Boys Have Big Ones. Girls Have Little Ones.

I’ve recently conducted a very scientific study about a very important topic. And by scientific, I mean not at all. Ditto on the importance level.

You can tell if someone is male or female when it rains.

Men carry long sticks  of umbrellas. While women opt for a more demure style.

I'm such a man!

I'm so dainty!

I’ve been forced to carry Dubs’ manly umbrella this week because I misplaced my ladylike rain shield. It makes me feel like a man with a sword. And I like it.

Next time it rains, take a look around.

Poll of Life – Royal Pain in the…

There’s a couple rich, royal people getting married on Friday. So we got that going for us.

I would call myself a passive observer. I may tune into a Lifetime Movie about William & Kate’s relationship, but I will not be waking up at 3 am to watch the festivities live.

What about you? How into the Royal Wedding are you?

20 Months

So you know when people have babies they count the baby’s age in months? I’m sure it has to do with all the milestones and development and crap that happens in a short time, which, if you think about it, is pretty amazing. But if you are a selfish millennial like I am, you don’t think about it. Not even a little bit.

Instead you want people to take your relationship milestones and development and crap seriously. Like when you’re at a cocktail party and people are all “what’s your deal” and you’re all “I got a live in boyfriend, yo” and they’re all “I don’t care” and you’re all “well, I started a blog about it” and they’re all “whatever.” And then you’re like, “but we’ve been dating for 20 months, bro” and they’re like “Woah, dude. That’s heavy.”

And they’d be right. It IS heavy.

If my relationship was a toddler, its scribbles would look like vertical and horizontal lines, and maybe even a circle (well according to the first thing that came up in a Google search about 20 month old babies).

Yeah. I don’t know what that means either.

The Case of the Liquid Lettuce

Can you help the boyfriend and I solve a mystery?

Background: We had a package of romaine hearts in our refrigerator and someone stole it. I’m sure of it.

The strange thing is they replaced it with liquid lettuce…in the same packaging! Who would do such a thing?

My money is on the maintenance guy. I’m guessing he is also responsible for the trail of vomit leading from the fridge to the garbage as well. Jerk.

What do you think?

Dear Stranger, I Hate You.

There’s nothing like a little travel to bring out my mean streak. In the past couple days, I discovered many poor, unsuspecting people to hate.

-To the really skinny woman at the vegetarian restaurant who couldn’t possibly finish her salad because she had a big lunch of more salad, I hate you. I’m always about 3 seconds from licking my plate after every meal. Quit making me look like a fatty.

-To all the grown-up adults who show up early to the free breakfast at the hotel showered, dressed well and smelling nice, I hate you. I’m probably not going to shower at all today. To be honest, you’re lucky I changed out of my purple pajama pants with elephants rollerblading. Pass me a Danish.

-To the passive aggressive woman at the aforementioned free breakfast who suggested to her friend to take a smaller plate so she would eat less, I hate you. I’m taking two BIG plates full of food and a napkin full of Danishes just to compensate for making your friend feel like a fatty.

-To the gorgeous woman with the tiny, tiny dress that shows off your tan beautiful legs, I hate you and curse you with my cankles in your next life.

-To the girl sitting next to me on the plane, I’m also glad the middle seat is open, but kindly get your nasty bare feet off the seat. No one wants to see that. I hate you too.

What? Why are you looking at me like that? Like you don’t hate complete strangers for extremely petty reasons? You don’t? Well, this is awkward. According to this, I’m not sure we can be friends anymore. Want a Danish?

Poll of Life – Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

So this past weekend, my sister and I went to Napa on a most delightful girl’s trip. This week, I’m traveling to multiple cities for work so I will have been gone from Chicago and the live in boyfriend for just over a week.

According to his Facebook page, he’s been handling being home alone just fine:

Jenny has left me home alone for a week. Two hours into it and I’ve already thrown a party that ended with grandpa’s car in the lake after I rejected Molly Ringwald’s advances and summoned a sexy computer genie with Anthony Michael Hall.

Since we’ve only been living in the same city for 18 days, and I’ve only been in said city for half of that time, we are pretty accustomed to not being together. That said, because I was the one vacationing, I was extra sensitive to how we communicated while apart.

What do you think?

Secrets to a 41 Year Marriage

My parents recently celebrated their 41st wedding anniversary (insert awww here).  So, of course, I want to take this moment to exploit their relationship on my blog.

I asked my life giver what she thought the secret to 41 years was, and here’s how the conversation went down:

Mom: Hahahahaha

Me: No seriously, I want to know.

Mom: I don’t think there is a secret. Some days are good. Some days are bad. You just plot around in life, and one day you wake up and say, “God damn. It’s been 41 years.”

Me: Mom, don’t swear. This is serious journalism.

Mom: If you don’t end up hating each other in the end, it’s okay.

Me: Mom?! Hate? I can’t put that in my blog. This is supposed to be about a happy, loving marriage.

Mom: It’s okay if you don’t like each other sometimes. And, eventually, that goes away, and you like each other again.

Me: You’re talking too fast. I can’t write all this down.

Mom: Your father pisses me off sometimes, but then he’ll do something shockingly sweet, and I say to myself, “see? He does have a good heart.”

So there you have it. First comes love, then comes hate, and if you’re lucky, it comes back to like.

Poll of Life – Cleaning Machine?

So last night as I was watching Real Housewives of Orange County and live tweeting (don’t hate) the roommate was so bored, he got up and started washing dishes. During the commercial break (when I realized he wasn’t sitting next to me anymore), I suffered from a severe case of Female Guilt and started straightening up the living room (well, at least until the show came back on) (yes, I realize I’m the only person in the world who doesn’t have a DVR – I just got a microwave. Baby steps).

And then, this morning, Dubs told me to set aside laundry I needed to be done, and he’d throw a couple loads in while I was at work (ha, ha. Load).  And there it was again. Female Guilt.

Am I the only one who feels this in regards to cleaning?

Love Bear

I don’t want to make you vomit or anything, but I HAVE to tell you the sweetest thing ever.

Dubs said after living with me for a couple days he thinks I’m like a bear. He even showed me this video to demonstrate how cute and cuddly he thinks I am. I stopped watching after about 13 seconds, but feel free to take a look yourself.

Prepare to have your heart warmed.

Duck, Duck, Roommate

I’ve been so busy, I never even told you about the big move!

It started with a duck.

I don't know about you...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Followed by anxiety and doubt that we’d be able to fit everything into our two cars.  No fear! Pretty Pretty Princess the Holy Corolla and the Green Escape made some room.

Pretty Pretty Princess the Holy Corolla

Green Escape

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cheers to our successful-shoving-in-item-and-closing-the-door-quickly-so-shit-doesn’t-fall-out approach!

Only the finest for my boo!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thankfully my new buddy kept me company on our long drive back to Chicago.

Co-Pilot - get it? Cause he's a duck and can fly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, and we managed to stop by Cardinals Opening Day and take this lovely photo together.

Before the car keys were lost