The art of taking care of yourself is an art I have not-at-all mastered.

The other day I was sitting around reading the paper and drinking my coffee (like a real live adult!!) when I got bored and decided to text my best friend, John Hamm (not her real name (also not the actor), because privacy and whatever).

Me: The obituaries are boring today.

JH: I’m sorry no one interesting has died.

Me: Actually, this one guy was a cartoonist for disney and served in the Canadian Navy… So maybe I spoke too soon…

Me: And it’s not that the people weren’t interesting, it’s their obituaries that aren’t interesting.

Me: When I die, please write an awesome obituary for me.

JH: Why do you assume you’re going to die before me?

Me: Let’s be real.

JH: I smoke and I am in a high stress field. I am going first.

JH: My blood veins are going to look like linguini from stress shredding them.

Me: Yeah, but I’ve sustained three injuries this morning alone.

JH: Oh god, what did you do?

Me: I sliced my hand on the cheese grater while doing dishes.

Me: I tripped over the phone cord and smacked my knee.

Me: And I almost slipped outside and could have cracked my head open.

JH: Living alone is such a good choice for you.

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This totally counts as productive… right?

I’m supposed to be cleaning my apartment right now, but I got as far as clearing off my desk and putting some of my books away and then I was like “What’s happening on the internet?” and now I’m stuck to my couch and since Boyfriend has already called me once today just to give me a cleaning pep talk, I have decided that all hope is lost and that maybe I should just accept my fate and never move again.

It also doesn’t help that it’s snowing like crazy outside. I mean… this weather basically just begs you to be lazy. It’s all “Hey, LOOK: Everything is frozen! Nothing is alive! FOLLOW MY LEAD. FALL TO THE GROUND AND STAY THERE FOR SIX MORE WEEKS. IT’LL BE GREAT.”

But I really need to vacuum and there are still some dishes to do and stuff, so I thought I’d text Boyfriend one more time to see if he could help because the dog is all sorts of sheddy right now and this laziness and inability to adult is kind of unacceptable.

Me: I took a break. I can’t get up.

Boyfriend: Hehe

Me: I’M A USELESS BLOB OF LAZINESS

Boyfriend: But you’re still cute.

Me: CUTE DOESN’T CLEAN.

Boyfriend: That should be an inspirational cat poster.

Me: On it.

Boyfriend: Wait, did I just assist you with procrastinating?

Me: What? No.

I found that kitty picture here: http://www.buypetmedicine.com/pets/general/cute-kittens-and-cats-pictures/

I found that kitty picture here: http://www.buypetmedicine.com/pets/general/cute-kittens-and-cats-pictures/

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In other news, I got an email the other day informing me that I have been nominated for the Funniest Blogging Award over at My So-Called Chaos’ Best Blog of 2015 Awards, which is insane!! I didn’t even know I was in the running to be nominated, so I’m seriously floored here. Thank you to whoever did this (I think I know who you are!).

This whole contest is based on votes, though, so this is where you come in, you awesome nerds. Click either on the link above or on the graphic below and head on over and cast your votes! Everyone who has been nominated (especially in the humor category) is amazing, so I know this will be tough for some of you, but I believe in you! YOU CAN DO IT!!! YOU GOT THIS!

2015 My So-Called Chaos Best of Blog Awards

 

And THANK YOU!!!

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If someone steals this idea, I will be pissed. Or honored. I’m not sure which.

A text exchange I recently had with my boyfriend during my lunch break:

Me: So this is a weird thing: I keep feeling slightly sick… But only at work…

Boyfriend: Well that is an interesting mystery.

Me: Right? My throat starts to get all sore and stuff.

Boyfriend: Wait, wasn’t there a problem with the heater? Did that get fixed?

Me: Yeah, it’s working now.

Boyfriend: Well I wonder if that has anything to do with the air quality of the shop since it is effecting your throat.

Boyfriend: affecting?

Boyfriend: stupid grammar…

Boyfriend:  poutemoji apparently this is the pouting face according to Apple… I disagree.

Me: That is a face of fury. Who pouts like that?

Boyfriend: I know! Silly Apple…

Me: We should write them a strongly worded letter.

Me: Using only emojis.

Me: And then we’ll see if they can decipher it correctly.

Me: And when they don’t, we’ll just be like poutemoji

Boyfriend: I like this plan.

Me: And then we can fork their lawn.

Boyfriend: We are going to need a lot of forks for Apple’s lawn, but that would be epicly amazing.

Me: Wouldn’t it?!? We could wear all black and do it in the middle of the night!

Me: I think it would be fun to break into major places like that and shut down their security systems all Ocean’s 11-like just for the sake of doing weird pranks.

Me: Can we be that couple?

Boyfriend: Of course we can!

Boyfriend: But we should wear mock turtlenecks and blue jeans as a sign of respect to Steve Jobs.

Me: This is why I like you.

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This is sort of just a weird update and reminder of the fact that my mom is an inspiration to us all.

I’ve been sort of sick this past week, which has put a real damper on my ability to do productive things.

Whenever I get sick I become the most helpless person in the entire universe. I know so many people who react to being sick by just powering through it and doing amazing things and looking their disease in the face and being like “SCREW YOU, DISEASE. NOTHING HOLDS ME BACK.”

I am not that person.

Yes, I still go to work or whatever, but it takes all of my mental energy, and as soon as I’m home, I’m in my bed or on my couch. My pants become sweats in the blink of an eye. My hair piles chaotically atop my head. My makeup smears. And I assume the attitude of a small, pathetic child instead of a freakishly tall, grown-ass adult woman.

I get super needy. I just want to lay around and have someone bring me tea and soup all day. Unfortunately my dog, Gio, pours a terrible cup of tea and spatters the soup everywhere when he cooks. It’s the worst.

I should admit something here: I’m not even really officially sick. I have a weird chest-cold type thing that results in my energy level being not-at-all altered and causing my voice to sound like a that of the love child of a sexy jazz singer, Emma Stone, and Marcel the Shell with Shoes On.

And then once every hour, I need to cough.

My nose also runs on occasion.

That is all it takes to turn me into a whiny child, constantly texting my boyfriend or my mother with messages that simply read “I’m dying. :(”

The boyfriend usually responds with things like “That is not allowed.” or “Please don’t,” which is nice.

My mother usually just says things like “It happens to us all eventually.”

Which, I suppose, is fair.

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I’m being awful because I feel awful

I’m super sick today so the bloggy thing isn’t happening as well as it should be. So, for now just feel free to dig through the archives? Who knows what you’ll find in there….

 

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I love you like these kitties: In a neck-biting, face-licking sort of way.

So I have this friend, Sara*. She was the first person I met in Stars Hollow when I moved here and there are days when I honestly don’t know what I would do without her.

You know when you’re a weird person and you move to a new town where you know no one except for the woman that hired you and you spend weeks praying that you’ll meet someone who is just as weird as you are, or at the very least can appreciate your level of odd? I met that person. That person is Sara.

Sara has a knack for writing me the greatest notes of all time, and since February is LetterMo, I thought this was the perfect time to share them with you:

On my birthday, she gave me this card:

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And inside she wrote this:

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This card has been hanging on my refrigerator for months now. I never intend to take it down.

So then I needed to go out of town one Sunday and I asked Sara if she would be so kind as to stop by my house and take the dog out in exchange for a beverage. She took that deal to heart because when I got home, I found this in my kitchen:

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She later informed me that if it looked like the mug had been quite full, I shouldn’t be alarmed. It had simply sloshed around while she was drinking it while walking my dog.

She also took the time to switch my calendar over to February and properly mark any major upcoming events:

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Because she likes to make sure I’m always informed. And for that I love her. You know, in a neck-biting, face-licking sort of way.

*This is not the same “Sara” you have read about on this blog before. This Sara is breaking molds and has decided to use her actual name here on AAPP… That brave, brave woman…. 

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I’d be great at fighting crime. If my face was crime.

So Monday was a weird day.

I had gone to bed on Sunday night with a little bit of a migraine, not the worst of its kind, but still not awesome. It was one of those migraines that is dull enough to not ruin your day, but present enough to make you want to punch yourself in the face just to give the pain some validity.

Which is exactly what I did. I punched myself in the face.

Not on purpose. Sort of.

I was sleeping, and my migraine must have strutted into my dreams and was all “HEY! EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE SLEEPING, YOU SHOULD STILL BE VERY AWARE THAT I AM HERE. I’M GONNA MAKE MYSELF A SANDWICH, K? IS THAT COOL? NO? TOO BAD. I’M DOING IT. HEY, EVEN THOUGH YOU’RE SLEEPING, I’M GONNA MAKE MYSELF THIS SANDWICH, AND WHILE I MAKE IT, I’M GOING TO SLAM EVERY CABINET DOOR – EVEN THE ONES I DON’T NEED TO OPEN IN THE FIRST PLACE – JUST BECAUSE I DON’T WANT YOU TO FORGET ABOUT ME.”

In a way, I feel bad for Migraine. This is obviously just a cry for attention because he never got enough hugs as a baby migraine. Perhaps if I just accepted Migraine for who he was, we wouldn’t be in this situation at all… huh.

Either way, I didn’t accept Migraine, so he was being a douche and because he was being a douche, I decided, in my dreamy state of defense, to punch him in the face.

Turns out that his face is my face.I'D BE GREAT AT FIGHTING CRIME......IF

I woke up just in time to realize that my own fist was rocketing toward my face, but without enough time to do anything about it.

Obviously, I texted my bestbian, who calls herself “John Hamm” on this blog, about this situation:

Me: I punched myself in the face while I was sleeping last night.

JH: …what?

Me: Yup. Right in the eyeball.

JH: How do you know? Do you have a black eye?

Me: No, thank God, but I woke up when it happened.

JH: Omg I’m trying so hard not to laugh.

She loves me.

You’d think this is where the story ends. One would obviously assume that this is the only bad thing that someone’s face would endure in one day.

So let’s fast-forward to the end of the day, when I get home from work early because Snowmageddon2015 was about to hit Connecticut.

Monday was trash day, conveniently enough, so I got out of my car and thought to myself “Gee, I should probably bring in the trash can and the recycling bin so that they don’t get buried in the snow at the end of the driveway…” and then I high-fived myself for being a responsible, forward-thinking adult and headed down the driveway to retrieve said trash can and recycling bin.

It is important to note here that my driveway is at an incline and I was wearing impractical footwear.

So, I’m dragging the trash can behind me, through the already sort of deep snow, and I’ve got the recycling bin in front of me as I limp-scoot my way up the hill towards the house.

Me: I slipped bringing in the trash cans and bashed my chin on the recycling bin. This has not been a good day for my face.

JH: Oh my gosh, just go inside and put on padding.

Me: There are so many corners in here!!

JH: We’re gonna have to child proof your apartment.

 

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Humphrey.

So I was sitting in my living room, drinking my coffee and reading the paper the other morning when all of a sudden I heard a big BANG and a CRASH above my head.

Humphrey was rearranging.

Humphrey is my mysterious upstairs tenant. I don’t know what he is, but he lives in my attic and I have never seen him. He is definitely bigger than a mouse, but smaller than The Hulk.

Every now and again I hear him doing things up there and I think “I should go up there and investigate to figure out what he is,” but then I open my attic door and I start going up the stairs and suddenly everything gets very quiet  and all these images of a rabid opossum lunging at my face start going through my head so I turn around and go back downstairs, leaving Humphrey to live in peace. Let’s be honest here, people: Is there anything creepier than an opossum’s face coming at you from the dark?

Answer: No. No there is not.

I’ve decided that Humphrey is one of the following:

  1. A squirrel. He definitely runs around a lot and when he knocked over whatever he knocked over the other day, he ran laps around the attic for about half an hour in a panic. Also, I live out in the woods, so squirrels are in good supply around here. It’s the most logical answer if you’re into that sort of thing. He could also be a raccoon. Both of these options are adorable.
  2. A boggart. Humphrey never sounds like he’s just one size. Some days he sounds little, and on those days, Humphrey tends to hang out in the walls. Other days I can hear each individual footstep as he walks around the space above my bedroom. Either way, I’m sort of pissed that I still don’t have a wand because when it comes to boggarts, you really need a wand. Add this to list of reasons I need to go to Harry Potter World.
  3. The Weasley Family Ghoul’s Cousin. Obviously I’m not silly enough to think that The Weasley Family Ghoul moved from the Burrow to come live in my attic. That would be a ridiculous assumption. Maybe he has a cousin who did, though, right? I mean, this would make sense. Just like the Weasleys, I don’t think of Humphrey as a pest, but more as a pet at this point. I call up to him when he’s being to loud, or when things fall over, I shout “Are you okay, Humphrey?” and then he moves around a bit as if to be like “Yeah, I’m good, thanks!” Humphrey and I have excellent communication skills.

Whatever Humphrey may be, I have come to love him and the idea of him leaving my house feels very sad. Also, I’m sort of too terrified of him to try and kick him out. See photo above.

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Texting and the art of The Woo

Last night, I received this text from my friend, who for privacy reasons we will call “Sara”:

The guy I went out with CALLED and LEFT A MESSAGE to ask me out for a second date. Why has this never happened before?

And my immediate response was something along the lines of “Yes. I am also shocked by this gesture and I wholeheartedly approve of his effortful actions.” (Sidenote: I just accidentally found out that “effortful” is a word.) and then I was so quickly overcome by the thought “WAIT THIS SHOULD NOT BE A SHOCKING THING” that I was prompted to text her that exact statement around 4am her time because I care.

I know that living in the tiny cell phone-serviceless (not a real word, apparently, but I tried) area that I live in has only reinforced my traditional and seemingly old-fashioned ways, but I think a phone call should not be that weird, especially when it comes to the art of The Woo.

Don’t get me wrong, I love texting. I’m hysterical via text and I appreciate it as a medium of communication (I’m a millennial after all), but I think that texting is something one should only really use in certain situations:

  1. With your close friends. Your best friend or other close friends know your tone. They can read your subtle sarcasms. They get you enough to know that when you text things like, “That sounds like a great idea.” what you really mean is, “What the actual fuck are you thinking?” After a first date, however, a guy could text me and say “Great time! Want to meet up next week?” and when I respond with a simple “K.” I really run the risk that he won’t know that what I really mean is “You are super boring and my enthusiasm is the equivalent of this one letter, so no…” See? This is why one should always call.
  2. Quick messages and updates. These include messages such as “I’m running late! Be there in five minutes!” or “The dog just puked in the toilet! Today is amazing!”
  3. When updating your friend about current awkward situations: “This guy on the bus is literally trying to lick his own elbow right now.” …… “Oh God… he just looked at me and smiled.” ……. “It’s official. This is what I’m attracting: Elbow-licking loners on busses. It’s time to reevaluate my life.” ….. “Why aren’t you responding to me?” ……. “UPDATE: ELBOW-LICKER HAS SWITCHED SEATS AND IS NOW NEXT TO ME. THIS MAY BE THE LAST MESSAGE I EVER SEND. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT I LOVE Y–” …………………….. “Really? Nothing? Do you not even care about my safety?” And other things like that until your friend finally responds with “I knew you could get through this on your own, that’s why I didn’t respond. That and I was in a meeting because I have a real job, so thanks for blowing up my phone and making my boss glare at me. Also, I knew you were lying towards the end because you wouldn’t have been able to text me if he really was sitting next to you, so you deserved what you got.”

When it comes to The Woo, however, a text just isn’t romantic, no matter how many emogis you use. There is something about being able to pick up your phone and hear a guy sound nervous or excited to ask you if you enjoyed your time with him as much as he enjoyed his time with you during that weird debate over the finale of Battlestar Galactica and whether or not Adama and Tigh should have had a parting ways scene (SERIOUSLY, THERE WAS ZERO CLOSURE THERE AND THEY WERE BESTIES). And then you can do that super cute thing where you just keep listening to the voicemail over and over again and being all “D’aww… he likes me…” Like Lorelai and Max Medina. (Yes, I did just made a BSG reference and a Gilmore Girls reference in one paragraph.)

Not to mention, you can be fairly confident that he didn’t reach out to  you from the toilet or something. With a text, you just never know.

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Another flattering moment with my mother.

The other night, I was just sitting at home, feeling good about myself, drinking tea, and reading a book. It was perfect.

I felt my phone buzz and looked down to see that my mother had texted me:

Mom: I have a very important and honorable assignment for you.

Me: Okay…

Mom: It doesn’t look like your brother will be coming home for Christmas. Would you please be Santa for the kids?

Me: None of the guys want to play Santa? (It is important to note here that I have two brothers-in-law and a father who will all be home for Christmas)

Mom: I haven’t asked anyone else. I just think that you’d be the best to step in :)

Me: You think I’m the best choice to play an old man?

Mom: Well, don’t say it like that!

Me: Oh, I’m sorry. Gee, Mom. Stop. I’m blushing. This flattery is too much.

Mom: We are sooooo happy that you’re coming home.

Me: …..

Mom: And you’re the best actress in the family.

Me: Are you trying to butter me up?

Mom: Is it working?

Me: No.

So… I’m super excited about this Christmas, you guys. I’m gonna be the best Santa ever.

 

UPDATE: Neighbor boy agreed to play Santa and I was allowed to maintain some fragment of what dignity I have left. This is probably for the best seeing as how the chances of me screwing this up and revealing that I’m not the real Santa and therefore crushing my nieces’ and nephew’s hopes and dreams, which would only result in my banishment from the family were pretty high. I was only sort of drunk, but to be fair, so was Santa.

 

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In other news, there’s a new Page Break episode. Cole and I came up with our Top 14 Books of 2014! Check it out!

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