+ I've been grossed out by chicken for years now. The thought of chicken made me gag and I couldn't go anywhere near it. But lately I have been CRAVING it. I finally ate some with dinner last night and it was everything I was hoping it would be. My vegetarian days may be limited.

+ It's Easter time and everyone's dying eggs, and I don't understand the...a-peel (lolz). I did it maybe one time as a kid, and it's just never been something I've wanted to do. What's the point? What do you do with the eggs after you dye them? I know you can technically eat them, but no way. I know the dye is only on the shell, but I cannot force myself to eat a neon pink egg. I just think the whole thing is really weird.

+ I found this pin yesterday morning, and I haven't laughed so hard at something on the internet in a long time. I don't know why it's so funny to me, but I lost it. And then I was walking around the building at work yesterday when it popped into my head and I lost it all over again.

+ The other business in our building at work had a fish fry on Wednesday to raise money for an employee with cancer, which means I got to eat fried food for a good cause. Except I ate so much, I literally had to unbutton my jeans under my desk for the rest of the afternoon. It was a great moment.

+ My face has been unbelievably dry for the past 6 months, and no amount of moisturizers or coconut oil has done anything to help. At the advice of a coworker, I took a deep breath and bought some Ponds face moisturizer because I'm a 45 year old woman who now smells like an old baptist church during a funeral. I should've checked for unscented, because this stuff has completely redefined the word pungent in that I recoiled so I hard I nearly fell over just from unscrewing the lid.

+ A new guy at work asked me for my number yesterday. It's the first time anything like this has happened since I got married, and I have zero idea how he missed the fact that I'm married, especially since I was waving my ring finger around like a wild woman once he started bragging about playing college football and getting wasted with his "buddies." I thought I had turned him off forever with my response when he asked the always romantic question of "so, do you like to party?" When I said no, he came back with "but you used to like to party, right?" Still no. "Wait, but don't you, like, party sometimes?" He wasn't getting that I truly am not nor have ever been a party animal, so I broke it down for him and told him that if partying means going to bed with a stack of books at 8pm and being asleep by 10, then yes I like to party.

[Clearly he doesn't know me at all, because bragging about football and how much you miss getting wasted every night in college is not the key to my heart, but rather the key to the door I'll use to lock you out of the building. If you want to impress me, tell me about your libraries. Of both the iTunes and book persuasion.]

But then he caught me in the parking lot last night as I was leaving, tried to make some small talk, and asked for my number. And then I bumbled and mumbled and fumbled around like a fool trying to figure out the best to say "DID YOU EVER THINK TO LOOK AT MY LEFT HAND BEFORE ASKING ME THAT?" He didn't, but in his defense he was probably trying to think of new ways to ask if I like to party. We parted on highly awkward terms, and I sat in my car and screamed in an effort to release the embarrassment of the whole situation. It would be one thing if I never had to see him again, but he sits 50 feet away from me 40-50 hours a week. Looks like I'll be taking the long way to the printer from now on.

But the most important aspect of this story is this:  I still got it. 


how to survive when you love a golf fan

I've made it known many times before that I am not a girl who likes sports. I've tried, but I just can't. Like Lady Gaga, I was born this way. Thankfully I'm married to a dude who shares my views. He understands sports and he'll definitely watch them with other guys, but he has never been the type to spend a whole weekend watching football or baseball or fuseball or skeeball or whatever the heck people watch. We would both rather watch the Office for the thousandth time. Sports just aren't our jam.

Until golf, that is.

I have a hard time even typing the word golf. I have a pavlovian response to that word in that I yawn whenever I see or hear it.

James loves golf. He loves to play it and he loves to watch it. The only golf I love is the kind that is on the Wii. And let's be real, the Volkswagen Golf is pretty cute, but I digress. I'm happy that it makes him happy and I'm all for him pursuing his hobbies, but I truly don't understand why he chose the most boring sport of all time to love. I mean, at least football has some action, right? I may have no idea what that action is or what it means, but at least it doesn't put me to sleep. Golf is one of those sports that's fun to play, but watching it is worse than watching paint dry. And when I mean it's fun to play, I mean that I've won countless games of mini golf and I've gone to a driving range twice, so I am obviously qualified to make this assessment. I'm passionately in love with driving ranges because 1. I'm doing something sporty that is not a team sport, and 2. I get to whack things.

The...Masters? (right? I think?) tournament was last weekend, and James warned me for a month that it was coming and that he would be indisposed. I was completely fine with that, because a weekend all to myself sounded fun since we're both super independent and love to do our own things from time to time. However, there were still several hours where I was the third wheel to the James and golf relationship. I tried to watch some with him (more like I was too lazy to go upstairs), and I found myself once again astonished that someone could find this enjoyable.

At the interest of saving relationships everywhere, I've compiled a short list of how to make golf more exciting for you and your mislead loved one. And if you're the golf fan in the relationship, then bless your heart.

+ Use as many Happy Gilmore references as possible. Multiple times. Why else would you watch that movie? This is the moment you've been training for.

+ Replace words in rap songs with golf references. Example: BIRDIE BIRDIE BIRDIE BIRDIE ROCKIN' EVERYWHERE! He'll be so proud of your ability to entertain yourself as you fall off the couch from laughing.

+ Whenever he's cheering for someone (and by cheering I mean golf clapping slightly louder), refer to the above step. Screaming "GET IT RIGHT GET IT TIGHT" at the TV guarantees the golfer will make the shot (sidebar: I just tried to spell golfer as "gaulfer." Help). It has a 1 time success rate of 100%.

+ Golf puns. BOY, THOSE PASTEL PLAID PANTS ARE ON PAR, AMIRITE? Alliteration is fun, too. If you can have a sense of humor about golf, you can have a sense of humor about anything.

+ You know those cheesy clips at the end of commercial breaks where the camera has a close up of the flowers on the golf course, and the Morgan Freeman-esque announcer is going into deep detail on the beauty of the day and the talent of the golfers? It's the perfect backdrop for an interpretive dance. Trust me.

+ Consistently ask "wait, who's that again?" every time a name is mentioned. Not only is it NOT super annoying, but it shows you want to learn. But mostly you'll have to ask multiple times because it's hard to pay attention the first 9 times because GOLF. If you're with a golf fan, chances are they know the life story and favorite color of every player...wait no, golfer. He or she will be forced (who are we kidding, they love to show off their golf wisdomz) to answer the questions, which means you'll eventually learn something you can use to impress someone someday, and it will keep everyone from falling asleep. That is, if the talking about golf doesn't put you to sleep first. AND CONGRATULATIONS! You just won spouse/friend/child of the year for trying to show an interest.

When all else fails, go upstairs, play your favorite music, and paint your nails. Or accidentally your entire toe, if you have my nail painting skills.


it can happen to you too, never give up, and other inspirational quotes

You've heard me wax on and off on about my hatred of grocery shopping. I truly hate it. It's the worst hour of my week, and lately it has gotten progressively worse. Kroger was rearranged a few weeks ago and it has turned my entire life upside down. No longer can I grab bread here and beans there and be out in a jiffy. I have to hunt for the bread that was nonsensically placed next to the canned fruit. And for the black beans that are now by the paper towels. Obviously. Grocery shopping has gone from merely an annoying chore to a true test of character. Now I'm not just trying to get out earshot of screaming children, I'm trying to do it while scavenging for diced tomatoes. Plus, Kroger has been out of limes so often lately that I'm starting to take it personally.

I've been at the end of my rope with grocery shopping. As soon as I got home, I needed at least an hour to lay in bed to cry and process the trauma. I felt as if I could no longer go on. That I'd rather go hungry instead of going to Kroger. What's the point? Why am I putting myself through this misery? WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE?

But you know those sayings, like the ones where it's darkest before the dawn? That it has to get worse before it gets better? IT'S TRUE, YOU GUYS. It's true.

like, totes mcgoats

I got myself together and went to Kroger yesterday. I pregamed with an iced coffee and a trip to the library to put me in the best frame of mind possible. I sat in the car for ten minutes scouring social media apps and listening to music trying to will myself out of the car. I gave myself a pep talk as I walked up to the carts, terrified they would be super glued together like usual.

But things were different this time, guys. Things were different.

I pulled apart the carts with ease. Raspberries and strawberries were on sale. They weren't sold out of avocados.

And then something else started to happen. Men were winking at me. Kids were giggling and smiling at me when they walked by. Random strangers were saying hi. When did I get famous? I thought to myself. They must've heard about that funny joke I told at work last week. And then a guy in the cracker aisle turned to me with a huge grin and said "YOUR SHIRT IS AMAZING!" Ahh, my shirt! Ok, James' Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle shirt that I stole out of his closet. I should've known. The key to a man's heart is through a nerd shirt. I was asked on many a date in college just by wearing my Spamalot shirt. Studies (my own) have shown that a nerd shirt is 89% more effective at picking up men than the bend and snap. I should've known the ninja turtles would be no different.

Whatever the reason for my sudden fame, I had became the queen of my neighborhood Kroger, and I loved it. I strutted through the aisles, saying hello and giving polite waves to smiling strangers and giddy children and rolling in the compliments on my stolen shirt. My beloved Quaker popped chips were overflowing on the shelves with new flavors. My favorite ice cream (Talenti gelato, glory hallelujah) was half price, which has never happened. And then when I went to check out, the cashier said "It looks like you get the blackberry discount today! We overcharged you last week, so you get a $6 credit today." Just enough to pay for the sunday blues frozen pizza I had felt guilty about putting in the cart.

And I left, feeling happier than I have in a long time. Well, happier than I've been in a grocery store. It was the best shopping trip I've had in a long time. Probably ever. It may have been the power of the shirt, or it may have been the spring after the long winter (of grocery shopping), the dawn after the darkness, the land flowing with milk and honey (literally) after 40 years in the desert, the may flowers after the april showers, etcetera etcetera.

We may never know what happened that Sunday afternoon in a little Columbus grocery store, but i can tell you one thing: It gets better, you guys. It gets better.


the hazards of housework

I was beat up by my vacuum cleaner on Sunday.

I'll explain.

I had been putting off housework all weekend, but I finally got enough energy to peel myself off the couch Sunday afternoon after one too many disappointing Netflix movies to do some cleaning. I cleaned the kitchen and the living room, put away the laundry, and for the grand finale I was going to vacuum our bedroom, which I hate doing because VACUUMING SUCKS (LOL OMG). I was 90% finished when I tried to lift the vacuum up over a lamp cord, but with ninja-like moves I still don't understand, it flew back and hit me so hard in the big toe that it broke off part of the nail. Broke it clean off.

I know what you're thinking. "Michelle! How could something like this happen to you? You're always so graceful and suave!" I know! I have no explanation either. But there was blood and screaming everywhere. I sat on the floor clutching my bleeding toe, surveying the bloody crime scene (and I mean bloody in the both the British and American senses), and wailing just enough to let James know I'm in pain and need to be shown boatloads of sympathy, but I'm not dying so please don't call 911. I finally calmed myself down and cleaned and bandaged myself up while James scrubbed the blood out of the carpet. Once that was taken care of, I thought I'd finish up the three square feet I had left to go.

Within ten seconds of turning the vacuum on, I had to reach down to pull the cord out of the way when a sharp plastic piece on the vacuum (that STILL cannot be located or the situation replicated) sliced my finger right open. Right open! Once again, there was blood and screaming. And also a little laughing because WHY ME.

I immediately put the vacuum away in a faraway closet and told James in a fit of exasperation that either he cleans from now on, or we will be forced to live in filth for the rest of our days. I still mean those words with my whole heart. He agreed, possibly to appease his crippled wife that now can't wear sandals until her horrifying toenail grows back, and I walked over to the bed to rest. Except when I tried to lean back on my pillow, I accidentally bonked my head rather violently on the headboard.

What kind of world is it when even my bed betrays me in such a vicious manner?

Also, do you have any extra bandaids I could borrow?


the sunday currently, vol. 5

READING: I'm going to start Insurgent today, and I'm really excited about it.
WRITING: not a grocery list. That's for sure.
LISTENING: to the Avett Brothers all day everyday. Pretty Girl at the Airport has been on repeat for the last week. I am usually anti-sad song, but this one has won me over. Never has there been a more beautifully heartbreaking song. 
THINKING: that James is much more proficient in 90s rom coms than I am. I remembered the plot of She's All That completely wrong, but he remembered it exactly right. He also remembered Clueless much better than I did. I am ashamed and slightly bewildered. 
SMELLING: oatmeal. James made some and it's grossing me out. I used to love it, but now the texture of it gives me the willies. 
WISHING: Kelsey the happiest of birthdays!
HOPING: that if I sit on the couch long enough, the bathrooms and kitchen will clean themselves. 
WEARING: I resent this question because I am always in my pajamas when I write these. HOWEVS. Let's talk about the 1984 shirt my parents got me for my birthday. I wore it to work last week and got some raised eyebrows, and then I started to worry that everyone thought I was some conspiracy theorist trying to make a political statement, when in reality I just really like that book. (no but really, if you want to have a political discussion about that book, I'm all over it. I almost want to write an essay on it.) The best part was that the nerds FLOCKED to me all day long. I love the nerds. 
LOVING: The Avett Brothers. SURPRISE SURPRISE. I was telling James the other day that they have profoundly affected me the way Relient K did when I was in high school. Those songs got me through everything. Relient K's music was healing to me, and that's how the Avett Bros have been for me in adulthood. They've been at the top of my list for many years, but seeing them in concert last month changed everything for me, and I've been discovering a lot of songs by them I hadn't heard before and getting James into them. I just love them and their music so much it hurts. 
WANTING: to take a shower. But someone's gotta sit on this couch and watch this Netflix. 
NEEDING: someone to write a grocery list for me as I am incapable of doing it myself at the moment. 
FEELING: like I've been cheated. I watched a whole movie on Netflix (Love and Mary), because I thought it said Lauren Graham was in it, and I'll watch anything for Lorelai Gilmore. An hour in I started to wonder when she would show up, so I looked it up on IMDB to find that the actress is Laura German, not Graham. The nerve. And at that point I was too far in this ridiculous movie to call it quits. I didn't hate it, but I think it would've been better with Lauren Graham. Obviously