If you like this…

then you should probably follow my tweets and new blog.

I will still update in this blog (because J and L are awesome and I would never leave them) but if you…

need a little silly L in your life-
wonder what the Pirate is up too-
want to know how far I ran-
need advice on how to keep creepy guys away-

Than you should probably read this:

Im a Keeper

And if you want tweets about the current state of the Pirate household:

Pirate Household

I promise I’ll post lots of pictures.
And give away things, like beautiful plastic bead bracelets that I craft.
Or my hippie sister.

She was sleeping on the luggage. Almost didn't spot her.

Free shipping.
She comes with a yoga mat, too.

-L

I need a makeover stat

FIRST, a quiz:

Out of these statements, find the one false statement:

A. Today I was asked to be a model for a photography session involving skirts, high heels, and fruit. But no nudity- phew. I was really worried.
B. Today I had to deal with a stalker and it has totally freaked me out and I wish I had a dog.
C. Today my brother was laughing hysterically and when I asked why all he said was “In 10 years, I will open a door.” I didn’t laugh.
D. Today I surfed t.v. while laying in my parents bed (because it is a queen and very comfy, but they keep bars of soap in between the sheets- wtf?) and flipped between Bounty Hunter and Sweet Home Alabama and LOTR: all 3 made me emotional and cry.

Are you guessing?

Ill give you a hint….

They are all TRUE.
My life is too dramatic.
I’m turning into a horrible lifetime movie, I can already see the credits rolling.

Okay, I’ll blog about the makeover issue now:

I just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and yowzersssss- I need a makeover.
Stat.

But  I don’t feel very good at the moment.
I have a huge amount of lack of sleep in me.

Why? Why are you not sleeping? You may ask yourself.

Oh, just because I have a stalker. I won’t go into details but I’m completely freaked out at the moment. I quite possibly may purchase a dog in the near future. Or some sort of taser.

I also have been running to the bathroom and feel pukish.
I think I might be coming down with something…

So, let’s change subjects.

REASONS I NEED A MAKEOVER:

1. My Nails:

Yikes, these are not very pretty people

I’ve never had anyone come up to me, grab my hands and say “Oh, you have such pretty nails! I love how manicured and dainty your hands look!”

Nope. Not me. I have very long, skinny fingers.

Good piano playing fingers, perhaps?

2. My current boyfriend

Oh, did you meet my current boyfriend?
He lives in my bed.
And sleeps with me.
Cuddles right up and spends the whole night tucked underneath my arm.

His name is BABO. He came with name and I have no idea what it means.

Actually, he spends the whole night suffocating underneath my arm. It probably is not very comfortable for him. I also sometimes wake up with him underneath my head and realize I have drooled on his plush, grayish head.

Tsk tsk– this is a major reason I need a makeover.

Alas, this is my bed companion.

3. My ballerina ability

Okay, Momma and I went shopping and she bought me some really snazzy new shoes.
We were in the shoe department and she said “Pick whatever you want! I’m having fun!”
Naturally…. I choose…. KEDS.
(Is this too old lady of me? They get an A+++ for comfort though, come on people!)

They look like this:

Why am I so GIGANTIC AND LONG looking???

Anyways, I then decided that this picture did not do my shoes enough justice and I needed to take a picture of them with a mirror.
That idea, turned into the picture below which is me trying to look very dainty and ballerina like, showing off the shoes:

My feet aren't even straight. My hand is a creeper. WHAT IS GOING ON ?!!?

J would say that I look somewhat busted in this picture. And she is right. I am a little busted.

But when you are up all night with a stalker, that is what happens.

So I need a makeover so I can carry myself with style and proper-ness and give off an attitude that says This woman is all about business and wit even if she does sleep with an ugly doll.

Tomorrow, I’m going to start sitting really really straight all the time, walk tall like a dancer, and try to move like jello on springs- you know ladies, make your hips sway smoothly so that all eyes are memorized (but not in a creepy, sensual way. ew.)

4. Blistered and Battered Feet

Do you like feet? If you don’t like feet then shield your eyes.

My feet need a makeover. From running, they are totally blistered up.
Water and blood.
Tough everywhere- I could probably walk through glass and only notice a little (actually… I’d probably notice A FREAKIN’ LOT).
The heels are cracked and begging for moisturizer 24/7.

They look nice here but just wait...

Ewwwwwww

Water blister. Blood blister on baby toe. My heart blisters looking at this.

I need a foot rub.
Stat.
If only my boyfriend could rub my feet, but unfortunately, he would probably get soggy and I’d have to dump him.

5. Because I am not attractive in clay formation.

Let me explain.

My parents have art and decorations everywhere in the house. One day, I’ll post it all but for now, I’ll just give you a taste.

This is one piece of art, the Hergott kids, hot glued to a plastic picture frame, all created with oven-bake clay:

 

Aren’t we just an adorable, pasty white bunch?

 

Let me give you a better look at me and why I desperately need a makeover.

 

I am ready for the.... bath tub? Pool? Work out? Where are my eyes?

So much…. to question. But the bottom line is that I am not very attractive looking.
Actually, I am really quite frumpy.
I look at this and think- Yes, this person is going to grow up to be a spinster librarian. And have cats. And calfankles.

6. Because if the shakers can, anyone can do it!

Look. These two are stillllll at it in the wittle sippy cup, in the cupboard:

 

Too much scandal in the kitchen

Girl shaker clearly has got something that other shakers don’t have and has got Boy shaker’s heart in her hands.

 

Psssst- I have no idea what this has to do with a makeover but 6 is my favorite number, so I couldn’t end it at 5.

 

I’ll leave you all with that thought and image in your brain.

Let’s hope I sleep tight and don’t kill my boyfriend with my massive upper arm.

 

-L

Know better, learn faster

You should listen to that song, it’s by Thao with the Get Down Stay Down. And pretty much sums up my life – like I should know that some days just do not go my way, and learn how to deal with them faster!

So bliggity bloggers, as you can tell today was not the best day. It wasn’t the worst, more like a series of unfortunate events that are comical for others but otherwise unfortunate for me. For example, today was my last Italian language class of the winter. To celebrate, my class was going to have a party at the end and we were all supposed to bring something. My thing was fruit – so I happily went to the store early this morning and got strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, and a huuuge bag of really yummy grapes. If you couldn’t tell, I really love fruit. Almost as much as L loves salad. While checking out, I contemplated buying a re-usable bag. This was my first mistake. I ended up going with plastic because I have a number of reusable bags at home and do not need another one. However, I didn’t think about the weight of everything I bought and my bag immediately began to tear. On top of that I had a very heavy purse filled with Italian textbooks, my lunch bag and my umbrella.

I somehow made it to work without any major disaster, but I did notice the the button on my coat was severed in half. How did this happen, I wonder? Alas, I have no idea and will have to walk around for the rest of the winter season with a button that looks like a small gremlin got hungry and started eating it.

Now, if there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that I’m very clumsy. I often refer to myself as Liz Lemon (as in, the Liz Lemon from 30 Rock that I mentioned in my bathroom fiasco post).

Liz Lemon

We both say “nerds” and “what the WHAT” a lot, which helps the comparisons.

Me as Liz Lemon for Halloween

Sometimes I think that my life could be similar to characters in a movie, or tv, because they’re just as clumsy/socially awkward/cynical as I am. For example, Liz Lemon is clumsy and always seems to say the wrong thing, Bridget Jones has very little luck with love (well, in the beginning at least), and Ally McBeal is  a complete wackadoo … except that in the end, Liz Lemon has an awesome job in NYC and lives in a great apartment, Bridget Jones ends up with Colin Firth, and Ally McBeal lives in a huge two bedroom apartment in Boston where, coincidentally, it’s always sunny and beautiful – and I live in a crappy two bedroom apartment with NO insulation, am perpetually single, and have a cat that I am convinced is trying to kill me.

My creepy cat, plotting my death from atop the refrigerator, where I'm sure all maniacal cat planning takes place.

Anyway. As I am rushing from work to my Italian class, it starts to rain. So, juggling everything I have I manage to get my umbrella out and try to balance my bag of grapes on top of my plethora of berries. The wind is blowing, the rain is getting in my eyes, and to make matters worse there are TOURISTS EVERYWHERE. One gust of wind and my little body is thrown off balance and plop, squish – down go my grapes, all over the sidewalk. Balls!

Now if this were a movie/tv show, that would be the moment that the good looking and slightly off-beat male sees my moment of distress, decides to help and discovers that I am cute in a quirky way and asks me out for some coffee. BUT, because this is REAL LIFE people, and because I’m me, this is what I got instead:

Obnoxious tourists

Stupid tourists who proceeded to laugh and squish all of the grapes I had just bought all over the sidewalk! REALLY PEOPLE?! Is this necessary? I think not. *fist shake* I don’t have a picture of the great grape-spill of 2011 because by this time it was reeaallly raining, and I was reeallly late for class. But let me tell you, it was not pretty. A lot of good grapes lost their lives today, and for what? For some dumb tourists to laugh at my misfortune! Pinheads!

But don’t worry, blogosphere, all hope for my day was not lost. There was a good amount of pasta, dessert, and most importantly WINE to go around at my class’s party! Now, none of that wine was Lambrusco, the drink of choice for L, A and I, but it was very good and made me temporarily forget about my day. I may or may not have finished the last of it by drinking straight out of the bottle. Listen, before you judge me just know that no one else was going to take it home, no one else wanted it and no one wanted it to go to waste. So being the trouper I am, I took one for the team. I do what I have to, ok?

“J”, you may be saying “I don’t like wine. This post is of no relevance to me. Except that I like to laugh at your misfortune like all of those tourists.”

First of all, go suck an egg for laughing at me. Second of all, go suck an egg for doubting the wonderful taste-sensation of Lambrusco. It is amazing! If you do not like wine, you will still like this delectable beverage. If you don’t believe me, go to your local grocery store/CVS and pick up a bottle for roughly $5. You’ll find it near the concord grape juice – wine snobs, judge away – but while you’re paying over $20 for your uppity bottle of wine that you’re sipping because you want to make it last longer, I am enjoying a nice buzz off of $5, so I think we all know who comes out on top here.

Happiness in a bottle

Well, I think that is all for the night. Theoretically I will be awake in six hours to work out, but we’ll see how I’m feeling. For some insane reason I’ve decided to start doing Jillian Michaels’ “Ripped in 30” dvd alternated with her “6 week 6 pack” dvd. Apparently, I hate my life and want to torture myself because this woman is a MACHINE and my entire body hurts after just two days. HOW CAN SOMEONE BE THAT FIT?! We should all ask L, because she is a pretty fit lady.

Until next time,

J

Honeymooners & Babies

“It just needs to be popped back in,” MarMar from the bathroom, commenting on the closet door that I just broke.

“Thats what she said.” Laughter.

________________________________________________

I couldn’t help it! But really, I did just break the closet door in the condo that MarMar has taken me too. In Florida. In the sun. Away from all heart-ache and possible worrisome and confusing thoughts. Really, what do you have to complain about down here? Other than too many young men on the beach trying desperately to look like Jersey Shore spike-heads, and old men almost running you over by their golf carts while you jog on the sidewalk (THEY SHOULD GET A SPECAIL LICSENSE TO DRIVE MINI-VEHICLES), and massive amounts of children/babies eating sand, throwing sand, crying in the sand…

But, this trip, started not off as blissful.

In fact, within 5 minutes of boarding the plane, I really thought “Well, the shit is going to hit the fan and I am going to have to be sedated on the plane.”

It all started with a baby. Marmar and I did not have seats next to each other, but both agreed that once we were seated we would try to convice our stranger-seat partners (simply by batting our eyelashes and flashing a toothy-grin) that we have a friend we would like to sit by and could really use the seat. This would work, of course, assuming this person was male. If female, then we would just have to explain that it is like girl-code not to split of friends on plane rides. And if she didn’t switch, we would sass her.

So ANYWAYS, I am getting all settled in a window seat. “Fantastic!” I think to myself, “I love, absolutely adore, window seats.” Then I hear a gurgle sound and look up. Peering over the seat in front of me is the tiny little head of a something-month old baby. And boy, is he cute. Adorable. Drooling fabulously. He has got big brown eyes and a full-head of sandy-brown hair and is completely covering the top of the seat in drool. He really has a lot of drool. Should the mother be concerned? Should I tell her? Naw, he probably is just salvating over thoughts of going to Florida and being in a warm climate. I am probably doing the same, just hiding it better. (Please let me know if I do this. Thanks)

This baby clearly is a show-stealer. He has my full and undivided attention and I keep making monkey faces at him and he just keeps giggling and drooling. Mostly drooling. Maybe this is a real issue? Whatever, if my day consisted of eating mush, being cradled in big arms, and wearing onesies I would probably drool constantly. (I really hope this is not foreshadowing my elder years…)

THEN all of a sudden my crush on this adorable little man is interruped when a buttocks is thrust into my side. Oh, I think, the strange sitting

parner has arrived! And has a big butt, ew. All the more reason to get the seat change.

I turn away from cute baby face and am about to say hello as friendly as possible to Mr. Buttocks but to my horror, it is probably the worst thing I could be stuck next to on a plane. Let me rephrase that- be stuck on a plane right now at this moment in my life when I am trying not to think about love or a loved one or kissing or muslces or blue eyes.

To my horror, a rather sturdy and husky build couple- clearly HONEYMOONERS- are shoving their over-sized butts (WITH MATCHING PLAID SHORTS I MIGHT ADD) into the two seats next to me.

My row has turned into a third-wheel, and I am a the BIGGEST-MOST-AKWARD-ANGRY third wheel ever known to man kind.

These two troll-lovers (they kinda looked like trools, very pale and hairy, curls everywhere) are totally, utterly oblivious to me. And are kissing. Groping. They have no problem letting everyone know that they are happily married, blissfully each others, and just want to… well, they really just look like they want to go back to their honeymoon-suite. Wherever that is. Under a bridge probably, since they are troll-like.

Or maybe they should go on “What Not To Wear” because these shorts are just not doing it. Don’t get me wrong, I like matching my outfit with my parner. I think it shows that you are confident and care what each other is wearing, enough to let everyone else know in the room “Hey, we match because we love each other and want everyone to know that. And plus, now if we are in lost in a crowd, we can find each other easily.” Maybe they are going to a theme-park and thinking ahead in case they do get separated.

Anyways, I collect myself and decided to ask them anyways. You know, if one of them would be willing to switch so my friend can sit next to me and keep me from yelling some sort of horrible thing like “Don’t make lifetime promises because you might ruin it! He might break your heart or steal your ovary for drug-money! And she might leave you because you look really bad in plaid shorts!”

I say “Excuse me,” forcing the most I-am-trying-to-look-very-happy-and-calm smile, “But, are you two planning to sit together for the whole flight? I mean, are you two…. together?”

That was lame, L, I think. I’m such a clutz. Of course, they are together!

Literally, peeling her flushed-face away from her husband, Bride-troll answers “Mhmmm, yeah…. yeah we are together alright.” She murmurs

it and licks her lips, diving in for more sloppy kisses from her husband.

Oh dear. OH-DEAR. I can feel it starting to bubble up now, a little eruption has started in my gut, clenchign around my heart and my throat is beginning to close up. Where is the baby? What happend to the baby? I smile weakly back at Bride-troll and try to keep myself from feeling utterly annoyed and devasted all at once. And try not to think about honeymooners. And blissful happiness with another. And love. I need to find the baby, he is the only one that can save me now!

He is still there, head peering over the seat, drooling. I look at him. His eyes meet mine and I decide that he must understand how I feel. I try to speak to him, telepathy (you know, whatever it is called when you speak through minds), telling him to fall over and fall into my lap and distract me. Or drool all over the couple and keep them from making out. Please, baby boy, just fall over. I’ll catch you. I’ll even drool with you if you want!

“L! Get up here! I got the guy sitting next to me to switch!” Marmar yells from up the plane.

What? I can move? I don’t have to sit next to honeymooner-troll-couple-that-are-eating-each-other’s-faces? Praise the Lord. Thank you baby,

that drools and blesses the plane.

I grab my carryon, somehow get out of the seat successfully without the couple noticing. Really, they are are intertwined and connected. They should really just tape themselves together.

Settled into my new seat, window on one side and girlfriend on the other, I feel calm and happy. Excited. Off to warm weather! I avoided a total eruption of emotions! The only bad thing about my new seat is that I no longer can stare at my new crush, drool baby. Oh well.

The drink cart comes and looking at Marmar, we think the same thing instantly.

Bloody Marys, anyone?

I think I deserve one of these. Plus, I am getting a full-serving of veggies. All the more justifable.

And 30 minutes later, the infant across the aisle way, puked everywhere and it smelt of baby-spitup. Go figure.

-L

Sporty Spice?

Let me be clear:  I hated the Spice Girls.  You want me to tell you what I want, what I really really want?  To reclaim the years of my adolescence when I actually listened to the Spice Girls. And boy bands.  Ohh the boy bands. The music I remember at middle school dances is quite possibly some of the worst ever produced.  I know it’s out-of-tune and lyrically equivalent to the back of a cereal box — and yet I sit here, listening to a Sugar Ray song on Pandora. Then Barenaked Ladies. Then (GASP) Britney Spears. Sigh. It’s unfortunate to have great memories tied to crappy songs.

And I’m already super-offtrack for my first posting!  Be warned … I’m a rambler. I like dashes and ellipses.  I was an English major and I know how to properly use punctuation marks. I just chose not to.

So anyways. My initial purpose was to say that, out of the three of us, I’m the sporty one.  I don’t play sports as I did in high school, since I love sports that require at least a dozen people.  But I do love sports. LOVE. Hockey and soccer and baseball and volleyball and softball.  That’s right. Basketball and football be damned.  And liking sports is pretty rare quality in a librarian, I’ve found.  Especially hockey.  Trying to get library people excited about Stanley Cup Playoffs was like trying to get students to write English papers over Spring break.  Getting librarians excited about a ridiculous piece of vampire teen lit  — well, that’s another story.

Last night my amazing boyfriend took me to a Red Wings game after work.  The Detroit Red Wings, for those of you who aren’t familiar, have been and always will be the BEST hockey team of all time.  Hands down.  And the Joe is the best place to watch hockey.  I pray they never try to expand the arena; they’ ruin it.

Also, Sydney Crosby can suck it. Real men can grow beards and don’t cry every time they hit the ice.

Last night the Wings played the Washington Capitals, and my bf and I were pretty stinking excited to see Ovechkin in person.  He didn’t disappoint.  Every time he touched the puck, you felt the entire arena holding its breath.  Well, booing actually.  But he had such smooth puck-handling! Such dangerously accurate shots! That’s how hockey should be played. And the Wings totally rose to his level.  A small part of me was anxious before the game because lately they’d lost some momentum lately. And the Capitals were on a 9-game winning streak.  And Ovechkin seems unstoppable.  But the Wings pulled it together and really dominated this game 3 to 2.  They contained Ovechkin.  Howard made some stellar saves. Zetterberg hit some gorgeous shots and Rafalski was the king of assists. It was a thing of beauty.

Did I mention that all night long I had a throbbing migraine and blurry vision?  No?  Probably because it didn’t matter — nothing could keep me from enjoying such an incredible game, with my bf at my side.  I wish all nights could be that awesome!

It also made me super jealous of L for living in D-City. And super happy that my momma raised me to appreciate a great game of hockey.

Pirate appreciates hockey.  And that’s one of many reasons why pirate is AMAZING.

The End

-A

ps: The only things that could have made my night sweeter are a good on-the-ice brawl and having L and J at my side.  There were three crazy middle-aged ladies all decked out in Red Wings jerseys and St. Patty’s day gear — glowing necklaces, hats with pigtails, the works.  I saw our future in those ladies, and it was GLORIOUS!