. They’re the only freaking pair I wear ALMOST THREE YEARS LATER. Hello patheticness! Don’t disown me okay?).

I got a pair of Big Star jeans. Do they even make those anymore?

It took me a good 30 minutes to get over the “big” star name. What- were they calling me fat? Why BIG star? How come not little star or shiny star? Was Big Star the brand the chubby girls had to buy? Were there Skinny Star and Medium Star jeans too?

After that breakdown, I finally bought the freaking things- and have worn them ever since.

I bought a pair from NY & Co. last year but I totally don’t count them because:

1. They were on sale and I just grabbed them and barely tried them on- which does NOT count as jean shopping.
2. I never wear them because they were on sale and I just grabbed them and barely tried them on- and they’re huge.

So- 2005 Big Star Jeans it is. Besides, I hardly wear jeans anyway. I can’t wear them at work and it’s a THOUSAND AND FOUR freaking degrees here in the summer, so jeans are the last thing I want to wear 7 months out of the year.

Riiight, Brittny. Keep telling yourself that.

So, that’s my jean history.

Jeans are one of those crucial items in a wardrobe. They’re a big commitment. They are a major part of the “collection,“ which is yet another reason I’ve stuck with the trusty 2005 pair for so long. Plus, why would I willingly torture myself by jean shopping? I’ve already established how much I hate it.

Saturday Will and I broke my 2 year non-shopping jean streak and went to Lucky for their sale.

First of all- what in the freaking CRAP was I thinking?

We get there and the store is empty. That means we’re the only two people in proximity that might spend money- which means the sales people are practically making out with you from the instant your first foot hits the entrance.

Sales people. That’s another post for another day.

It’s like they’re starving bloodhounds and they’ve just been let loose in a meat locker.

I even think there was some leg humping too.

Anyway- enough with the starving dog analogy- you get the point, they were all over us.

I start small- just looking at the jeans Will is interested in. We discuss colors, styles, etc. Will isn’t a big shopper- he’s an “in and out” kind of guy that finds exactly what he wants and doesn’t dilly-dally. He’s quickly off to try on his jeans.

Meaning I was alone.

In a store full of hungry, blood thirsty, commission sucking sales people.

All Alone.

Alone people!

I was forced to look around.

It didn’t take long before our hungry salesman was by my side looking at my butt and sizing me up to what kind of jeans he thought I might be able to force my sausage legs into.

Just a sidenote for all you lovely sales people out there- PLEASE make me a promise, okay? When someone tells you their size

DON’T YELL IT ACROSS THE STORE TO SOMEONE ELSE as you proceed to find what you’re looking for.

My gosh! Didn’t they learn anything in their Lucky Brand Store Orientation??

So, once they found about 12 different styles of jeans in my size- and now that everyone knew my body’s dimensions, it was time for the try-on.

We’ve already established The Pants Dance, but even that couldn’t help me a few times- and the jeans were supposedly my size.

Can I please cry!?

About 2 pairs into the try-on the salesman came by my door, “How are those working out for you?”

Between a grunt and a quick exhale I muster a, “Fine,” but what I really wanted to say was, “They’re not!! They’re NOT working thank you very much!”

I mean, seriously, do they even make jeans that cover your butt anymore? No, seriously, I’m asking! Even the “normal rise” was risky business. So, not only did I have to squeeze into every pair of jeans I tried, but then I had to:

1. Make sure I could still breathe.
2. Check my vitals.
3. Make sure there wasn’t a full moon blinding everyone in sight.
4. Make sure there was no muffin top spillage.

I failed every single test.

Can’t a girl get a freaking pair of jeans that passes these four checks! GAH! Heck! I’d take 2 out of 4!

One pair would fit fine in the hips but be huge at the waist, another would barely make it past my knees, and still another would be almost perfect but too short.

I came back out to see if there was anything else I could try. I found another few pairs and hoped for the best.

I got in the dressing room and gave myself a pep talk, “Okay, Brittny. This is it. Find two pairs of jeans and you’ll never have to go jeans shopping again. Ever. Okay, I’m lying- but I promise you won’t have to for at least another two years. I don’t care what you do- just find a decent pair of jeans!”

So I did just that.

I’m almost certain that I broke every rule of Jean Shopping Fashion, but I didn’t care. I wanted to find a couple pairs of jeans I could live with, learn to like them, and be done with the whole thing without sweating buckets.

So, I’m the proud (?) owner of two new pairs of jeans I can tolerate simply so I never have to jean shop again. I left the store feeling incredibly chunky and mad at Levi Strauss. Wasn’t he the guy that got this whole jean thing started?

I don’t even remember what the things look like on me (I only tried them on twice in the store and immediately took them to the closet when we got home), so I’m sure I’ll go through this whole bad attitude, Pants Dance fiasco all over again when I finally go to wear them.

(blocking that last sentence from my mind. horrified to think of trying those stupid jeans on again)

There you have it.

Jeans.

The mocker of all women. 

Have any of you guys been to TGIFridays lately?

CAN I TELL YOU HOW MUCH I WANTED TO RIP THE HAT OFF OUR CRAZY DRESSED SERVER LAST NIGHT, JUMP UP AND DOWN ON IT AND THEN PROCEED TO THE KITCHEN TO GORGE MYSELF ON THEIR “SIGNATURE” FRIED CHEESECAKE??

I don’t know if this is solely in Kuwait or not, but they just recently changed their birthday song to

THE

LONGEST

PIECE

OF

CRAP

E

V

E

R

I pray they haven’t infiltrated the US yet.

I can only hope.

It’s an actual song. A 2 minute, 14 second song

And it’s awful,

Painful,

And loud.

I’m used to the regular old birthday song, revamped a little with clapping and some silly rhythmical change, but not an actual deafening song.

Sung every freaking 7 minutes.

With balloons that were popped to be in sync with the loud beats of the drum.

Did I mention that English is not the native language of those singing?

Painful I tell you. Painful.

Then we sat across a table of loud obnoxious junior high kids (ahh- remember those days?) who all had “birthdays.” So we had to hear it thrice more.

Happy Freaking Birthday already.

I almost went over to their table and told them I was blowing out their freaking candle and my wish was that the TGIF Birthday Song record would shatter into a million pieces.

Wow. I feel a lot better after venting!

This is a warning that Fridays is probably not the place to go after a long day of work. You seriously might go insane and wind up spending the night in the fetal position in the corner of a Q-8 prison cell.

Don’t worry, guys, I didn’t take The First Lady to Fridays.

I was busy.

She took a raincheck.

*wink wink*

Okay, so I have to tie the title into this post, right?

Aside from the MAJOR HINT I’ve given you, you’ll never guess what Will called me today!

Yep, Debra Barone.

(Hmm- Debra? Do you spell your name that way, or are you an Deborah kind of girl? Or Debora? We may never know...)

It was because I was a little yell-y this morning.

He hadn’t seen yell-y until he called me Debra Barone.

Then he saw yelling!

Okay, not really, but I did get mad! Really mad! I told him he was grounded from me doing any of his crap this week (ie: laundry, ironing, etc).

He’s not grounded, really, but I was a little annoyed.

Debra really deserves her own post, but for today I’ll spare you, and we won’t go into my psychological analysis of Everybody Loves Raymond. Maybe later.

(the crowd roars)

Alright I’m off to make a very random lunch of lemon pepper chicken tenderloins, apple sauce, and tater tots- requested by Will.

Could he be pregnant?

I was at work until 9:00 last night.

I was beyond annoyed with the entire situation.

When you work on a military base in the middle east you’re stuck.

Totally stuck on base until you are leaving for the day. There’s no running to the grocery store or going to Applebees on your lunch break. You’re stuck, dang it.

Somehow around 7:30 I “volunteered” myself to get dinner for everyone. My boss gave me money and we all agreed the easiest thing to get would be pizza. I attempted to call and order but got no answer.

No pizza.

“I KNOW!” some freaking braniac shouted, “LET’s HAVE SUBWAY!”

What a GREAT idea!

Not.

Do you know how freaking impossible it is to order sandwiches and salads for like a thousand people?

“I want a six inch turkey on white...no, no wait… make it wheat Doh! Sorry- you know what, let’s stick with white. Then I want pickles, olives, tomatoes, a TINY bit of italian dressing, a DAB of mayo, a SPRINKLE of salt. Then you do the hokey-pokey and you turn yourself around,

thats

what

it’s

all

about!”

I was about to launch across the desk in a firey fury at that point.

So-

As I’m headed to Subway, fuming about work, fuming about “volunteering,” and fuming about ordering 56 different variations of the same sandwich, and all I can say is (and I have no idea where it came from or what it means, but trust me- it made sense at the time):

“I’m starving and I’m pissed. I can go without the food, but not without the pissed. That’s right- I’d like an order of ‘pissed’, please!”

Who knows what I was thinking. All I know is that I totally laughed at myself for being such a weirdo.

By the way- they don’t serve that at Subway.

MUST

NOT

LEAVE

WEDNESDAY’S

POST

UP

ON

A

THURSDAY.

TOTAL HERESY.

How?

How in the freaking WORLD can our AC go out in October?

Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking, “At least it’s not JULY Brittny.”

And you know how I respond to that?

BY FLINGING SWEAT ON YOU.

Poor Will is terrified of me. You may not remember, but I sweat a lot. Yep, I’m a sweater. I think I’ve talked about being hot or sweating about a thousand times since the inception of this blog. Not only that, but I become quite unbearable when I get hot. I told Will tonight that God has me living in the 21st century for a reason. Do you know what he said to that?

“Yeah. You would have been the grumpy old maid if you were alive during any other era.”

Awww. He’s so sweet and romantic, isn’t he? That’s why I married him, you know.

The second we realized that the AC wasn’t just “frozen up” but instead murdered, we both just looked at each other and sort of laughed. He was like, “Oh crap.” That was all that needed to be said.

So, the rest of the day we played “who can be still the longest” and tried not to move as long as we possibly could.

I think I’ve surprised Will with my decent attitude. I’ve been rather peachy all day. We’ve had a really good day today. In fact, I’ve surprised myself! I think it’s because although it’s still FREAKING HOT (over 100), it’s not This-Heat-Is-Not-Only-Making-Me-STERILE-but-is-Also-Going-to-Take-My-Young-Life sort of hot. It’s that sort of hot from May to September. October is a lot better. I guess I should be thankful, right?

I came really close to body-slamming Will tonight, though. We were getting ready to go on our triple date and he had

EVERY

FREAKING

LIGHT

ON

IN

THE

HOUSE.

Um- hello burning light heat!!!

I would go behind him and turn off all the lights.

I’d go back to slooowly getting myself ready (as to not break a sweat!), only to turn around and see the freaking lights back on. I’d slowly get up, spray myself down with a water bottle, and turn the lights off again.

I’d get myself all situated and back to what I was doing only for the stupid freaking pieces of crap to be right back on.

Do you want to know how to make your eye twitch? THAT’S how to make your eye twitch.

He didn’t get my “system.” Trust me, there’s a system.

So, now we’re sitting with just two lights on in the whole house and two candles going. I told Will that burning candles would make me hot and he just looked at me like I was a freaking idiot.

I wasn’t kidding.

I also told him I couldn’t work out on the elliptical today because, “I would spread the heat” if I started sweating. Again, he just looked at me like in wonder.

Again, I wasn’t kidding.

Then.

Then!

Then my parents offer to house us tonight and instead of jumping on that wagon Will’s like, “No, we’re fine.”

Speak for yourself! I have sweat rolling down my freaking back and am trying to remember that Punky Brewster where the girl gets herself locked in the freezer during hide and go seek just so I can remember how they got her out just incase I need to climb into our fridge tonight- and you’re turning away an offer to sleep in peace. (I think I’ve made my point clear: I hate being hot and I hate sweating).

HELLO!!

Anyway, as you’ve guessed, we’re at our house.

We’re calling first thing in the morning to get it fixed. We would have called today, but it’s their holy day so nothing would have gotten done. Hopefully, for every living creature’s sake, our AC will get fixed tomorrow. Poor Boz and Lucy. They’re miserable. Their hair is long right now and although I can’t be positive, I really think I heard Lucy call me a naughty word today. Their getting groomed next week, but hopefully we’ll have the AC back by then.

I knew I loved our tile floors for a reason. I’ll be sleeping on them tonight.

Have a good weekend!

Your sweaty friend,

Brittny

Does Dr. Pepper count as lunch?

...

If not, does it count as cheap therapy?

A swift kick in the butt perhaps?

Yeah, it’s gotta be the last one.

Okay, back to work. More to come (this is only part one afterall!).

Can I simply ask why all these new “on-the-go” drink packs have to be the darkest, deepest shade of crimson EVER!?

REALLY!!?

WHY!!!!?

People have to work!

On the same token, people like to drink flavored water.

HOWEVER-

People also don’t like to have their teeth stained BLOODY RED ALL FREAKING DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know Halloween is approaching, but c’mon! I swear people think I’m a vampire around here. I now have to use a freaking straw in my water bottle.

Are you happy Crystal Light!? A STRAW!

Yes- I’m one of those snooty straw-drinkers.

WHO!?

WHO DRINKS WATER THROUGH A STRAW?!

I’ll tell you who- MORONS!

For the love of flavored water- make something clear already!

GAH!