I know what you’re thinking.

I have a problem.

A drug problem.

That there is no such thing as “recreational” drug use.

That after one hit of Alli there is no going back.

You feel the high of controlling your fat intake because you’re terrified of crapping yourself,

the rush of oily farts as you think to yourself, “ Ohhh yeeahh, I am so addicted to this stuff. I <3 greasy gas."

You're right- that's exactly how it happened. Exactly how I became addicted.

It was that glamorous.

Okay not really-

after the first time I ate an order of mozzarella sticks, four cheese tortellini, half a loaf of bread, and a giant chunk of cheesecake I thought to myself, "I'll just take this one time."

One try won't hurt, right?

Before I knew it I was up to a three pill a day habit, figuring out when I was going to get my next fix. What I was going to eat- how much fat was involved....

trying to explain to Will how the hell the toilet was stained OSU orange…

before I knew it I was out of control!

P and I split a bottle- driving to every single Walgreens and CVS pharmacy trying to get our next fix- only we couldn't find any.

We began shaking and experiencing uncontrollable sweating and hallucinating- we were so addicted that we even drove to another city to secure another bottle of these little fat loss miracles.

As we split a "starter pack," ensuring we threw away the evidence in a dumpster three blocks away I felt a sense of peace. The shakes and scary flying goblins left my mind and I felt like myself again.

It was at this point- after driving to another city- that I realized I had a problem and I needed help.

Or maybe it was when P and I began to run low on our stash and actually contemplated cutting the pills open and using a credit card to separate the pills to get two hits out of one.

It could have also been at the point in which P and I turned the noun Alli into a verb- "Are you going to Alli after you eat that cheese pizza?"

"Are you going to Alli after scarfing down those three donuts?"

"We should probably Alli if we're going to eat these giant hamburgers at 1 AM."

Yeah, that might have been my low point.

My name is Brittny and I have an Alli-ing problem.

Not to be confused with the Alli side effects:

(sidenote: um- that’s pretty much freaking hilarious)

Yeah- it was at that point in which I decided I needed to get a hold of myself. Eating an occasional cheeseburger was far more desireable than crapping one’s self. Right?

I thought so too.

So, I got a hold of myself and became a “recreational” Alli user. It’s a lot easier to control- I’ll tell you that much! (ha ha!)

So there you have it- my drug problem and how I became a “recreational” user.

Anything weighing you down (if so- maybe you should “Alli")? Go ahead and share!

1. I ordered Girl Scout cookies yesterday. For “family in Kuwait.” Okay- so I’m lying. After all- this is Tuesday Confessions, right? So I ordered 10 boxes yesterday for “family” so I wouldn’t look like a total fatty. The truth is that we bought 10 boxes for ourselves. Because we suck. And we’re fat.

2. I will be 26 old this year and I still get embarrassed to buy tampons. Really. How immature is that?

3.I didn’t wash my hair yesterday. That’s typically no big deal, I generally go a day or two between washings. HOWEVER I lifted weights at the gym the day before and got sweaty and STILL did not wash my hair this morning. I opted for a quick shower and 30 extra minutes of sleep. Because I am gross. And fat (read #1).

4. Will always asks me to make sure the lines on his gotee/beard/thing (I’m not sure what exactly it’s classified as now) are straight and almost always I have absolutely no idea if they are or not. So I say just yes.

5. I tend to be slightly obsessive compulsive. Ross and Rachel found this out last weekend when I had to triple check that the straightener was unplugged PLUS have Will confirm. So I have this system, this schedule, for cleaning my house- and I don’t deviate. I’m two days behind and it’s really, truly making me all itchy and sweaty and crazy. Must.Not.Deviate. So despite my obsession with having a clean house, since I’ve already missed two days of “The Holy Schedule” I would rather wait until the cycle starts over again. Because I am crazy. And gross (read #2). And fat (read #1).

Anything weighing you down (aside from 10 boxes of Girl Scout cookies) that you need to get off your chest? Leave it behind in the “Share the Love” section. 

There’s something I need to confess today:

I hate buying new purses.

Yes, I know as a grown woman I’m supposed to love the idea of a brand new gorgeous bag, but the truth is- I don’t.

I hate purse shopping. I hate trying to find the “perfect bag.” I hate the idea of having to trade purses to match outfits- yes- I’m the one you gasp at for wearing browns and carrying a black purse. That’s me.

I find a purse and pretty much drive it into the ground. I carry so much unnecessary crap inside that you’d think I had mothered a basketball team. My purse probably weighs the same as a bucket of bricks. In fact, I’m pretty sure one of my shoulders permanently hunkers lower than the other. The thought of switching all that crap from one purse to another tires me. I’d rather just stick with Old Faithful. In fact, the purse I have now? Yeah- I’ve had it since the fall of 2006.

I plan on trying my best to make it through at least 2008.

I know that means by the time I finally break down a buy a new purse a whole new president will be in power,

we could be on the cusp of flying cars,

and Kuwait may have seen snow for the first time-

but that’s seriously how much I hate purse shopping.

I hate it almost as much as jean shopping- almost (I’m pretty sure shopping for jeans is the worst experience ever. In fact, I think that’s how they punish female criminals in some small countries).

From the outside, my current purse doesn’t look too bad. In fact, I still really like it.

The inside, however, leaves something to be desired.

I finally came to terms with it’s weakness this past week.

A few months ago I noticed a small hole in one of the pockets. Nothing too big, but slightly annoying. I also noticed that every now and then a lip gloss would get stuck inside “the abyss” due to the hole. Not that big of a deal- I mean- if one is going to hold the No New Purse conviction, you have to be prepared for a few annoying holes, right?

Well, last week it was as though the angels of purse heaven staged an intervention. A moment so intense that it brought me to a tearful confession:

“I...I’m out of control.... I need help.”

I had been searching for a lip gloss I had in my purse just the day before. Where was it!? Why couldn’t I find it? Ah- it must have slipped into “the abyss,” inside the linings of my old and worn purse. I stuck my fingers in the little hole that had developed and noticed that the “little hole” had grown significantly!

In fact- had I known the hole was so freaking huge I totally would have smuggled way more diet cokes and skittles into the movie we saw last week (just kidding of course...kind of).

As I stuck my hand inside the abyss I was astounded at all the little cylinders I felt within.

For months now I’ve sworn up and down I’ve lost several of my favorite lip glosses. I had simply blamed it “on the move-” which I’m finding is also a GREAT way to explain why I seem to have “lost” some of the bad gifts I’ve received over the years.

As I continuted to dig I began to pull lip gloss after lip gloss out of the abyss I realized I had a problem. I realized I probably needed a new purse.

The first step is admitting you have a problem, you know.

Not only that but I felt a little guilty when I pulled out a.brand.new.bottle.of.perfume. that had been missing for ALMOST A YEAR!

That’s right, my friends, almost a year! I had always secretly blamed this one girl I shared a vehicle with because she would always tell me how much she loved the smell. I figured she had stolen it.

The truth was that it was hidden inside my 30 pound trunk.

Yeah- I suck.

So- while I was very happy to have found some of my favorite lip glosses, I also realized that I probably need to begin thinking about getting a new purse.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but definitely before those flying cars roll out.

Anything you need to confess today?

Okay so I basically get dressed in the dark on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I get up at 430 Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to meet my friend at the gym, so by the time I get home on those days I’m very alert and conscious of bad apparel decisions. Tuedays and Thursdays, however go like this:

Set alarm for 6:20

Alarm goes off

Hit Snooze.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Finally decide, “Who am I kidding? Am I really going to get up now?”

Decide that I’m not.

Set alarm for 7:00.

It’s at this point, 7:00, that I get up and begin to rush and panic and think to myself, “What an idiot! Why would I get up so late!?”

Today was no different. I rushed around to get ready- spray ironed my clothes, took my rollers out in the car, and drove like a bat out of hell to get to work.

Classy lady.

That’s me.

Today, however, was not a good decision to sleep so late. Today we had a meeting with our customers- people I’ve spoken with several times but never formally met.

So explain to me why- why- I wore a sweater without the cami that MUST go underneath it to make it long enough and work appropriate.

Why?

And why- why- did I wear a sea foam green thong today that continually threatened to make an appearance as if to say (in a friendly British accent, of course- because that’s the language of all thongs), “Hello Mates!”

Why?

This whole morning was spent tugging, pulling, and grabbing at my shirt to ensure no sea foam thong peekage would occur.

I’m pretty sure I focused more on my sweater than I did the actual meeting.

What a tacky, tacky look.

I think all is well, and I’m pretty sure I’ve stretched my sweater to the point that it’s a mini dress, but I’d rather be wearing a mini dress than a ridiculous top that’s too short!

What a morning. Perhaps I’ll get up at 6:55 next time…

Tomorrow night my sister and I are going out on the town.

(ahahaha- out on the town. Little Christian Girls. In Kuwait. Where dancing, public music, and alcohol are forbidden. Yeah- that makes for a real wild night! )

I told her we have to make “a quick stop somewhere,” before we can go out.

She has no idea that my “quick stop” is to the lame going away BBQ for my boss where she will attend as my date.

Ahahahahaha.

“Quick Stop.”

I’m hilarious.

Oh, and P if you’re reading this I’m totally kidding… it really will be a quick stop. Honest. Will has to work- and having you there will get me in and out in a jif (in a jif?? Did I really just say Jif!?! Oh geez). You’re totally hot and if you go on this date with me I’ll totally put out. hee hee- not that way you grossy.

Can’t wait to see you! <3 xox

Remember The Talker? Well, between you and me I’ve been keeping my headphones on at all times in hopes that this person won’t talk to me.

Sometimes music isn’t even playing- but I keep the headphones on just to keep the appearance that I’m listening to music and

I

CAN’T

HEAR

YOU.

It hasn’t worked.

I can’t parallel park. I think I’ve maybe parallel parked three times since I’ve gotten my license. I’d rather park in the boonies and walk in a 5 below snow storm with gusting winds than parallel park right outside a store.

Boz peed on his random “floor spot” (you can read all about that a few posts down) this morning and I pretended not to see it so Will would clean it up. Yeah- I know. I’m sick and wrong. Shhh.

I had a venti skim latte today.

With 6 Sweet and Lows.

Last night we got a little Valentine’s Day care package from Will’s parents. A bag of Hershey’s Hugs was included. Will ate 3. I ate 3.

And then I took the bag in the kitchen and had 4 more. Don’t tell Will.

Alright, that’s enough secret sharing today. Anything you need to get off your chest?

I think I’m starting a tradition.

This week’s confession deals with something totally stupid (I guess that’s why I have to confess).

I’m afraid of the blue tupperware container in my work refrigerator.

Not just afraid.

Terrified.

There. I said it.

I am seriously scared of the blue tupperware container in the office fridge.

If only I could insert a picture of it right now… that would be the best of all.

Okay, here’s the story.

The week Will went home for his big OU-Miami game, I had gone grocery shopping for me and P. I got lots of good stuff that Will normally doesn’t like to eat. I had made a tomato, cucumber, and feta salad for me and P one night and decided to make enough for me to take to work the next day. What a smartie, right? So, I put the remaining portion of the salad in a blue tupperware container and brought it to work with me.

Well, unfortunately I got extremely busy that next day. So busy, in fact, that I forgot to eat lunch! My poor salad was abandoned and neglected. I had totally forgot about it.

That was 8 1/2 weeks ago.

You would think after a day or two I would have thought, “Oh Yeeeahhh! I forgot about the blue tupperware container in the work fridge!”

Only I didn’t.

Then the weekend came.

Then Ramadan hit in full force and I barely used the fridge because of my fasting coworker.

So, before I knew it- a month had passed without any regard for the blue tupperware container of feta, cucumber, and tomato salad in the fridge.

Then one day, I remembered.

I remembered and thought to myself, “Oh wow- that’s really sick! I’m going to have to get that out of here!”

And that was about all that occurred.

I closed the fridge and went on with my day. The container never left its little nook on the right hand side of the fridge. It seemed so happy, so content to stay and grow. Why bother it?

So now it’s been over two months. Now I’m just sickened by the thought of actually picking up the container for fear that it has grown arms and will, in one split instant, swallow me whole to mold and spore and spawn with the remnants of what was a cucumber, feta, and tomato salad.

Every time I open the fridge now, it’s like this huge glaring reminder staring back at me. It’s as if the cucumbers are knocking on the lid saying, “Hey! I’m beyond slimy! Get me the crap out of here! I hate feta! I hate feta!” and then they try to get the tomatoes all fired up as if to start a riot.

And I simply respond by shutting the fridge door.

The way I see it, I don’t have many options. I could take the container home- stinking my poor coworkers out the whole ride to the apartment.

I could throw the whole container in the trash- stinking my entire office up for quite possibly the next 4 months- or at least until Christmas.

Or-

I could leave it be.

I’ve opted to leave it be.

Yeah, yeah, so the reality is that I do have more options, but hey- why mess with a good thing?

So now everytime I open the fridge I let out a little groan about how incredibly uber DISGUSTING it is for SOME FREAKING INCONSIDERATE SICK MORON to leave crap in the fridge FOR FIVE MONTHS!

I love how I blame it on someone else.

The trouble is that it’s just me and this other girl in my office.

I can’t be sure, but I think she knows it’s me.

So what’s a girl to do? I’ve simply ignored it for 8 1/2 weeks now, and as each day passes the more grossed out I get!

Sadly, I think my poor blue tupperware container is going to have to take a trip to the outside dumpster.

Eh…

What’s one more week? 

Okay guys- it’s Monday Confession.

I have a major crush.

I’ve got it bad, guys. Real bad.

I have a super major couple crush on the people that are going to become our bestest friends in the whole wide world over here.

They just don’t know it yet.

There is this couple I simply adore (granted, I’ve seen them for like a total of 5 minutes- but hey! when it’s love, it’s love, am I right?).

Here’s the story.

This February, when we went to the Super Bowl, we flew home out of D.C. Well, as we prepared to board I noticed the cutest couple ever!

AKA our “bestest friends in the whole wide world over here that just don’t know it yet (Crap! That’s a long name for this couple. They’re worth it though. Well… I hope so… see, I’ve kinda sorta never exactly spoken to them just yet. We’ll get to that later.)!”

They’re probably around our age. They were a nice looking couple. They appeared to be poised, smart, and adorable- you know, a great freaking couple that everyone wants to hang out with!

So I was half tempted to throw myself all over them like a cheap college tramp after a few too many drinks at a Tri-Del party- but I refrained. Afterall, what would I have said? “Uh- hiya. I see you’re about to board a plane to Kuwait. Whatdoyouknow- so are we!” and then tell them about how we just came from the Super Bowl?

Um- I prefer to hide this football obsession from people until I know we’re life-long friends. Plus, I was looking incredibly rough (I mean, who likes to travel 18 hours dressed to the nines?), and the wife looked super cute. Double Plus- they were flying 1st class and we were in the freaking back of the plane next to someone that smelled like bacon and cooler ranch doritos. That’s not exactly the first impression I wanted to make.

In the midst of smelly bacon-dorito-back-of-the-plane funk, my crush began.

After we landed in Kuwait, the entire plane crowded around the baggage claim all looking for the exact same black Samsonite suitcase. I once again noticed the couple, and once again thought to myself, “I really want them to be our friends, darn it!” We stood near each other as our husbands found and loaded our luggage, but no words were exchanged. Sigh. That was the end of the story.

Or so I thought!

A few months later, we came across them again. This time it was at the Sultan Center. “Wow! We have so much in common! We both ride planes and we buy groceries at the Sultan Center!” See, guys? We’re a match made in Heaven.

So, as I was perusing the dairy section I did a quick cart check. You gotta know what your best friends are putting into their bodies, right? Well, they passed the cart test. If I had any doubts they were a great couple worthy of our Friday nights, they were diminished the second I saw their produce.

So, I looked like a freaking drooling moron at the store that day. I just can’t seem to get over how incredibly normal these people look, and I can’t stop wondering, “What in the WORLD these people are doing here? They’re so normal! Just like us!” Normal Americans are not common in this country. Hence why I’m practically laying myself in front of these people.

Anyway- So yeah, we saw them again. Nothing happened, though. Just a simple cart check that ended up with me hiding underneath their cart trying to secretly place our phone number into their lunch meat while they strolled about the cereal aisle living their lives (and wondering how their cart suddenly got so heavy).

Just kidding about the cart thing.

Don’t think I didn’t consider it, though.

And then? Then there was this weekend.

Another few months had passed since my last bestest friend ever spotting, and quite honestly I had forgotten that there was hope in finding a nice young couple in this country. Will and I decided to celebrate the end of Ramadan and the re-opening of civilization during the day by going to Chilis for lunch Saturday. We got there soon after it opened and had the place practically to ourselves. We sat down, and you’ll never guess in a million years who was sittng across from us!

YES!

OUR BEST FRIENDS EVER!

Okay, not directly across from us- there was a table in between, but still- we were practically having lunch together, guys!

Anyway, I know I sound like an incredibly OBSESSIVE high school girlfriend, but I think they noticed us too.

...

Or maybe I’m just telling myself that so I feel better.

I finally cracked and told Will about my crush. He never knew I had scouted out our newest friends. I told him the whole story and he responds with, “Huh. I never noticed them at the airport. Who are they again?”

Sigh.

I feel like I’m talking to a wall sometimes.

After re-explaining my story and once again hearing from Will that he didn’t remember ever seeing these people, I gave up. I mean really, guys, what was I going to do? Proudly get up, walk to their table, sit right next to the wife and introduce myself?

“HI! I’m Brittny. I know you don’t know me, but I’ve been in love with you guys from the first moment they called your boarding pass in D.C. this winter.

You fly.

We fly.

You shop at the Sultan Center.

We shop at the Sultan Center.

You eat at Chilis.

We eat at Chilis.

Mmm, fries (reaching onto her plate and shoving one in my mouth)! I love those too! See! It’s like we were seperated at birth! All you have to do now is tell me your husband loves football and we’ll make you the godparents of our firstborn!”

Yeah- try making that conversation not sound stalkerish!

Totally not going to happen.

Will thought I was a total goof for crushing so much. I guess it is a little silly. Why can’t we at least run in the same circles! Do you know how impossible it is to befriend people who don’t even know you’re alive!? Seriously!

So, lunch was over and I bid our friends “goodbye” as Will once again made fun of my incredible dorkiness.

After lunch it was off to the Sultan Center for groceries. Same old story, nothing exciting. As I went to grab some yogurt, you’ll never guess who in the WORLD I saw!

Yep!

Our best friends.

(insert Twilight Zone music)

What are the odds! 4 sightings in a country of one million people?

Is it a sign?

Are we destined to keep running into each other until one of us gets brave and says something?

Weird!

This time I swear there was a look. They totally knew who we were. At last! They remembered us!

(insert hallelujah chorus)

Everything got all slow motion-y and hazy and they slowly pushed their cart towards us, it was like one of those terrible teenage love movies.

Sigh. Love, I tell you. Love.

SCREECH!

My odd little dream sequence came to a quick halt.

Unfortunately, we had gotten a head start on our shopping and were headed for the check out line. They, however, were just getting started with their shopping.

Sigh.

Another bust.

Um, so guys? Question. Does this give me the right to say a friendly, “Hello (and nothing more I swear! I promise not to open my stupid mouth and say anything dumb)” if we ever cross paths again? Hmm…

Because you know what? I’m such a freaking chicken and will never say anything, not even hello, because I’m so timid. How dumb, right? I definetly have “hello” rights, though.

Right?

What’s the worse they could say?

Nothing?

That’s not so bad. They seem so normal that I doubt either of them would begin rotating their heads and spitting pea soup at us or anything.

Hello is safe. Hello it is.

(proudly proclaiming) My name is Brittny, and I’m going to say hello.

So, once again our paths crossed, and once again nothing happened.

Later that afternoon, I brought up the subject again. Will repeated what he said earlier that day, “I think it’s just you that notices people, Britter. I bet they’re just like me and don’t even remember us.”

“I bet you’re wrong!”

(sarcastically), “Yeah. I bet they’re having this exact conversation right now.”

“You know what!? I bet they ARE! I mean, who wouldn’t want to be our friends!?!”

-Pause-

Huge Eruption of Laughter.

“Alright, alright. I guess I better just stick to admiring from afar. I am going to say hi if we ever see them again, though. They are, afterall, our bestest friends in the whole world!”

Just FYI I might not be posting from Thursday night-Saturday night. I’ll be camping out at the Sultan Center in hopes of another sighting.

Ha ha just kidding!

(sort of)

I mentioned I recently got a new phone (remember? I was snapping pictures as if Boz were at his first Little League game).

Well, I thought today would be a good time to come clean and confess a daily game I play with my phone.

It’s called “How Many Times Did I Call Al Today!?”

You see, before getting this Nokia I had a Razr. That means all the buttons were protected. Now, however, I have this Nokia and all the buttons are naked and exposed much like Alicia Silverstone in her new PETA commercial, only, I’m pretty sure my phone is a carnivore.

Anyhow, my buttons are all naked and exposed, desperate to make a call- even sneaking behind my back to do so! I have this terrible habit of accidentally pranking people ALL THE FREAKING TIME!

It really sucks to be my friend if your name begins with an A. Seriously.

Okay, okay. I know what you’re thinking- “There’s a LOCK mechanism Brittny.” Yeah, yeah I know. I just don’t use it all the time.I don’t know why.

Don’t ask.

ANYWAY-

Where was I?

I’m accidentally pranking people ALL THE FREAKING TIME!

The first weekend I had my phone I called my coworker Al 23 times. 23 times! That’s crazy!

He’s a newlywed.

I’m sure his wife wants to stab a pencil in the little giggly junior high girl’s eye that

WOULDN’T

STOP

CALLING

HER

HUSBAND!

Can’t say I blame her.

The real bothersome thing was- “Uh- what all did he get to hear those 23 times?”

Talk about making your mind race!

I mean, it’s not like I hold the world’s secrets and get to wear cool 007 gadgets and have “assets” and talk in code or anything- but still!- I don’t want my coworker knowing that I spend an hour trying to decide what kind of deoderant to buy either!

He came into the office the weekend after the 23 million phone call escapade all curious about the bits and pieces of conversation he was privy too.

It’s amazing what you can glue together based on hearing 23 different phone calls. In fact, it’s a little embarrassing. I then had to convince him that Will was not going to be a judge on America’s Next Top Model and yes, I really did eat half a box of Bran Buds in less than a day and the consequences were less than desired.

Try saying that in a professional manner!

Yeah- that was fun.

Ever since that weekend I’ve been better about locking my phone.

However-

I’m still not perfect. I have my phone with me all the time. It’s constantly being shoved in my purse, hiding in my pocket, getting smashed against my hand as I try to hold 7 grocery sacks, unlock the house door, and text message my sister. Accidental phone calls are bound to occur.

Every day I come home and assess how many freaking times I accidentally called anyone whose name begins with the cursed A. Poor souls.

So, I decided to make a game of it. I look back at my records and see how many times I called and try to guess what I was doing at that time and what the person heard.

“Oops! They were in my pocket when I was in the ladies room today.”

“Ha ha, they know I had Subway today!”

“Hmm, I wonder if they got to hear about my theory on pants?”

Yes. I’m beyond nerdy. Hey- it’s Confession Monday though- what did you expect!?

Your turn to fess up. 

Confession:

I have not read any of the Harry Potter books.

I have not seen any of the Harry Potter movies.

Apparently that officially makes me the most boring and uncool person on earth.