If you have any level of specificity in your professional dealings, you’ve likely found yourself with a phrase or two that you use on an annoyingly regular basis. Or, if you’re like me, you have about eleventy-seven of them.

There’s one that I use so often that even I get annoyed with me.

“Get comfortable being uncomfortable!”

I work in the fitness industry as a personal trainer and Group X instructor. In short, I get to help people have fun while beating themselves up. But the truth is that it leads to short-term pain, which is uncomfortable. Hence the phrase.

ANYWAYS. After annoying even myself with the phrase I had to take a step back and analyze my own activity. And the truth is that I’m perfectly comfortable being in pain. It’s my normal. So it’s not uncomfortable. Which makes me a hypocrite for using the phrase so much. Right? Well shucks.

So I had to think about it. And then I had to stomp around pouting, because it dawned on me what truly makes me uncomfortable. Being still.

Have we met? Me be still?

So I dragged my hypocritical self off to a yoga class. Where I have to be calm. Where I have to be still. Where I have to be centered.

I spent the first 20 minutes fighting with myself. This is the part of the class where we awaken our muscles and get in touch with our breathing. How? BY DOING NOTHING BUT BREATHING.

“Please thank yourself for being here. Invite your mind to relax. Invite your thoughts to do nothing but focus on the inhalation and exhalation of the breath.”

Okay. Breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Thank God I brushed my teeth. Power breather to the right of me clearly didn’t. We’re almost out of toothpaste. Good thing it’s a Costco weekend. What else do we need? OMG! Come back brain! Breathe!

“That’s right. Think of the rising and falling of your chest as you breathe. Feel your body react to the gift of oxygenation. Thank yourself for taking in the oxygen.”

I took a second to peek around the room. Everyone looked so Zen with their palms up and chins lifted. I wondered if they were thanking themselves. Shoot. The teacher is looking at me with a frown. Eyes closed! Breathe! Thank yourself! Good job, Wen. Way to breathe. Way to oxygenate. Do we get extra credit for oxygenating at this altitude? Does the lack of oxygen make this, “Extreme Yoga?” I deserve a new title now that I’m a yogi. Bendy Wendy. Yeah that’s good.

And so it went. I continued to invite my thoughts to shut the hell up. They continued to cruise all over the place. In my defense, I didn’t pass out. So obviously I managed to breathe. I thanked myself for this.

Somehow I made it through the class without falling over or talking (although I still got some funny looks from the instructor).

When we finally reached the end of the interminable stillness, the teacher had us all flat on our backs relaxing each muscle one by one. And do you know how this is done? By invitation. We invite our muscles to relax.

Well okay. I’m a friendly kind of gal. I don’t mind inviting my muscles to a big ole relaxation party. But I have limits. I just do. And when the instructor calmly told us to, “invite your eyes to gently drop back into their sockets,” I simply lost it. I whipped my head up so fast that I pulled a muscle in my neck. WHO HAS THEIR EYES OUT OF THEIR SOCKETS? Who is this person?

Having confirmed that everyone had either already invited them back in or else had them trapped behind their lids to begin with I devolved into complete hysterics. I could not stop laughing. I was just done.

So while the instructor may invite us to breathe and oxygenate and socket wrench our eyes, she likely will not invite me back to class.

But hey. I got uncomfortable ;)


salemAh, Salem. The well seasoned traveler, pictured here on the center console observing the vast stretch of road to wherever-the-heck her people are taking her this time. This was taken in 2011 on our way back to Minnesota from Colorado – where we had just accidentally purchased a home (but that’s a story for a different day).

Salem wasn’t always such a sweet travel companion, and this photo compels me to tell you about her first road trip.

Allow me to set the scene. It was 2010, and Shawn and I were heading to Charleston, SC for a 3-month stay. This was part one of a 5-year plan to determine where we might eventually like to live (my husband has a 5-year plan for everything except for me – I was a 7 year plan, but that’s a story for a different day).


The cars were packed. Shawn’s car had our laptops, printer, various work related needs, and clothing. My car was packed with the more important items – Kali (dog), Remy (cat), and Salem (cat.) The litter box was in the far corner of the hatchback, and every other available bit of space had blankets, cozy beds and toys to keep everyone happy on the 3-day drive.

As I loaded the critters into the car there was a brief bit of concern and bemusement, but all 3 quickly selected a bed and settled in. The vet had told me to let them get used to the car for a good 10 minutes, administer Benadryl and wait another 10 minutes for it to kick in, and then hit the road. Knowing I’d only be 20 minutes behind him, Shawn set off. We’d meet up at lunchtime.

Have you ever attempted to give a cat medicine? This, in and of itself, was a 30-minute process fighting with feline jaws of steel. My at-first-calm cats were now crouched in the corner of the car hissing, the dog was terrified, and I was covered in hair, sweat, various bleeding scratches, and half a bottle of Benadryl.

I waited the requisite 10 minutes and lowered myself into the drivers seat. One glance at the rearview mirror assured me that everyone was settled in, but then I backed out of the driveway and the howling began.

There is a distinct meow that cats emit when traveling. It’s as though they immediately assume they are on their way to the vet-of-doom. The pitch lowers, the cadence slows, and the length of the note is extended so as to instill the greatest level of guilt in their person. The first 5 minutes were funny. The next 30 minutes were less amusing. But then we hit the freeway, and the Benadryl kicked in.

You may be assuming this means that they relaxed and took a siesta. You would be wrong. Suddenly, the low-pitched howling turned into panting and a high-pitched hissy fit. Remy jumped into the front seat and I nearly swerved off the road at the sight of her. She was foaming at the mouth (pink from the Benadryl), her eyes were the size of saucers and she was frantic to get into my lap.

Salem, on the other hand (paw?) was trying a different tactic. Also foaming, she had both paws up on the back window and she was meowing at a manic pace. It had the desired affect. The car next to me honked and I glanced over to see a lady pointing at the back window in horror. I hissed at her and sped up.

20 minutes later we had a blowout. I’m not talking about the tires. Someone had partaken of the facilities in the back of the car, and they were clearly unwell. My eyes began to water, and even the dog started to gag from the horrific stench.

By the time the situation was remedied I was at least an hour and 1/2 behind Shawn, exhausted, and ready to howl myself. As a last ditch effort I decided to pop in a CD. As a joke, my mom and dad had given me a CD at Christmas called, “Relaxing music for cats and kittens.” I figured it couldn’t hurt.

To my absolute amazement, it worked! Everyone descended into a peaceful slumber (I mean except for me, I’m a better driver than that, you know?) Sweet lulling piano notes, soothingly soft violin, the sound of gently rolling brooks. Masterfully compiled, certain instruments would come from different speakers throughout the car. Bliss!

And then it happened.

Song number 3 began to play. DO NOT PLAY SONG NUMBER 3. At first it was a lively little medley, but when the chorus hit a bird began to chirp from the front speaker. From a sound sleep, Salem launched into action. That bird was going to be hers. There was a flying of fur as she landed in my lap, used my chest as a launching pad, and flew to the top of the dashboard looking for the offending prey.

Luckily, this happened near the turnoff where I was to meet Shawn for lunch – only 2 hours late. I opened the door and emerged from the car a defeated woman. I was a vision with straggly hair, various cat scratches, and flecks of litter. And yes, this could explain why he didn’t propose sooner.

I’ll never know what happened in that car during lunch, but some sort of an agreement must have been reached. The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, and the critters have been just fine in the car ever since.

In less than 48 hours my husband and I will be on our way back to Charleston for a much needed vacation. But this time? No pets.


It’s been pointed out to me that perhaps, since I have a blog, that I should maybe blog? Or even get around to posting the winner of last month’s pet caption photo?

Since the title of this blog has already established the fact that I am responsibly dodging responsibility I’d like to at least point out that this is not my fault. It’s entirely the fault of my friend Sheila. Please feel free to shame her mercilessly in the comment section.

It’s really all very simple if you just follow along…

1. Get tricked by Sheila into signing up for a 200 mile bike ride along the California coast.
2. Decide I should probably see if I can remember how to ride a bike.
3. Develop a fabulous plan to train for the ride.
4. Fail miserably to follow through.
5. Decide that the only possible solution is to begin teaching spinning classes so that I have to show up.
6. Study up and get certified to teach spinning.
7. Come to the realization that I would be so much happier if I simply went back to being a full time Personal Trainer again instead of continuing my career in corporate America.
8. Decide that even though I already hold perfectly adequate group ex and personal training certifications that I would really rather have a much more prestigious one.
9. Spend a gazillion dollars to get all of the materials and books to study for said certification.
10. Receive books and realize that OMG this is a lot of material to cover if I’m to pass the test.
11. Come to the understanding that it might require a bit of time before I can take the test, but then panic because my adorable pink spreadsheet starts having too many zeroes…and I don’t mean at the end of the number.
12. Dedicate time to applying for part-time positions that could tide me over until I get the new certification and can confidently charge more for training than I currently do .
13. Land a fabulous part-time spot at a real estate company as a Marketing Manager.
14. Begin job and work a whole heck of a lot more than expected so that I can learn everything I need to know to be successful.
15. Wake up to today, my first full day off (no classes to teach at the gym, no real estate work, no training clients) that will allow me to truly study.
16. Prepare to study:

a. Set up table with all of my books
b. Realize table is a tad dusty
c. Stomp upstairs for polish and a cloth
d. Rearrange cleaners in alphabetical order
e. Clean the kitchen as long as I’m already in it
f. Carry dirty rags to the laundry pile
g. Sort laundry and straighten up closet
h. Start a load of laundry
i. Clean the laundry room
j. Grab broom from garage, and notice 2 items that belong in storage
k. Carry items to storage room downstairs
l. Clean the entire lower level
m. Recognize that no studying has been accomplished
n. Sit down to study and realize I didn’t actually dust the table
o. Stomp back upstairs for polish, notice broom in the laundry room
p. Clean the main level floors
q. Notice that dryer has stopped when putting away the broom
r. Put away laundry
s. Carry towels upstairs to the linen closet and end up cleaning entire upper level
t. End up in shoe room – try every pair on, rearrange by color, make a mental list of colors you could use more of
u See one adorable pair of shoes that haven’t been worn in ages
v. Carry them downstairs to peruse closet for something to wear them with
w. Try on every outfit you own
x. Stomp downstairs in a flurry of frustration and work out so that the gray skirt that matches the adorable shoes will fit better
y. Shower
z. Carry shoes back upstairs to their room
aa. Try all shoes on again just for fun – I mean you’ve earned it after all this cleaning
bb. Remember need to study…head down from the shoe room and see sad and forlorn puppies who have missed you terribly all week
cc. Commence cuddle session
dd. Take puppies on a walk
ee. Throw away poop bag from walk and remember that you should probably clean up the poop in the dog run too. Do so.
ff. Wash hands thoroughly and notice polish/rag on the counter
gg. Head downstairs, dust the table, commence studying
hh. Within 2 minutes realize you need to look something up on the computer specific to the physiology chapter you’ve begun
ii. Check email
jj. Get reminder from Matteo that you have a blog and should maybe ACTUALLY WRITE A BLOG
kk. Sit down to write a blog and realize that it’s ALL Sheila’s fault.

17. Console self with the fact that at least you were responsible while being irresponsible. Post blog and head off for well deserved nap – I mean just so that I’m well rested for studying and all…


So the good news is that I’ve finally figured out how to chop onions without crying! The bad news is that this is what the little girl from down the street saw when she knocked on my kitchen door to try to sell something. I’d tell you what it was, but she ran away before I could find out.


An exchange earlier today with a young male employee at Safeway who I am quite convinced has taken full advantage or our new marijuana laws:

Me: Excuse me, can you tell me where to find thyme?
Young dude: Ohhhhhh yeah it’s uhhhhhh, WOW it’s already noon.
Me: No. Thyme. For cooking.
Young dude: Oh man, right? There’s just never enough. But hey we have frozen entrees and stuff. They’re alright.

I waited a good 15 seconds for a hidden cameraman to appear and then I took off down the aisle.

You’ve heard me whine about Mondays. And really, who doesn’t? I’m just saying. I mean don’t go labeling me as some whiney complainer or something. Because you do not want to incur my wrath. I am a dangerous woman. You have been warned.

So! Now that we’ve settled that (and established that Mondays are whine-able) I thought I’d whine about my Friday! Because if you ask me it was really a MONDAY and just cleverly disguised as a Friday. So that makes it allowed. And I should have just stayed in bed because it was OUT TO GET ME from start to finish. And with a day like that one must find a coping mechanism. Even if it involves violence.

4:30 am: *smack* *smack* Mmmmrowr? *smack*

“Remy! Paws to yourself! It’s not time to wake up yet.”

4:33 am: *smack* Mmmmrowr! WOOF *smack* *pant pant pant* Mew?

My cat is a fabulous recruiter. In no less than 3 minutes she managed to get the dog and the other cat in on Operation: Wake Up Mom. So I gave in and figured I’d have some extra coffee time before hitting the weights. Only… I was out of coffee. And for the sake of expediency let’s just list the early A.M. calamities, ok?

  1. 30 minute early wake up call
  2. Out of coffee
  3. Shoelace comes undone while on the treadmill. I trip, fly off the back, land on the cat’s tail and get well and truly clawed by Remy along my calf for such behavior.
  4. Lying on the floor doing chest presses…Klepto decides she should sit directly on my chest. And she just glared at me. Like a personal trainer with cat food breath, “What are ya, a mouse? C’mon lady….you can do another.”
  5. While doing push ups… I look up and all 3 of the critters are lined up and staring at me. I informed them they could stare all they wanted but there would be no breakfast until my workout was done. I kid you not, they exchanged glances with each other like “Did you hear that? Did you hear what she said?” I fell into a fit of giggles and couldn’t finish my reps.
  6. For some odd reason (lack of coffee?) I managed to shave everywhere except for my left armpit.
  7. Had to stomp around the backyard with the dog as she did her thang because it’s baby bunny, baby duck and turtle season at my house. She’s already managed to injure 1 of each and I will not have it! I didn’t realize the neighbor dude would be awake and outside so early, and there I was all “crazy neighbor lady” like in my bathrobe and high heels standing on top of my picnic table for potty patrol.
  8. One of our consultants called to talk while I was drying my hair. By the time I got her off the phone I was running late AND my hair was all funky.
  9. Stubbed my baby toe on the corner of the bed frame, and then while hopping up and down saying “ow ow ow ow” I landed on the side of the scale and twisted my ankle.
  10. Stomped on top of the scale (that’ll teach it) and saw that despite the additional workouts and lack of chocolate I am still 109 lbs.

So then I sat on the side of the bed and felt sorry for myself for a minute. But then I figured the day could ONLY GET BETTER so I did the whole dress for work bit. And if you are female you will understand that on difficult days it can help to wear something that makes you feel good about yourself. Even if no one else knows. And I was feeling under attack, so naturally I put on my army panties. I mean wouldn’t you?

And as you can see there are 3 bronze bullets on the side that rest directly on top of one’s hip bone. Armed. Dangerous. Ready for the day. *salute*

So I made it out the door and stopped in at Walgreen’s to pick up a bottle of the FINALLY available Alli diet pill. They keep them locked and the cashier lady would not sell them to me!!! She was all “Those are for fat people.” I was all “May I see the manager please?” She was all “We were warned skinny chicks like you would want these.” I was all “Thank you for your concern. Manager?” She was all SELLING THE LAST DAMNED BOTTLE TO ANOTHER “CHICK” and then sweetly asking if I’d still want to see the manager. Well now that was just wrong. And as I put my hands on my hips I felt the bullets. So I ever so slightly thrust my hip forward and quietly thought “kaPOW! Bambambambam!” (Ok no comments on the 4 th bam. Yes, there are only 3 bullets. But these are magic panties and they recharge. OK?)

40 minutes later I pulled into my parking garage. This is one of those garages that sells 50 spots when there is really only room for 30 cars. As such, we have a valet guy that parks the cars and then scoots them around during the day when someone needs to get out. I tend to be the last car to leave the lot because I apparently work later than anyone else who parks there. So the car dude usually just directs me to where he wants me and I park it myself. Well. On this particular day he decided I should park in the impossible spot. I was all “Umm no…my car will never fit there.” He was all “Sure it will. You’re fine, keep going.” And then my car was all “Crunch.”

SOB! Crycrycry. My car! I just paid her off last Friday and now she’s RUINED. Ruined I say!

Car dude was all, “Damn. That sucks. Guess your car was too small for that spot. But hey, if you give me 20 bucks I’ll clean it and wax it and see if the drywall stuff just comes off.” THRUST! KaPOW! BAMBAMBAMBAM.

As you can see, it didn’t.

I finally grabbed coffee mid morning and spilled ½ of it getting into the elevator. I hip checked the elevator wall and screamed KAPOW! Kablam! (Y’all know it’s bad when I’m shooting up inanimate objects.) (Also, hip bones are very tender and now mine is bruised.)

Oh I could go on. No really. The ENTIRE day was out to get me. And much shooting commenced.

But finally the work day was done and it was time for a night on the town with the girls. Only we decided a night on the lake might be better. So there we were. 5 women of the world. Skirts, heels, tank tops. Sunning ourselves over dinner on the deck. Looking out over Lake Minnetonka. Surrounded by a happy-the-week-is-over crowd. And then, after a solid week of 90’s and sunshine (while stuck in the office) the heavens decide to unleash their fury and suddenly it’s a wet t-shirt contest. And men who had contained themselves to polite smiles earlier were suddenly AT OUR TABLE and NOT looking us in the eyes if you know what I mean. And I think you do. And HELLO! You are not HWSNBN! Thou shalt not look! And while my tablemates thought this was a rather fabulous development and decided to stay, I did not. My level of discomfort grew and grew while we waited for the check (my tank top was white and after the downpour it was COLD and well, that’s not good, you know?) So my hip was all jutting out and my brain was kaPoWiNg and then Karyn started to dance (which meant I could join in and really throw the hips into it) and I pictured people just dropping and that’s ever so wrong so I left.

Are y’all SCARED of me now?  Hee!

And I comforted myself as I fell asleep with thoughts of my upcoming vacation. HWSNBN is taking me to Boston over the 4 th of July week. I have never been there and I could just cry with excitement! He’ll take me to see Harvard, and all the city sites, and a ton of historical buildings, we’ll walk the Freedom Trail, and we’re even taking a ferry to Cape Cod to lie on the beach for a day! Yay! And my last thought as I drifted off to sleep was that I’d best not wear these panties (purchased for me by HWSNBN by the way) to the airport…


Security dude: “Ma’am? Do you have any metal about your person?”

Me: “Oh that? Oh not to worry sugar.Those are just my bullets.”


So you might be wondering if my blogs will just up and go away now that life is getting back to normal for me. Back into work mode. Able to look at my budget sheet without the tears of despair. Happily settled into a relationship. Normal. Just nothing to write about. You know?

Well. You must be new readers if you think that. I mean really. Normal would be…abnormal?

And I am maybe incoherent and such because of this latest fiasco of sorts. So if you have to read a sentence more than once for it to make sense just do so. I guarantee I had to look at each sentence more than that while typing. It’s the result of being a sleep deprived woman. Sleep deprivation has groggified my poor brain to a place where it will say all kinds of things that just do not make sense.

So you might be wondering what is causing said sleep deprivation. Children? Nope. My “baby” is 19 and off being all adultish and such. Work related stress? Nope. I love my job! Bad dreams? Nope. I rarely even remember them and of course you get a blog out of it when I do. HWSNBN? Nope. When I spend the night at his place I sleep wonderfully.

Tis none of those things. It is ever so much worse than that. People… I am a stalked woman. I kid you not. This individual is out to terrorize me with constant harassment and late night badgering. I really do not know how much more I can take. I have been driven to the very brink of utter exhaustion.

By an owl.

Oh it all started off innocently enough. But I misunderstood his intentions when he first made his presence known. In fact I was rather hospitable if you must know. It all started back in March.  I mean I suppose you had to be there to understand…

It was a dark and stormy night (and probably snowy and such. Minnesota dontcha know). Our heroine (umm. That’s me, k?) was winding down after a long and difficult day of navigating corporate America (it wasn’t all that hard yet back then) by sipping on a delicate glass of wine (diet coke) and pouring over the glorious words of Keats (ok, it was Cosmo.) Suddenly she is torn away from the surprising plot twist (buttons on spring shoes? Really?) by a disturbance out behind the plantation (backyard of my rambler). She rises gracefully from the chaise lounge (tripped over both cats while getting up from the hideous floral hand me down couch) and dashes out to the sweeping veranda (crumbling cement step).

Owl: Who! Who who who who?

Me: Hey Kali (dog)! Klepto (cat)! Remy (cat)! Look! We have an owl! How cool is that? In our very own yard! Oh wow!

Owl: Who? Whoooooo who?

Me: Hiya owl! Hello! Oooooo cool glowing eyes! Hey do that Exorcist thing with your head!

Let’s jump ahead, shall we?

Week 2

Owl: Who hoot? Who who who who hoot who?

Me: Shouldn’t you be hibernating or heading south or something?

Week 4


Me: I don’t know who! But it wasn’t me! For the love of GOD would you shake a tail feather already?!?

Oh dear and gentle readers! What on earth am I to do?  Months of “whoing” and I apparently have not given him the answer he wants!  I need sleep! I long for graceful slumber! But the harassment just continues and I can not take much more.

And then last night he brought a friend. *whimper*

2:00 am

Owl: WHO! Who hoot who hoot who hoot!

Evil scheming conniving friend: BRAWP! Gurgle gurgle gurgle BRAWP!

I lay in bed listening to the owl and the frog battle it out. Oh they had so much to discuss. And I hate them. HATE. Of the deep and unforgivable sort. The type of hate that leads a woman to stomp out to the back steps at god-forsaken-early O’clock to shout “SHUT UPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP! Go away! Oh my GOD just GO!”

And for a moment there was silence. Glorious silence. And then the doorbell rang and the dude across the street (in a superman bathrobe… I mean really) asked if everything was ok. I explained my stalker situation and he had the very nerve to simply stare at me, shake his head and walk back across the street. How’s that for chivalry?!?

So if you happen to see a crazy woman in the city today muttering and cackling to herself with the occasional “Brawp! Who! Brawp!” thrown in for effect please be kind. She really needs sleep.


Do you typically remember your first thought in the morning? My first thought was “brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” Yes, I make sound effects in my head. Leave me alone. 

A bit of history for you: I live in an old and drafty house. Said house is located in Minnesota and we get rather cold during the winter (and apparently into May). Combine that with higher gas prices than ever, add in The Unemployment experienced during the deep freeze and you get yourself into an expensive and difficult dilemma. My January gas bill alone was $328.00 and I don’t even want to talk about February. It’s just too painful. There was no way I could pay these bills in full, so I theorized that as long as I made a good faith effort towards paying the behemoth off I’d be all good. Every month I sent in 200 bucks and figured it would eventually even itself out during the summer months. In fact I stopped opening the little letters they kept sending because Hello! I know I owe you money! And I am all adult like that.

So the other day I got a phone call, wherein I was informed by the Gas Company that I was to be disconnected… 

GC: You are to be disconnected.

Me: Seriously? I never miss a payment and I’ve religiously sent you 200 every month! 

GC: MN law states that we can shut you off when winter is over.

Me: Ok but is this really necessary? It’s all going to even out over the next couple months! 

GC: Ma’am I can take your 80 billion dollar payment over the phone if you like.

Me: I don’t have it! 

GC: You are to be disconnected.

So at first I was all Oh My God! But then it dawned on me that A: It’s not that cold out anymore and the furnace could probably use a break. B: I’ll pay it up over the next couple months and I’ll just have em cruise out and reconnect me. C: Oh the nostalgia! I haven’t had anything disconnected since the struggle of my early 20’s! So I just decided it was all good. In fact in keeping with the nostalgia I turned out all the lights and lit candles as though the electricity had been disconnected too. Such good times to be had in my house people. Feel free to stop by and join me for a reenactment of the poor years anytime you like. 

This leads us to yesterday morning. The morning in which the blonde remembers a teeny tiny bit of useful information. HOT WATER HEATERS REQUIRE GAS! And while I aspire to learn the whole cussing like a sailor thing, I confess that my first cold experience only drew an “OH!” 

It was quite likely the world’s fastest shower.  Also, I was solid goose bumps which does not lend itself well to shaving so I had to stay stubbly. I HATE STUBBLE and felt all cold and squinky and ever so wronged.


So I thought about the months of cold showers ahead of me during the whole office commute and continued my pout fest as I stomped down the sidewalk.

And now we switch from cold and scratchy to warm and fuzzy! Because BWSNBN happened to be in the skyway and saw me pouting my way down the sidewalk! And once we both arrived he asked me why I looked so unhappy! And I made light of it but also whined a bit! And later that morning he said, “Hey isn’t your birthday this month?”  And I said, “Yeah.” And he walked past my desk and threw 1000 bucks on it and said, “Go get yourself some water.” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And isn’t that just the greatest?! And do you all just hate yourselves now for ever thinking poorly of him? And can we just agree that he never meant to hurt me and really does care?

And the gas company is due to arrive any moment now to turn me on (hee!). And then I plan to have a lovely warm bath and head over to HWSNBN’s (oh gosh! Does the H mean they are back together or is it a typo?!) to show my appreciation if you know what I mean. (And I think you do….)

Wendy’s List of Things That Ruin a Perfectly Good Temper Tantrum:

  • Cell phones. You can’t exactly slam them down after you’ve said the perfect last word. And “I am so mad at you!” SLAM POW SMASH is ever so much more effective than “I am so mad at you!” click.
  • Soft shut spring doors. These aren’t slammable either. And really. You should know you look like an idiot when you are shouldering yourself against the door trying to get it to just SHUT ALREADY.
  • Years and years of thou shalt nots. Because you know gosh darned well it would feel better to just cuss, but if you actually DO then it completely ruins the tantrum. Suddenly you are being smirked at and then awwwwwww’d at and then hugged because golly it’s just so cute when you swear and could you please say that again? No wait..say THIS one. Hey where are you stomping off to? Can you at least swear while you do it?
  • Tennis shoes. They ruin a perfectly good stomp. You should really wear heels at all times just in case.

So now y’all are thinking that I’ve had a wickedly fascinating temper tantrum that went awry aren’tcha?Well not so much.People I have become ever so boring as far as drama goes.

The closest I’ve gotten to an argument in ages was at the office on Monday.BWSNBN and I were finishing up an RFP for what would be an absolutely huge contract if we win.The proposal itself looked pretty amazing (if we did say so ourselves) and all we had left was to write the Executive Summary.So here’s where the slow burn of frustration begins.As far as wording and content it was all good…there was no fighting about this.However, he, has, a, passion, for, using, commas.

OK STOP. I know what you are thinking (I am psychic and such). You are thinking “Wait a minute here…Wendy? You are always and forever going on and on with the sentences that do not end that have odd punctuation and the like and you use weird slang and have a fascination for saying made up words and you love your prepositions and the dot dot dot…and you tend to not use commas when you really should and italics and funkified quotes and such.”

But that’s different!This is a blog people!Do you want me to be all grammatically proper and compliant?!?!Ok. I didn’t think so.

A business proposal is a different matter entirely. And I was RIGHT. And he was WRONG. And I am well and truly tempted to rename him B,W,S,N,B,N. But then after we overnighted the comma filled proposal he reverted to HWSNBN and we went to a fabulous little Chinese restaurant where I proceeded to be all passive aggressive and call him comma boy during the entire meal. So there.

In conclusion, may I just say, that if we lose this proposal, it will have nothing to do with content, or the billion dollar cost analysis. Oh no. It will, have everything, to do, with the commas.

In conclusion to the 2 nd : If this blog has bored you then you can just stomp away and slam stuff but it will be highly ineffective because REALLY all you can do is just click me off. Hee! “So I had this thing the other day and it really clicked me off!”

Today’s blog brought to you by the comma and a woman who still, has not, slept.

Can I be frank with you? And does anyone else feel deliciously naughty when they say that? C’mon baybee… I’ll be Frank and you can be (insert whoever gets ya goin).

Ok I’ve completely forgotten what I wanted to be frank about because now I’m all off on a tangent in my mind about unknown men. Who is Frank? Or Pete for that matter…and why is everything for HIS sake? I mean really. 

I always present my goings on with you in story form. But today I shall step out of the mold! (eww) Actually I think I’m supposed to “break” out of it but then that leads to wondering why I would be locked up in it to begin with?

ANYWAYS. (This would be where I would usually pick up the thread but as I reread the above I realize that there isn’t one…) 

Welcome to backwards day! Yes let us go with that. And of course we must go backwards to get to today which is backwards. And such. It was a dark and stormy night…no really, it was, check the weather from last night for Minneapolis. And Wendy hasn’t slept in nearly a week so why not just ready oneself for bed by having coffee at 10 pm? And reading email? (which also felt deliciously naughty because one is not supposed to do such a thing on a dark and stormy night…oh look! That’s a thread from paragraph one! Perhaps we DO have a thread after all!) So. I was responding to my wholesomely good friend about recent goings on. Shall we discuss this in conversational form?

Me: Ok I seem to be losing all my hair and yet I don’t seem to be going bald. But I kid you not…every shower leads to gobs of hair in the drain. 

Her: Are you eating weird again?

Me: No. There hasn’t been a cheezit incident in quite some time and I’m all up on the gobs of protein. Seriously. Gobs.  

Her: Supplements?

Me: Yup. Gobs. Multivitamin? Check! Omega 3’s? Check. Hydroxycut? Check! Olestra? Check. Could that be the cause do you think? 

Her: No. Pringles do not tend to cause baldness.

Me: I haven’t slept in days. Perchance? 

Her: You need flax seed oil STAT. Ummm…”Gobs.” And only foods that are whole. K?

Me: Ok. 

So this led to all sorts of research (I am a total Google whore) and I found the perfect solution.

And just like that we are back to this morning! Which started out backwards! Because I had brownies for breakfast. Yay! Which as you all know is also deliciously naughty. But all in the name of flax seed, yes? And whole wheat? 

So then I showered and realized that I had conditioned my hair and THEN shampooed it. But I am all about living dangerously so I just went with it.

And then writing a blog that none of you will understand. ALSO backwards as I don’t usually write my blogs in the morning. Perhaps I never will again or I will lose even MORE commenters than the whole AWOL experience led to? 

Oh stress. Oh lack of sleep. Oh flax seed oil.

In other conversational news… 

Him: You should consider getting a gun. I can’t believe you don’t already have one. You live alone and soon you’ll be living in the city. You should be able to defend yourself if necessary.

Me: Oh I don’t believe in guns. 

Him: Why?

Me: Well they kill people. And they’re scary. And I could never shoot anyone anyways so they’d end up using it on me. So what’s the point? 

Him: You could probably get one in pink.

Me: Really!?!? Oh I want one! Where?  

In other (to the 2nd? Power of 2?)news: Searching online for pink handguns only leads you to sites about the pink pistols or something which is a group  taking a stand against gay bashing by wielding handguns.

Shouldn’t backwards day start off by going to sleep? 

Never fear! I shall delete this blog when i get home…as that would be the backwards way of posting? And such?

Ok kiddies. To the office. Don’t forget your flax seed oil.