20 Facts You Didn't Need to Know

I have this older brother, but this post isn't about him. I essentially grew up as an only child because he is that much older than me, so this post is about me. On my blog. I'm writing about myself on my blog.

You're stunned, I know, but that's sort of the deal you signed up for when you decided to read this post about me on my piece of the web.

Welcome to my self-centered life!

Hump Day Brain Dump

Hump Day: The peak of the week where everything should go downhill thereafter, but we all know poop can manage to float to the top anyway.

Brain Dump: An attempt to organize my jumbled thoughts and internet discoveries so that my mind can have some room to endure the remainder of the week.

2012 - What What!

Happy New Year, you crazy hooligans!

Did you party until the wee hours of the morning?

Or did you fall asleep to the sound of Ryan Seacrest's voice on TV?

Whatever you did, I hope you did it safely. I, for one, stayed up well past midnight, but that's only because I took an 18-hour nap earlier that day.

I'm serious. I really did sleep that long. Impressed? I thought so.

I'm not one for resolutions, mostly because I forget them. I also think that they can be rather limiting because of the boundaries they can create in your daily life.

If you want to "eat healthier" this year, your intake of cookies and ice cream dramatically decreases. If you want to "lose weight" for 2012, you spend less hours watching Real Housewives and more hours at a gym. If you want to "save more money," you're shopping less.

People, I cannot live life like that. A life with less dairy, NeNe Leakes, and Sephora is not the life for me. However, I see the value of having a resolution (or a few) because it's like having a personal tracker of stuff you want to do in the next year that can make you feel happier.

I just don't like the word "resolution" very much because it's, um, rather resolute. Like, if you don't do it, then you're a big failure at life. What if you start out the year, you know, lifting more weights, like you resolutely promised yourself, and you realize that going to the gym is not your cup of tea? Why stick with something that makes you unhappy?

Resolutions should bring you joy and open some doors to new possibilities! You want to limit yourself? Well, that's what Lent is for.

Anyway, here are my resolutions-slash-things-I-want-to-do-to-be-a-little-happier for 2012:

1) Try out homemade laundry detergent
I know this might seem like a weird one, but have you seen what's in a bottle of Tide or Gain detergent? Laundry chemists or whoever put some crazy shit in those bottles, and then I wash my sheets in that, and then I rub my face on those sheets at night getting that crazy shit all over my skin and sometimes my mouth because, you know, we all drool a little bit, and who knows what that's doing to me internally.

I'm normally not worried about toxins and additives (HELLO! I eat cheese in a can sometimes!) but the folks at Yellow Brick Home sold me on the idea with their cute glass container of homemade detergent.

WHAT CAN I SAY? I'M A SUCKER FOR PACKAGING! Sue me!

Who knows, maybe this will inspire a whole eco-friendly, green-tastic way of living for me. Or maybe I'll just have some cute soap in my laundry room.

2) Go on day/weekend trips in the surrounding area more often
I spend a lot of weekends on my couch in my pajamas, which is great, but maybe I could change things up and wear jeans outside the house for once. By no means am I an outdoorsy sort of gal, but I can appreciate the occasional vista or sunset or rising tide here in the Great Northwest (so long as there is a major metropolitan area within 1.5 hours) and since my days here are numbered, I really should get outside more.

And who better to do it with than my partner in crime life? We deserve to have some mini-blasty-blasts together.

3) Write more. In general. Overall.
I know that some writers are very strict about how prolific they are in a given time period, but I'm not there yet in terms of my writing prolific-ness. As evidenced by my sporadic blog posts, I really don't have a distinct writing or publishing schedule. I write when I write and sometimes, things get published, and sometimes, things get scrapped.

Even still, I want to write more. In general.

I don't want to start on page quotas or anything like that until I feel comfortable because that is too resolution-y for me. You know how some people get rid of their scales and just gauge their weight gain/loss tango based on how tightly or loosely their clothes fit? I'm going to try and do that with writing on this here ol' blog.

Overall.

So that is how I'm going to spend 2012, in addition to my usual 2011 shenanigans that involve Oreos and reality television.

What are your non-resolutions?

Britney Spears is Turning the Big 3-0...How Old Does That Make You?

Listen, Brit Brit's birthday is on December 2nd. She hasn't invited me to her party yet, but I think that's because she's still on the Femme Fatale tour down in Mexico, and she knows I don't have time to renew my passport, so I forgive her.

I have been a vehement Britney fan ever since "...Baby One More Time" premiered on TRL.

Yes, TRL? Remember that show? I always wanted to call and vote for my favorite video ("TOXIC!") but I was usually in school still when we were supposed to cast our votes because, unlike MTV, I was on Pacific Standard Time, so imagine my disappointment whenever I came home to find Britney in the number two spot.

WHAT IF MY VOTE COULD HAVE BROUGHT HER TO NUMBER ONE, YOU KNOW?

WHAT IF SHE WAS COUNTING ON MY PHONE CALL?

WOULD MY VOTE HAVE SAVED HER FROM MEETING K-FED?

Now I'll never know...

I just can't believe she is turning 30. Like, THIRTY. When my brother turned 30, oh, I don't know, a hundred years ago, I was like, "Damn, you are old. Your life is over."

But I do not feel that this is the case for Brit Brit. She is getting better and better with age. Her weave has been looking really good and less janky, and whoever spray-tans (sprays tan? I don't know.) her has obviously concocted the perfect shade of orange to match that weave. Both of her little boys are super duper cute and look just like her. I don't see trucker hats or grizzly stubble or pathetic stints on Dancing With the Stars in their future, if you know what I mean.

My only issue is that I am a little hesitant about accepting this Jason Trawick guy as her official boyfriend because:

1) She didn't tell me about him prior to Making It Official, just like that one episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills and Kim ambushes her sister, Kyle, into meeting her ugly ass boyfriend, Ken, whom she has kept a secret FOR OVER A YEAR! I am so Kyle in this situation.

2) He is not Justin Timberlake.

Yes, I still have hope in my heart that the love between JT and Brit Brit will be resurrected because they should be together forever xoxo.

ALLEGEDLY, she cheated on him with some dancer guy who was not K-Fed, but we have no proof because that happened in 2001, and if we don't have Facebook pictures or an iPhone video of this unfair allegation, then we obviously can't fault Britney. Innocent until proven guilty.

For all of you JT fans who think that he is just "so much better" than Britney and that he "deserves more" and whatever, I just want to remind you of what he looked like back in the day:

Bleach fro, beige turtleneck, and lavender shades. Yeah.

If he is able to bounce back from that visual situation and be this "awesome" movie star circa now, then really, our girl Britney deserves another chance too.

I don't know, maybe she is too good for him, OK? I mean, if by being "too good" we mean the person who still creates pop music and dances her ass off and performs amazing concerts for her legions of MUSIC fans because her background is POP MUSIC and NOT STARRING IN MOVIES WITH MILA KUNIS, then Brit is the clear winner.

Clearly.

So, I'm definitely trying to give Jason the benefit of the doubt because he seems to make her happy and less crazy and JT is a Hollywood poser to the extreme (WHAT ARE YOU DOING AT THE ACADEMY AWARDS, JUSTIN?) but if they ever got back together, I would be 100% supportive and I would be the first in line (online on iTunes?) to buy their inevitable joint-album that announces his return to music (finally!) and their future child of pop music royalty.

But until then, I guess I'll just have to wish our Brit Brit a very "Happy Birthday!" on December 2nd from my corner of the Internet.

Brain Dump

I know that I've been quiet on this blog lately, but I've just had way, way too much on my mind, and there is nothing worse than an overloaded brain. As my ninth grade English teacher once told me, too much on your mind just means you need to empty your cup. You know, because your brain is like a teacup and the knowledge is like tea that can flow in and out and WHATTHEFUCKWHOCARES that is the worst analogy ever, and why the hell did you give me a B in your class, Mr. Linn?

Anyway, here are some snippets of all the sort-of-connected anecdotes that have been running through my head these days:

Why can't I find an actual bottle of Taylor Swift's new perfume Wonderstruck? Don't even attack me about wanting to try yet another celebrity perfume because I. don't. care.

Have you seen this bottle on the internet or, perhaps, in real life? It's cute and sparkly with little gold charms, and when it comes to perfume, the packaging is, like, 89% of the product so GOOD JOB, TAYLOR SWIFT, I want to smell like you.

Speaking of celebrities, since when am I older than Selena Gomez and Taylor Lautner? Did the world stop turning or something? The whole point of famous people is for them to be older than the rest of us so that we will be comforted by the fact that they will die first, even though they have smoother skin, bouncier hair, whiter teeth, and tighter bodies.

Selena Gomez needs to kick the bucket. Now.

I actually decided that I am not aging anymore, at least not until I'm ready to be another year older. I mean, birthdays are so superfluous, and if age is supposed to be "just a number" then we need to start treating it like the meaningless piece of crap that it is.

So, yes, I'm still 23 this year.

Did anyone else buy "Jump" by Kris Kross from iTunes after watching the movie Friends With Benefits? Or maybe dust off the walkman and insert that cassette tape single?

Oh, you didn't see that movie because it had Justin Timberlake in it? I was thinking the same damn thing, but seeing him rap along to "wiggitywiggitywiggitywhack" was worth it.

But you saw the movie Drive with Ryan Goslin just because he was in The Notebook? What a double standard. I hope you fell asleep in the theater because I know I did.

My husband's car viciously attacked my thumbnail about four months ago, and only now is it long enough for me to paint it with nail polish. FrankenThumb is back in business and ready for that manicure.

You would think that after living in the Great Northwest for as long as I have that I would be used to the onslaught of autumn with its continual rain. If you think that, then you are very, very wrong. I will never get used to this dreariness or the bone chilling mist that greets me every morning. I don't know what the fuck Stephenie Meyer was thinking, but Twilight should not have been set in Washington. This place sucks. The Cullens could have sparkled in Las Vegas, Nevada and no one would have said a damn thing because everything is sparkle-tastic down there anyway.

Speaking of youth fantasty fiction, I am re-reading the Harry Potter novels, and I don't CARE WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT THAT because Harry Potter is awesome and nothing will change my mind on this subject. I don't understand people who don't read the books or watch the movies (or, in my case, do both).

Like, what is your problem? Do you really hate magic that much? What a hater.

Don't even talk to me.

VS Pajama Tirade

(It might not start out this way, but I swear I have no idea what I'm talking about in this post. Evidence of sleep deprivation.)

I wear Victoria's Secret PINK brand, and normally, I am not ashamed to admit that even though I've been out of school for longer than I like to admit, and I've since upgraded the size of my butt. This goes without saying, but just so we're clear: I am not one of those teenage girls who runs around town with PINK in neon-puke-colored letters emblazoned on her ass.

You need more than a four-letter word to cover the size of that geographic space, OK?

But anyway, I wear it. You can't beat their reasonably priced cotton underwear and lacy thongs - all of which are actually quite comfortable. (Cheapskate side note: Remember when the running deal was 5 pairs of underwear for only TWENTY dollars? What is with this $25.50 business, VS? Just make it a round 30 already...recessions...shiiiit.)

Only recently have I started wearing legitimate pajamas to sleep. Like the flannel-jersey-knit-variety situations that come in various patterns of plaids, pinstripes, and polar bears. Growing up, I just dropped dead when I felt like sleeping. It didn't matter what I was wearing. I don't know how many times I fell asleep with jeans and shoes on still.

It didn't matter if there was still makeup on my face (And there usually wasn't any because I wasn't allowed to wear makeup until I was 18. Sephora has since made a fortune in my attempt to regain those lost years of cosmetic experimentation.)

It didn't matter if I it was 8pm or 3am. When I was sleepy, I slept.

Nowadays? I can't just sleep like that. I have to prepare for sleep. There is a bedtime ritual that I do my best to abide by because if something feels off, I will not sleep well, and you can ask my husband to verify this: I am my absolute worst when I am sleep-deprived.

It's a cranky, terrible ordeal that involves a lot of crying on my end and lot of bewilderment on his part.

I can't have any lights on whatsoever. Bedside lamp? Forget it. Open curtains with moonlight? Blinding. The little red dot on the television screen that lets you know it is turned off? Waaay too bright.

I must brush my teeth, remove all my makeup, wash my face, and tweeze/groom my eyebrows prior to bedtime. This can take up to 30 minutes if I'm feeling particularly indulgent after a long, hard day at work (which seem to be occurring in a higher frequency...more on that later) and it's a very Clinique-oriented process. I'm a big fan of all overnight masks and spot treatments.

There are a couple more things I could mention, but I don't want to be too boring honest. The most essential element, however, is comfortable pajamas. They can't be ugly. They must be soft. They have to be very comfortable and loose, but I can't look like a total homeless person (I'm married after all. Ahem.)

Until recently, Victoria's Secret PINK hasn't led me astray into itchy, ghastly pajama lady territory. Bright colors and cute patterns in breathable fabrics? Awesome! If you're not sure what to get me for my birthday (September 22nd....) or Christmas, you can always rely on pajamas in some shade of pink.

For real.

But for the love of soft skin, skip the rhinestones. Who thought that glued-on, plastic crystal thingies would be GREAT on sleepwear? Tyra Banks, was that you? If so, WHAT THE FUCK?

Rhinestones are hideous. I hate them. They are like glitter, but worse. At least with glitter, you don't really know that it's on you because it bears no weight or particular shape. But rhinestones? They are like hard rocks of annoying-ness that pucker your pajamas in odd places and leave you feeling bedazzled in a bad way. They also fall off at the drop of a hat so you're left with glue circles on your pajamas and rhinestones all up in your lint tray.

I didn't know that this last pair of pajama pants that I purchased had rhinestones on them because they were hidden very sneakily in the pant cuffs. I put them on and noticed that something was amiss near my ankles, and lo and behold, I found the rhinestones! This has happened to me before, so I thought I had found the one set of PJ's in the PINK collection that didn't have rhinestones or other plastic decorations glued onto them, but alas, I was foiled.

But for the last time, damnit. I'm severing my relationship with VS PINK as of today. This pushed me over the edge!

//End Tirade

Hi, My Name is Shasta, and I'm a Coupon Cutter

You know those women at the grocery store with the two carts full of toothpaste, deodorant, and canned soups? They usually have eyes like hawks as they hunt for special sale items and coupon packets hidden within the aisles. They also frighten other shoppers with the speed at which they grab items off the shelves.

They are sort of kooky, but man, they can stretch that dollar like skin on a lampshade.

I don't know why I wrote that. Gross.

I used to think these women were batshit crazy, and I always figured that they were actually wasting their money. OK, they slashed their grocery bill by 95% but all they have to eat is canned tuna and BBQ sauce for the next 3 years? Yum.

Secretly, though, I've been wondering how they do it. I've watched a few episodes of TLC's Extreme Couponing, and all the people featured on that show definitely confirmed my suspicion that they are abso-freaking-lutely nutzo, but holy shit, they just got all those groceries for free!

FO' FREE!

In the last few months, I've slowly and quietly created my own coupon collection. It has been a very clandestine operation because I don't want people to know that I'm thisclose to becoming an extreme couponer.

It's seriously an addiction.

I now totally understand why you would want to buy 10 tubes of toothpaste at once for 10 cents each. It's not because you want to avoid paying the full price when you will actually need the toothpaste.

It's not because you want to save yourself from a mouthful of cavities and dental bills.

It's because you want to look at the woman behind you in the checkout lane and say without saying, "You paying full price for this shit? Rookie." She will look at you like the dumbfounded shopping novice that she is and realize you are 1) Totally out of your mind, and 2) Still more awesome than her.

IN THE FACE.

Disco Panties: Not What You Think

Last month, Victoria's Secret had their Semi-Annual Sale, and I'm a sucker for both sales and extra pairs of underwear, so I managed to make it to my local mall on the sale's last day to sift through the panties and bra bins alongside prepubescent girls and overweight grandmas.

Just so we're clear: I am not a representative of either of those demographic groups. Those just happen to be the kinds of women who shop at my local mall. Must. Drive. Farther. Away.

And what in the hell are thirteen year old girls doing in the mall on a Monday afternoon? Isn't there a school they could be going to or drugs they could be experimenting with in somebody's garage? Get out of my way.

I digress.

We all know that bras, robes, and pajamas can be tried on in the dressing rooms, but panties, thongs, and other lower extremity undergarments? Not so much. And if you do try that stuff on, you are gross, and I never want to go shopping with you.

Don't even start with me about how you try underwear on over the underwear you are already wearing. That is still gross because we all know that nether region aromas can seep through ANYTHING. Fact.

So, what do you do in order to determine how a pair of underwear is supposed to fit you without actually trying it on? You hold it up, stretch it around in front of your face without looking stupid, and decide one of two things:

1) Your butt will fit these. Buy them.

2) Your butt will not fit these. Ever.

I know that I simplified the process, but there is some serious, PhD-level mathematics going on there. You have to concentrate on your butt and be honest with yourself about how big it really is. Some extreme math equations start running through your mind: the size of your jeans plus the size of your fat jeans minus the water weight you're carrying from lunch divided by the elasticity of your favorite pair of sweat pants.

Very complicated stuff. Do not expect the men in your lives to understand this.

I am very good at solving these math problems because I am not in denial about the size of my ass (Looking at you, JLo), and because of this amazing skill, all of my underwear fits very comfortably, and I never have panty lines...I bet you were dying to know that about me.

However, during this last shopping trip, I did not consider something very important: the amount the underwear will stretch to fit over my butt and how the design of the underwear will be altered.

Because of my error in judgment, I now own a pair of what my husband calls "Disco Panties." I thought they were going to be light gray. They were very stretchy when I pulled them around and calculated my sums, so I assumed they would stay this nice light gray color once I put them on.

I was very wrong. They are stretchy because they are, like, completely made out of polyester shiny shit, so when I put them on, my entire backside turns into a disco ball.

Normally, I would get rid of such an embarrassing pair of underwear, but I am married, and he's seen me in them.

The jig is up.