It’s funny that even after almost six and a half years of marriage I’m still all about proving a point. Sure, I fully acknowledge marriage is about give and take, open honesty, and all things good. But let’s face it- we’re still women, and we don’t like being wrong.

Which means there are times in which we do silly things out of “principle” to ensure we’re always right.

Let’s begin in 2008.

When we first moved from Kuwait and into our house the previous owners left some pretty maroon curtains behind. I had my own plan for the curtains in the living room, however they were nice and I didn’t just want to get rid of them. So- Will thought they would fit nicely in his future “man room,” fill of OU crimson memorabilia and all things boy. I sort of scratched my head as to how regal curtains such as these would fit into the Room O Testosterone- but whatever.

We took them down and hung them nicely in the closet of Will’s future OU room.

And didn’t think anything else of them.

Last spring, the spring of 2009 mind you, I was in Will’s room and came across the curtains. I had intended to get them dry cleaned after taking them down but had long forgotten to do it, so I decided what better time to get these curtains dry cleaned?

I took them to my local dry cleaners that spring. The spring of 2009. I dropped them off- 4 curtains total (they were doubled up on each side of the rod) and was on my merry way.

Hmm… let’s camp out at the dry cleaners for a second. It’s somewhat necessary for the story.

To my knowledge there are only 2 dry cleaners in close proximity to me. This one, and another one. This one is what I would consider a “fancy” dry cleaners. Mainly because I’m a dork. It’s in a nice shopping center and the building is nice and the inside is nice and the people are nice, and well- it’s just nice. I feel like my clothes are properly tagged and put away and nicely cared for.

And the other one? Well it’s okay. I’m sure it’s a quintessential dry cleaners. Only, when compared to the “nice” dry cleaners, it just seems pretty dumpy. I don’t like going in there and I fear that as soon as I drop off my clothes they’re being worn my some old cougar with fuchsia lipstick.

So now that we have an understanding of the differences of my dry cleaning establishments, let’s move on.

A few days later I returned to the nice dry cleaners and paid and picked up the crimson curtains. I brought them home and put them in Will’s closet, where Will proceeded to tell me, “You know… those don’t look as thick as before. Are you sure you got all of them?”

Rolling my eyes “Yes, Will, I got all of them.”

“Are you sure? I’m telling you, I really thought these looked thicker.”

“Yes, Will. I’m sure. I wouldn’t have forgotten them.”

And then on and off for the next three days Will proceeded to make comments about how he really thought the curtains looked fuller before and how he was afraid I didn’t get all of them.

To which I continued to assure him that he was wrong, and I was right.

What’s funny about this whole scenario is that neither of us ever bothered to open the plastic bag they were wrapped in to count them.

Ha.

Anyway- about 2 weeks later, during the spring of 2009, I received a phone message from the nice dry cleaners. They had my curtains! I had in fact only picked up 2 of the 4 and I needed to get the rest! Opps. So now not only was I wrong, but I had to pick up the rest of our curtains and somehow explain to Will that he was right and I had not paid attention- despite promising that I had.

Which wasn’t going to happen.

Unfortunately, through a series of events, I never went and picked up the curtains.

And every three months or so, the nice dry cleaners (because they’re so darn friendly, of course!) called and left me messages to pick up my freaking curtains.

Only for some reason, like a bad episode of Seinfeld, the calls deterred me from going. Too much time had passed! It would be too awkward! I was “that annoying girl with the two curtains!” I just couldn’t do it. Not to mention I wasn’t going to be wrong. Let’s not forget that whole matter.

Which is funny too because at some point Will would have opened up the bag to hang those girly curtains in his man’s room only to realize he was missing two.

However, when you’re doing stupid things such as avoiding picking up curtains YOU OWN from your dry cleaners, you’re just not thinking logically.

...

Okay, so anyway-

Let’s not forget that throughout this time I still had to get my clothes dry cleaned. Only, I for sure couldn’t go to the nice cleaners! How could I show my face there? I was the weird girl with a complex that wouldn’t pick up her curtains FOR NO GOOD REASON. So, I had to resort to the sketchy cleaners.

And soon realized that I couldn’t do that for long.

And then it turned 2010.

A new year. A year of new chances. Perhaps I would pick up my curtains?

The truth is, by then I had totally forgotten about those curtains. I mean, it had almost been a year. A year!

So pathetic.

I was quickly reminded of the curtain issue yet again when I needed to get something dry cleaned. Only I didn’t and nicely laid the item to the side in my closet.

And did it again.

And again.

And again.

Until my nice little pile became a little ridiculous. Plus I’m pretty sure Will began to wonder what in the world I was doing.

“Oh sorry honey- I don’t want to risk you coming home while I’m sneaking in the curtains I swore to you were already there!”

Did I mention pathetic?

At the time it didn’t seem so awful. Only now do I realize how utterly ridiculous I was.

So, two weeks ago I got another call from the cleaners saying that if I didn’t pick up my curtains within 30 days they were going to get rid of them.

I mean, even nice dry cleaners have their limits, right? Understandably.

So I realized I was going to have to do something. I began laughing to myself over the whole entire series of events, which meant I had to share my story with someone.

My mom and sister are visiting for a couple of weeks, so I told the whole lame story to them- which made them laugh. Of course they had the same expected questions of, “Why didn’t you just get them!?” and “Didn’t you think about the fact that at some point Will would have found out there were only 2 curtains instead of 4?”

Good times.

Anyway, we had a good laugh about the whole thing and I decided that I was going to go in there and get those freaking crimson curtains. I was going to use the whole, “My phone changed and I just checked my messages recently” excuse.

You know, because that makes perfect sense.

So I was resolved to go and do it, only later that day I got a text from my sister telling me that she had beat me to the punch. Apparently my mom went and got them for me! And not only that, but that awkwardness I had feared for so long? Wasn’t there at all. My mom had used the truth, “I have been out of the country for a while,” which made me laugh. What’s really annoying is that I had already paid for the curtains! I’m so weird sometimes.

My mom had saved the day, and I really could have taken care of the whole thing an entire YEAR before, had I not been such a crazy.

The only thing that remains now is to bring them home, as they are currently hiding out in my parent’s house. After having to go through this whole rigamarole I wasn’t about to just parade them into the house, so I will sneak them in later this week.

Because that’s what crazy wives do. And they’re always right.

Always right.

Yes. I get it. My last twenty-five posts have somehow centered back to food. I clearly have a problem. I should be on Maury or Montel or The View discussing my awful obsession with frosting and dinners and celebrations that center around both.

Or maybe just the sick obsession with frosting.

I realize the food posts need to stop. However, today something happened that I simply had to share. I found myself hovering over the sink thinking, “Wow. I really don’t want to tell anyone about the shame I just experienced.”

And then five minutes later I was in the car laughing thinking, “Ahaha, I have to tell someone about this.”

So here we are.

Tomorrow is Will’s birthday. Yesterday we drove down to Will’s parent’s house to celebrate his birthday. We went to eat and afterwards Will’s mom sent us home with a dirty cake.

Heh heh. Dirty cake.

Doesn’t it just sound sleazy? Like you need to be listening to Keith Sweat or R. Kelly while you take the lid off? Or like you should be slathering it in some sort of edible oil?

Sorry for the visual. Let’s get back on track.

Anyway- dirty cake. Us. Taking it home.

We brought the cake home but didn’t have any last night. Which meant there was untouched cake in my house for more than 12 hours, which is pretty much a miracle.

In fact you may want to check page 22A of your local newspaper. I bet I’m in there.

So today for lunch I had to run to the post office to mail off my transcripts for my school application. I had already brought my lunch to work with me, so there was really no need for me to go home for lunch yet somehow I found myself getting into the car, as if on autopilot, and driving home. You know, to let Boz and Lucy out. Wink.

So I get there, let them out, and am standing around the kitchen thinking, “What am I doing here?” Knowing full well what was really going on in my mind. The cake.

So, I play with a little fire and open the fridge- and there it is.

In fact, as I opened the fridge I’m pretty sure I heard some Marvin Gaye playing in the back of the Crisper area- and as soon as I shut the fridge the music went away.

I peeked it open again, to be greeted with the same sound. Only this time I exercised some degree of willpower and got a nectarine.

Because, as we all know, nectarines are just as satisfying as chocolatey cake, yes?

I finished the nectarine and really realize I need to go back to work.

I mean that is Will’s cake! His mom made it for him! It’s meant for us to share it together in honor of his special day. What sort of sick, awful, hormonal person eats their husband’s birthday ca…

And before I could finish the word, there I was. Standing over the sink trying to slyly carve out a tiny piece of dirty cake so that Will would never know someone sampled it before he did. Only the tiny sliver soon became about half a cup.

Wow.

An all time low, I thought to myself.

So what was I to do!? I couldn’t let Will know I was such a selfish awful wife!

Think, Brittny, Think!

Ahaha!

If you’ve ever had dirty cake, you know that it’s topped with whip cream.

So, in my genius, I went to the freezer and pulled out our gigantic tub of Cool Whip.

Because, as you know, every two person household has a costco size bucket of Cool Whip in their house.

I went to work, almost artist-like, filling in the “tiny” hole I had created, and spreading the oreos overtop.

Brilliant.Before I knew it- Tada! Good as new. Like I never ate a giant hole through Will’s birthday cake.

So now I don’t feel so much like a heel. Now I simply feel like I need to spend all week at the gym.

I made myself laugh, so I figured I’d share the moment with you all.

Happy Monday!

So I got my bridesmaid’s dress fitted for this gal’s wedding (so excited by the way!) and went to pick it up today. It fits like a glove.

Almost.

Almost as in it fits so great and snug and secure that I know after 10 minutes of having it on- or eating- I will be turning blue from the lack of oxygen to my brain.

Okay I’m exaggerating. Plus now I have Theresa in a panic that my dress is too tight (don’t worry, it’s not. It’s blog exaggeration). Plus- that’s what they make Spanx for, right? I will say, however, Theresa- I vow to try my hardest to get rid of some arm fat to ensure that my bouquet is held nicely and that there is no bulge in any of your pictures.

And I will try to forego seconds on desserts.

Every other time.

<3

Hi!

So it’s somewhat late, I’ve had a long day, and I’m sleepy (read: boring). However, I wanted my first “real” post in half a year to be a little different so I made a few boring videos!

My face is hilarious in this one.

And because I feel really bad for being such a terrible blogger and friend I wanted to embarrass myself as a peace offering. Please excuse the fly-aways, sausage fingers, and giant zit.

Yes, I was there.

We drove down to Dallas Friday afternoon to cheer on the Sooners- and subsequently watched them lose on Saturday. Sure, I could talk offense with you, or Sam Bradford, but really? Why waste a good internet space?

My point exactly.

Perhaps the biggest travesty is the fact that I didn’t even get a fried snickers out of the whole ordeal. I seriously anticipate those things like a junior high boy encountering his first set of junior high girl lips.

Seriously. I LOVE. LOVE. LOVE those things.

And once a freaking year I get the opportunity to have them. And I missed it this year. All because I didn’t get one before the game and we darted out of there after the stupid Sooner loss. Can I blame this on them?

Let’s.

So can we just move on? I had this whole cutesy post in my mind about Rivalry Week, but with the loss (and lack of fried snickers) I think it’s best to tuck it away for next year.

Assuming we win.

Moving on.

If I recall correctly I promised you guys a B-Love moment, yes?

So last Friday the group I work directly with went out to lunch. In addition to “the group,” the vice president of our section as well as the director, program manager, and my boss accompanied us. So, although it was a casual lunch there are still certain things that just aren’t appropriate to discuss over grilled fish with the VP, you know?

To set it up, to the left of me is my coworker that I work most closely with. Directly in front of me is our director- and on one side of him is the VP, and on the other is the program manager.

So everyone is talking, no big deal, and somehow the conversation goes to dancing. Who knows how, and really it’s irrelevant. It gets mentioned that none of us (the girls at the table- one being my boss and the other being the person sitting right next to me) danced at the Christmas party last year. My boss and coworker friend quickly remind everyone at the table that they did in fact dance at the Christmas party.

I, however, did not.

See, I have very strict rules about dancing. Rules perhaps I will share with you all in another post. Rules that include never, ever dancing at work functions.

I live by these rules and they cannot be broken.

Anyway- it is because of these rules I did not dance at the Christmas party.

That and no other reason.

“Brittny, didn’t dance,” someone said.

And then all of a sudden, with no lag in response time, with no thought of the implications of the reaction, my coworker spewed, “That’s because Brittny was drunk.”

Silence.

Mortification.

Awkwardness.

Laughter.

Hello VP of my office, director, and BOSS! Your apparent alcoholic employee will be tipping back a flask of tequila in the bathroom now.

My face got so hot and I literally started to sweat. I looked over at her and she looked at me and immediately said, “I’m so sorry! I have no idea why I just said that!”

And then for the rest of lunch that was all that was discussed.

Nice.

For the record?

So not drunk at the Christmas party. Sure I had some wine, but I was no where near inebriation. More like what I like to consider as “Brittny Plus.” But I mean the more you’re at the table swearing you weren’t drunk, the more people think that you were, you know?

”Sure we believe you. You weren’t drunk. Riiight.”

Ugh.

After the awkward laughter, and “I’m so sorrys” from my coworker, it was finally time to go.

Thank God. There are just some things you don’t want your bosses to know about you, and that? That is definitely one of them.

I can’t help but cringe every time I think about it.

As well as every time I see those people in the hall.

Can I please be sick at the Christmas party this year?

Better yet, I think we should have our own Christmas party?

Apparently I’m lots of fun.

(ha ha)

So tomorrow I’m headed to Colorado for a quick overnight trip. I think it was snowing up there earlier last week, but thankfully I just checked the weather and it looks like it will be pretty decent. How much would it suck to get stranded, right?

That’s my only news right now.

Crazy thought- but how about I try to post multiple times this week like a normal blogger!? Great idea.

Let’s cross our fingers that I don’t suck.

1. I have way, way more patience than I think I do.

2. A banana isn’t enough for breakfast.

3. But monkey bread someone brought in for the office is.

4. I have bad luck in San Antonio, and it looks like that streak will continue.

5. I have a really hard time liking people that work in the field of finance.

6. Did I say a really hard time? I’m sorry. I meant to say I think I may drive a stake through my eye if I have to hold another conversation with someone from finance this week.

7. When I joke about wanting Coldstone Creamery for lunch, I actually mean it. Other people don’t.

8. I suck at history homework.

9. I really like having dessert after dinner. Unfortunately, it’s something I’ve become accustomed to. I decided to wean myself off this dependency this week- which I have now 100% decided that it’s a really stupid decision. So I like chocolate. What’s the crime in that!?

10. I need to become a millionaire.

Year One: Roses, a Card, and Chocolate

Year Two: Roses and a Card

Year Three: Roses

Year Four: Card

Year Five and Seven Months: A Gigantic Box of Dunkin Donuts Chocolate Cake Donut Holes

And the clothes come off as if you had been sent a tennis bracelet.  I mean- what beats Dunkin Donuts?

It’s all about romanticism really.

<3

Boredom will make you do crazy things.

Like eat.

Or post for no good reason.

Or watch totally stupid crap on TV (Hello MTV True Life!).

Or quite possibly the worst of all-

Facebook.

I know.

How dare I speak ill of our beloved Facebook right?

Ha- don’t worry, I’m not.

Truth be told I think I’ve spent more hours on there the last month than I have my entire Facebook “career.”

Heh.

Facebook Career.

But something gets terribly skewed when you’re so.incredibly.bored and sit online for hours despite having plenty to do.

(cough- cleaning)

You start on the homepage looking at all the updates.

Then you go to your page (for the billionth time) to see who’s left you a comment.

And then you go to a few of you favorite friends’ pages and say hello, see what’s been going on etc.

And then you sit there.

Bored again.

You could clean.

Who are you kidding? You’d way rather sit in front of a computer screen than face your laundry pile.

You could go for a walk.

Eh… fresh air is overrated.

So once again you’re in front of the computer screen.

And then it happens.

You start looking at all your friend’s pages.

You begin looking at all their posts, their pictures, and their friends.

There’s no nice way to put it.

You’re facebook stalking.

The more friends you look at the crazier you get. It’s like this switch flips on and you’ve become this crazy ex girlfriend sitting outside your Facebook friend’s house waiting for them to come home from their date so you can size up the girlfriend’s car and hair and shoes.

It’s like you’ve become the creepy guy that calls your crush a million times but every time she pics up the phone and says hello you panic, chicken out, and hang up.

It’s like you’re BE FRI part of the BEST FRIENDS necklace and are watching to make sure that ST ENDS is not cheating on you.

You’re completely out of control!

Sigh…

As you can see, I’ve been way too bored the last few days. Although I don’t think I’m anywhere near the crazy ex girlfriend facebook stalker status, I must admit I’ve logged a lot of hours on that poor site. It’s like I’m studying for an MFA- and it’s not a Master of Fine Arts. It’s a Master of Facebook Activities.

Thankfully I can say I have never gotten into the whole, “So and So wants to invite you to have a drink on them! or So and So thinks you’re the 9th nicest person they know! Vote for them too!” So, I mean my Facebook activity could most definitely be far worse I suppose.

Right?

It’s like this awful drug that keeps reeling you in! You want to stop so bad. You want to stop and be a productive member of society but you’re so tempted by that high. That “one last hit” on someone’s wall…

it hurts so good.

So, I’m trying to quit.

Okay, I’m lying. I’m not trying to quit.

Although I’d be a genius if I could invent a patch for quitting Facebook.

Hmmm....

Anyway- I really need to tear myself off of the computer a little more so I can be more productive this fall.

I could take up knitting.

Or basket weaving.

Or sopapilla making.

Or maybe just learn how to spell “sopapilla.”

...

Or I could just stay on Facebook.

I could do that too.

Maybe I’ll try to quit another day. That sounds like a plan.

See you on your wall (or outside your house).

I swear I’m only kidding about the house part. I’m not a Facebook stalker.

Hey I saw that look! I’m not and you know it. Scouts honor.

<3

So there’s like a slew of things-

very important things I might add-

that we need to discuss.

Only

I’m lying and there’s really not much worth sharing.

Actually…

I could share some pretty freaking HILARIOUS text messages back and forth between myself and sister involving all sorts of random topics.

But for the sake of sparing our pride it’s best I do not share.

Then there’s the fact that we have a mouse in our garage that we’ve been trying to catch for um

like two weeks now

but that sneaky bastard keeps outsmarting us.

It’s a genius mouse.

A genius mouse!

Like the freaking Einstein Bill Gates Macgyver of all mice.

I hate that guy!

So we’ve tried everything

and yet he’s somehow managed to escape from everything we’ve planted.

Except…

this week he was no where to be found,

and the cheese we left out remained untouched.

Which freaks me the crap out because:

A. It’s inevitable some awful smell is going to start permeating the garage because by some freak chance we actually managed to kill the guy with who knows what.(And don’t you love how I just assume it’s a guy? I mean we all know it has to be! He eats and leaves without cleaning up after himself! Enough said.)

B. There’s a bigger more skilled Einstein Bill Gates Macgyver of all mice that ate the late Einstein Bill Gates Macgyver of all mice and is now going to way, way, way outsmart us.

Like we’re going to walk out to our cars one day and he’s going to be smoking a pipe reading a Sherlock Holmes novel and asking for me to bring him his slippers.

Nice.

Anyway, it’s been eerily quiet this week and I’m not sure I like that. I mean, unless of course he is in fact dead and there’s no second mouse lurking around the corner.

Then we’re good.

Then of course there’s the fact that it’s GAME DAY.

Okay

Like in one hour it’s GAME DAY.

Yes.

I still say it with excitement in my voice. Who cares if we blow this year (okay I’m totally lying. I most definitely care if we blow this year… this is simply a psychological tactic to prepare myself for any potential future disappointment), I’m excited about game day.

I’m also excited about Olive Garden’s Never Ending Pasta Bowl.

We’ll be indulging after the game tomorrow. Hello fatness! Who am I kidding? I’ll get one bowl and be done (um… I hope anyway), but it’s still more economical to do it that way.

Sure Brittny… keep telling yourself that’s why you need pasta soaked in alfredo sauce.

Ramble Ramble…

I guess I need to get off so I make sure I’m up early enough to work off a small fraction of my lunch at the gym tomorrow morning. Hope you guys had a great Friday!

When I see hilarity like this it makes me think to myself, “I might want a little mini-me one day after all.”

I crack myself up and can’t help but think my spawn would crack me up just as much, if not more.

Oh- and of course annoy, frustrate, and bring me to a slow death

(only kidding about the above, of course. Well… mostly anyway).

Anyway, what in the world do you think is going on in this picture?

A. Throwing a big fist in the air while jubilantly saying, “Yessss! Cookie Time! But wait! What am I going to do with my red balloon? I know! I’ll stick it down my pants! Great place holder.”

B. Throwing a big fist in the air while jubilantly saying, “Yessss! Cookie Time! Good thing I’m only two! If I were 26 and lived in Oklahoma and ate dozens of these every day while blogging and complaining to my blog friends about fatness my stomach would look like this red balloon here tucked away in my pants!”

C. Throwing a big fist in the air while jubilantly saying, “Yessss! Cookie Time! Let’s pretend like I’ve got a baby in my belly so I can pretend I need to feed her too!”

D. I have no idea. You should seek therapy.

E. Please feel free to insert your own observation here.