Tag Archive: christmas


I am 36 minutes into the film Tangled.

I’ve been giggling like an idiot.

Tangled came out on DVD (and Blu-Ray- if you’re into that. We have one but I tend to forget about it….) today and you better believe I bought it.  I went straight to Target today (after I took a two hour nap, put gas in my car and remembered it was Tuesday) and purchased it. It was the only thing I bought. And let’s get real: there are at least 42 things at Target that I can easily convince myself into thinking I need on any given trip. Like, how one time I dropped 82 dollhairs and I couldn’t even explain what I bought without looking at my loot. But, alas, I practiced some self control.

It doesn’t even matter that I’m 23 years old and still have a deep, deep love for Disney movies.  Don’t hate. You know you have the same love that I do.

Speaking of Disney movies, I found something on the internet the other day that I simply MUST share with you.  It’s one of the most amazing things I’ve ever seen.

Oh wait, that wasn’t the Disney thing I wanted to show you but it is worth sharing anyway.  I watch that video of those precious, little red pandas, like, every day and just giggle my face off. The music… it’s perfect. Good lord, I can’t get enough.

Okay, guys, here’s the Disney thing I wanted to show you.

It’s been floating around the internet for a while but I stumbled upon it the other day and immediately put that shit on facebook.

My love of Disney may make me seriously consider skipping the season finale of Teen Mom 2 tonight. And by seriously consider I mean I will skip the finale and finish watching Tangled in one sitting. Because, damn it, I’ve waited since Christmastime for this movie to be on DVD so I could see it again. And because I love Mandy Moore. And because I really don’t want to get up off the couch to get the remote to flip over to TV and turn on MTV.

What? My legs hurt.  I got my Fergie on today (“…workin’ on my fitness”).

Also, next time I’m drunk enough to humiliate myself and a) not care and/or b) not remember, I’m gonna use this: Somebody get me a glass ‘cause just found me a tall drink of water!

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I’ve been menstruating since, like, sixth grade. Blood coming out of my body is not necessarily a new thing.

But, um, that blood comes out of my vagina. And it’s regular, you know? Like, I can pretty much count on it.  And when I forget about it, I just have to remember the last time I cried in my bed for three days in a row for no particular reason (e.g. Drew uses the last of the milk on his second bowl of cereal Christmas morning; a stranger at Meijer gives me a dirty look; a Folgers Coffee commercial on TV) and I’ll realize that it’s about that time again.

But, this morning, when I realized that my body was gushing blood, I freaked the fuck out.

I do not like blood. I’d be, like, the worst vampire ever. It makes me queasy. Ever since Drew wrecked his face and I had to run from the neighbor’s house at age 5 (or something?) to tell our parents Drew’s lip was … not really on his face anymore, things just haven’t been okay for me and Blood. Even when it comes out of my vagina, I have to distance myself from it; I have to pretend it’s not really blood. Ugh. I have the willies just thinking about it.

Anyway, this gushing blood? It was not coming from my ladybox.

(Sorry I talked about my vagina, Drew.)

I can’t even tell you the last time I had a bloody nose.

Even though I’m clumsy as fuck and run into shit all the time, I haven’t hit my nose in a way that makes it bleed. When Drew chucked a tennis ball at my face, my nose didn’t bleed.

I wasn’t even participating in a strenuous activity. Nothing happened. There was no trauma to my face.

(This leads me to believe that something exploded in my brain and that I’m probably going to die.)

I was driving to work this morning, just driving along listening to Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone on CD when OUT OF NOWHERE my nose started gushing blood. Literally. I couldn’t get a Kleenex to my face fast enough. There was SO MUCH BLOOD. And it was everywhere.

I was so ill-equipped.  What, with the almost-empty, smashed-to-hell box of Kleenex I keep in my car, the fact I was driving at a barely-legal 78 miles an hour on I-96 at 8am, and OH YEAH I HAVE NEVER HAD A BLOODY NOSE AND ALL OF MY FIRST-AID TRAINING APPARENTLY FLEW OUT OF MY BRAIN IN A PANIC BECAUSE I DO NOT POSSESS GRACE UNDER FIRE.

My intention was that I would be able to stop at Starbucks or Beaners (fuck that, I refuse to call it Biggby) to grab a caramel macchiato or chai latte (respectively) and make it to work on time. Ohhhh, no. That did not happen, although I did pull into the Starbucks parking lot to try to stop the bleeding. To no avail.

I drove the rest of the way to work with a Kleenex shoved up my nose while I called my mother in a panic (she didn’t pick up; she doesn’t love me.) and machine gun-like sobs escaped from my lungs. I cried my way to work with a Kleenex shoved up my left nostril.

So attractive.

When I finally got to work, it looked like I had killed someone.

There was blood ALL OVER my scarf (the one Drew brought home for me from VIENNA!), my coat, the steering wheel in my car, my pants, both of my hands and all down my arms.

I was a fucking mess.

Seriously, that kid on youtube who got all upset about the blood? You know what I’m talking about: BLOOD?! NOT FUNNYYYYYYY!!! He was fucking right.

I even opened the first aid kit I keep in my car for sanitizing wipes to wipe all of the blood off of my hands and the steering wheel.  It only kinda worked, though, because the first aid kit is kinda old and it has been sitting in my car for a while so the wet-wipe thing I used was dried out.  So, mostly, I dumped a fuck-ton of antibacterial hand gel everywhere and wiped with the not-wet-at-all wet-wipe (because I DIDN’T HAVE ANYMORE KLEENEX LEFT!). Things didn’t really work out for me this morning as I was self-conscious about my bloody-ness all day long.

Here’s the silver lining though: at least this didn’t happen on a Monday. My whole week would have been fucked.

(OMG I can’t believe I’m even about to say this- because it’s terrible and very, very offensive, but oh well I’m going to anyway…) All I could think of, though, through the whole ordeal: If I had The HIV, this would be a nightmare. And if I was a hemophiliac, I would be so fucked right now.

For Christmas, I gave Nikki a gift card to a salon/spa with the intent that we would get pedicures together. Well, as fate would have it, as a birthday activity, Nikki and I went to get pedicures yesterday afternoon. For an hour and a half, we sat in cushy, black recliners while we soaked our feet in warm water and got to have our toes painted.

I happen to be very, very ticklish, a fact I always seem to forget until someone is touching my feet.

Anyway, yes, for an hour and a half my feet were very well taken care of. And then I put my socks back on and shoved my feet into my boots and we ventured back out into the Michigan snow.

Later that night, I slipped my stocking-covered feet into some black ballet flats while me and my gal pals terrorized East Lansing once again as we tried to “re-do” new year’s eve.

My toes were perfect. Not a chip or a smudge.

When I went to put on some fuzzy socks I noticed that something is not quite right with my toes. I think it has something to do with the fact that the three toesies in the middle on my left foot also kind of hurt.

I’m sure you’re wondering why that might be.

Don’t worry, I’ll tell you.

This morning, after I woke up and told Megan that I had yet another dream where I was about to die, and after I asked her if she wanted me to give her a wet-willy, we decided we’d venture downstairs to reunite with the last leg of our Tripod. Megan left the room and headed down the stairs before me because I turned back thinking I would bring my fleece love-knot blanket and LP down with me. Then, because I realized that my hands were already full with a three-quarter of the way full plastic cup of water and my crackberry, I decided I could live without LP and good ole fleecey.  At least for the time being.

I had taken maybe two steps when I turned my head to say, “I’ll come back for you!” in a whisper to LP when all hell broke loose.

Before I knew it, I was in a crumpled heap at the bottom of the stairs with nothing but an empty cup in my hand.

I’d just like to point out that Megan’s stairway is very, very steep and it’s probably a safety hazard. I’m not just an idiot who doesn’t know how to do steps.

Megan came back from wherever she had been and then started laughing when she saw that I wasn’t actually hurt. Apparently, all she heard was a big thuddddd and a “whoa” and knew she needed to check on me.

After I picked myself up off the floor, I went to go tell Seneca that I had just bit it down the stairs but my first question was if she was even awake. The response I got? Something along the lines of “how could I not be?!”  While she didn’t hear the “whoa” punctuating my fall, she did hear me whine, “Ohhh, now I’m all wet!”

I’m pretty sure I’m not telling this right because I was laughing my ass off as the three of us regaled the hilarity it was to know that I took a tumble down the stairs.

My point is, now one of my toenails is a tiny bit chipped and there’s some degree of rug burn on my three middle toes on just my one foot.

If we could have filmed me busting my ass like that, I totally could have won some money on America’s Funniest Home Videos.

I pretty much just need my own camera crew, a few corporate sponsors and a reality show/development deal with a major TV network. I’m pretty sure I’ve got my life all mapped out.

“wet my pants” “ten years old”

What?

That was a search term that led someone to my blog.

I scanned through the rolodex in my head of topics I’ve written about on my blog. Wetting my pants is not something I remember writing about.

This makes me wonder why “wet my pants” has led someone to my blog.

That does remind me, though, of a couple unfortunate moments of incontinence.

Like that time me and my cousin, who is eleven years older than I am, decided it would be a great idea to run around my childhood neighborhood like ninnys and deface my neighbors’ Christmas decorations. We made all the reindeer on our street mount each other. We were a block away from my house and we had been laughing really, really hard. I went to run back towards home after messing around with another set of reindeer. Then I felt like I couldn’t hold it. So I hid behind a tree and told Angie to stop making me laugh. But then I really couldn’t hold it anymore. My kegels were doing all they could and it didn’t measure up to how badly I had to pee.

I was a freshman in college.

The most recent, and probably most embarrassing, moment was when Rob, Leah, Megan and I traveled to Chicago for Leah’s birthday my senior year of college.

That was the same weekend trip that I forgot to pack pants.

So our first full day in Chicago, we went shopping and I bought some jeans from H&M. We had a glorious day.

That night, we all got dressed and ready to go and Megan realized she lost her ID. Probably on our trip to buy alcohol. But it was lost nonetheless. So she didn’t even get to go out with us to celebrate Le Le’s  birthday.

Rob, Leah and I did, though, and we had a good time.

Rob had a good time until he had to rally Leah and I into the cab for the ride home by himself. She and I were kind of out of control and when we were close to our stopping point, Rob called Megan in for back-up.

Megan met us at the corner and I was a gigglebox.

While Rob was trying to get Leah to stop digging in the trashcan on the corner of the road and shouting at nothing in particular with a Cyndi Lauper accent, Megan was trying to talk me out of the snow bank I felt into. But once again, laughter got the best of me. And Megan kept telling me that the mysterious hickey on my neck was not a bruise, like I had been calling it (because, let’s get real, how old are we?! Sure, drunken PDA in a bar is tacky but we aren’t in middle school anymore. Hickeys are not acceptable- ever). We were laughing so hard, and every time I tried to explain that a snowball had hit my neck in the same spots a few times causing me to bruise, Megan replied, “That’s not a bruise, homie” and it made me laugh really, really hard.

And that’s when I wet my brand new pants in a snow bank on the street in Chicago.

There ya go, search engines and random internet searchers. You go right ahead and search for “wet my pants” and I’ll be happy to share those stories with you.

Happy Christmas, everyone!!

Just a real quick post because I have to get back to losing at every game I play today with my family.

I wanted to let you know that today, on this lovely sort-of white Christmas,…

1.) I took the most adorable picture of Chiefy-poo with a bow on his head but forgot the memory card at my Mom’s house (and since I’m at my dad’s house…) so I can’t share that preciousness with you.

2.) I bruised the hell out of my body (particularly my left ass cheek) from when Drew and I went sledding down the hill in our backyard with the tie-dye sleds “Santa” brought for us.

3.) I bruised the hell out of my body (particularly my left ass cheek) from when I went with Chief to go meet Drew out on the frozen lake while he ice skaing. I slipped and fell while trying to carefully navigate my way down the big ass hill in our backyard and bit it. Twice.

4.) I realized today that I wiggle my body when I’m really excited (but mostly it’s reminiscent of the wiggle dogs do when they’re really excited and wagging their tail).

5.) I also just got the pants beat off me in a game of monopoly against my stepbrothers.

All in all, it’s been a pretty great Christmas.

I hope everyone got to spend time with their loved ones and have the merriest christmas everrrrrr!

Our family got a very special early Christmas present.

His name is Chief. He’s 17 months old and approximately 85 pounds. He is large.

We adopted him.

Look at that face!!

He is precious.

Chief enjoys being outside. He loves the snow: eating it and rolling in it. He also has taken a great liking to the screened in porch and roaming the deck. I now refer to the screened in porch as his “play pen.” We also had to buy a new baby-gate so he doesn’t get all crazy all over the entire house when we are gone and at work.

Now’s as good a time as any to mention that Stella is not pleased. Chiefy-poo tried to climb under my mom’s bed last night just minutes after we brought him home to introduce himself to her, but she was pissed. Stella hissed at him, a lot. Then Mom got worried that he would get stuck under the bed so she called him out from under there and distracted him with a red toy with a bell in it.

After he eats, he gets a little gassy. He burps a lot, and loudly. I giggle every time.

He is heavy on his feet. When he walks, it’s always a clomp clomp clomp clomp everywhere he goes. This might annoy me if he weren’t so damn cute. And funny. He also makes a loud crash when he lays down. He just drops. It’s outrageous. I love it.

My mom took him for a walk this morning down the road to see the cows. Chief was not sure what to make of the cows.

We are still learning about each other, but I can tell you this: I’m already in love.

Admit it, you fell in love a little bit too just by looking at his pictures. 🙂

Today was/is my baby brother’s 21st birthday.

I thought I’d do something just a little different because of that fact.

There are countless reasons I love him, but I wanted to list just a few.

(Go ahead and dry heave. It’s gonna get mushy.)

1.) I love that I can say I’ve know him his whole life. There aren’t many people I can say that about. In fact, I think there’s only one other person I can say that about and that’s because she’s a baby and was born in April. But Drewy is 21 years old now and that’s a long time to know someone.

2.) He kind of understand my crazy.

3.) We have a crazy awesome way of talking to each other. We can communicate almost entirely in movie lines/gestures. It’s almost sick. But mostly it’s awesome and hilarious.

4.) I can count on him for anything.

5.) He acts like an idiot with me. (Uhm, how many things have we broken when we act like “cub bears”?!?! Let’s never ever stop doing that!)

6.) His commitment to things that he cares about is amazing.

7.) There’s something about him that makes it so that I never actually get mad at him. I yell a lot when I’m pissed but it’s always fleeting. There was that one time we didn’t talk for a couple days ’cause I thought he behaved like a dickhole but then we talked on the phone and cried and told each other how much we love each other.

8.) He might be the best person I know.

I strangely had a hard time trying to list things. There’s just so much I love about him that it’s hard to put into words.  Having him be so far away and not just a text message away has been really odd for me. I’ve been so used to being able to ask him anything at the touch of a button. I’ve been so used to having him laugh at me or be stupid with me on a regular basis (let’s just recall for a moment that time I made him act like a dinosaur with me in our living room? What? You guys don’t know that story?! Ohhh, you’ll just have to remind me to tell you that one some day.) To have him not here, well, frankly, it sucks. I miss him like crazy.

Christmas can’t come soon enough. That’s what I say.

Last week, I went with my mother to a furniture store.

We went to look for a maroon love seat for the study.

This new house is really becoming exciting. When all of this mess began, I was pretty psyched for her because it was kind of fun talking about all the fun things we would maybe have in this new family home. But then there were a lot of repetitive questions and I lost interest. And then I started to feel bitter because this was replacing our home. This brand spankin’ new house was going to make us have to get rid of the house I grew up in. And that made me sad. So I ignored all the new-house stuff. I became really irritated when conversations turned to all the “fun stuff happening with the house” because I really didn’t like this new-house stuff.

But the house is almost done. It has to be done by September 24 for the parade of homes. It’s gorgeous.  And now it’s super exciting for everyone.

So with everything coming together, we needed to find a maroon love seat for the study.  And we were going to just look at bedroom furniture for the room intended for Drew.

I was really, really helpful. Like when Mom asked me to go re-measure something because we forgot the dimensions, I went to the part of the store that had the dresser Mom was looking at for Drew’s blue room.  But then I saw this:

THAT BEAR IS WEARING A BASKET LIKE A BACKPACK. OF COURSE I WAS GOING TO WANT TO OWN THIS PIECE OF ART.

Hello! I LOVE BEARS! (And dinosaurs. But there were no backpack-wearing dinosaurs. Sad.)

So THEN I found THIS:

What a precious little bear face! I immediately wished that “my room” hadn’t been painted a perfect yellow color and that all my furniture and bedding wasn’t already decided upon. I wished I could change the design concept of “my room” to BEAR LAND.

And then I found THIS and knew that we had definitely made the wrong choice with the yellow.

DANCING, HAND-HOLDING BEARS. I was IN LOVE. How can you NOT love that?!!? It’s hilarious and precious! What an excellent conversation piece!! THIS IS ART!!!

I obviously was taking way longer than she had anticipated, so after a while, Mom came looking for me. I had been running around like a ninny, looking for all things bear-shaped/themed.

I found this gem when Mom found me:

It reminded me of the time I murdered one of God’s creatures. And Mom wondered what the fuck I was doing.

I told her I had a brand new design concept for any room of the house. I told her bears would look glorious in any room, or that we could spread them out throughout the house.  I told her that they would be great conversation starters and that if no one else would appreciate them, I would appreciate the bears enough for everyone on earth. Because I loved them.

But then she scolded me, reminded me I’m an adult and t0ok my phone away.  I followed behind her, dejected, as we made our way to the place where she paid for her maroon love seat and Drew’s bedroom furniture.

Looks like I did a lot more looking than she did. And the bears remain at the store.

I have the best Christmas Present ideas….!