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.

An interesting phenomena has occurred at the B-Love house this past week, and every time I think about it I laugh.

I’ve found the perfect babysitter for Will so that I can play on our new iMac.

It’s called fantasy football.

Yes, I realize this is no new babysitter, and something that occupies an exorbitant amount of time of Will’s life during the fall months. However instead of being annoyed with it I’ve come to embrace it.

Well… for the most part anyway.

The funny thing is that Will thinks he’s found the perfect babysitter for me.

The iMac.

He figures he can stick me in the office to play on our new computer and iChat with my sister and I’ll be content for hours- and he’s pretty much right.

Only we all know who’s really getting one over on the other person, right?

(incase you’re wondering- it’s me).

Um and as a side note, do you guys remember The Babysitters Club books? Good times. I was so in love with those girls and used to want to have a club with my friends just like theirs… Do you think it counts if you and I start our own adult version of The Babysitters Club and use things such as NFL Sunday Ticket, Playstation 3, and pizza to occupy our husband’s time while we go shopping? Is that bad?… Don’t answer that.

The madness begins this weekend. If you’ve known me for a while you know that “the madness” refers to football season. Both pro and college. They both consume Will’s life, and for the next few months I become a football widow. Will galavants around with his mistress (football) from September to January, fully consumed with each point scored, each stat, and every matchup.

And I no longer pretend to “get it.” Because although I fully understand his passion for the sport, I’ve given up on trying to understand the obsession behind it.

I have to admit, though, I’m a little jealous of Will this weekend. He and Ross are going to the OU-BYU game at the new Texas stadium- which I think is going to be pretty amazing.

Don’t feel bad for me though, I’ll be having plenty of fun myself. I’m spending the weekend with my mom and sister and get to see my sister’s apartment, school, and everything else. See? More babysitters. I’ve got Will occupied with the game, he has me occupied with my family.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Oh and don’t worry- this doesn’t mean we’re not getting any quality time in together. We still have season tickets, remember? I’ll be alongside him for plenty o’ games this year you can count on that. Plus who could forget OU-Texas

and OU-Nebraska (!!!),

both out of town trips which I’m very excited about.

It all balances out and we’re both (much) happier for it. I’m not a nagging wife, and (in my mind at least) he’s not some crazed football fan. Who am I kidding? We know that’s a lie. Well- at least this way I’m a tiny bit removed from it.

Hey- at least he never paints his chest.

It’s the small things really.

<3

When in the world did I become so boring!?!

...

Okay. When I say it like that it implies that at some point in time I was a wild child.  A barrel of laughs. A party waiting to happen. And, well, you guys know that’s never been true. Lately, though, I feel like I’ve brought my boringness to an epic level.

Is it possible to become even more of something- to include boring?

I guess so.

I mean, I think Carrot Top has become uglier over the years. Jessica Simpson has become more annoying. Orlando Bloom has become more gorgeous. So yes, one can definitely become more boring.

Perhaps this is all part of the natural progression of life- only they just don’t tell you about it because they don’t want to bum you out. I mean, how would you feel if you really knew the truth?

“Well, Suzy, when you get grow up you’ll go to college, and graduate, and get a great job, and get married, and have babies, and have bills, and a yard to maintain, and a house to clean, and fat to fight, and wrinkles to hide, and nothing to do, and then you die!”

Yeah… it’s probably good they skip over the last part.

Okay- so I’m exaggerating. A lot. Adult life definitely has its perks, we all know that. I mean how many seven year olds can have a Miller Light and Lucky Charms for dinner and then watch MTV until 11:00 (and um who am I kidding? I can’t even remember the last time I was up at 11 on a week night. Oh well, you get my point.)?

However, it does seem as thought since we’ve moved back Will and I have become really boring. Perhaps that is what happens when you’re in your mid to late twenties and live in Oklahoma?

Oklahoma.

Quintessentially the most boring of boring places one can live.

Maybe that’s my problem? The good old Sooner State.

I suppose I can’t blame all my infirmities on my state. I suppose there’s also nothing wrong with being “ok” with a night in (all.the.freaking.time :( ). Ha ha. Being “OK.” No pun intended. I’m hilarious.

I say all this because the other night Will and I were talking about what we wanted to do this weekend. Usually we go to church on Saturday and then go out to eat. I thought it would be fun to go to Bricktown and walk around and have dinner and see where the night took us. I even hinted that maybe he could take me dancing. Will, however, thought it would be more “fun” to go to a Chinese buffet.

Again.

(we did this exact same thing two Saturdays ago. I swear my anthem lately has been NIN’s, “Everyday is Exactly the Same” only I’m wearing different clothes.)

A Chinese freaking buffet.

There’s nothing wrong with that I suppose, but I mean… it’s Saturday night and we’re young and “fun” and carefree and childless. We should save the buffet days for, well, not Saturday nights. Something about a buffet on a Saturday night just screams awful and old and sad. And fat. 

I know- you guys think I’m utterly ridiculous. I probably sound silly. I’m not saying I want night after night of late nights and toilet hugging- I’m not saying that at all- I guess I’ve just got this urge to go have a fun night out.

What do you girls think? Are you in?

Now we just have to find a way to pry our husbands off of the Cashew Chicken and get them on board.

Here’s to a bunch of regular, boring, old married couples having a wild and crazy night on the town!

Don’t worry- I’ll make sure our fun ends at 9:00 on the dot. I know how you like to be in bed early.

It never ceases to amaze me how often I watch Will and I following the patterns and behaviorism of our parents.

For instance, the other day we were talking about how it was taking someone freaking for.ev.er to order at the Taco Bueno drive-thru. I’m making all of these jokes and being goofy and then Will randomly spouts out, “Maybe she hasn’t had much experience with drive-thrus,” all serious and with great thought as if he was concerned about her social well-being.

...

I was more just complaining- but okay, if you want to get all serious on me.

“That sounds exactly like your dad!” I said, all creeped out.

Weird.

Or me.

If you irritate or annoy me you better be darn sure I’m going to let you know about it!-

under my breath and while I’m walking away of course.

Ugh! I hate passive aggressive people.

Ding Ding Ding- hello Brittny, welcome to your. life!

Sigh.

Anyway- it’s just funny to me how much we tend to resemble our parents from time to time, and I’m sure it becomes even more surreal after having kids

(Although, after today’s episode of MTV True Life: I’m Pregnant I’m pretty sure Will and I are pretty much on the same page of not having kids for a very long time.).

So I tell you all this because Will and I finally purchased a coffee table last weekend! We had to order it so it wasn’t ready until this weekend. We brought it home last night and decided around 10:30 to begin assembling it.

Oh- and I should probably mention that 10:30 is about our bedtime, so anything after that time can be equated to a drunk person trying to operate heavy machinery or a blind person giving you a perm. We’re simply not at our best after 10:30.

So we Will began working on the coffee table while I stood around offering moral support. The bottom of the table is a rich, dark, bronze-y metal so getting the screws to line up just right and fit the screws was sort of a challenge.

Oh- I guess I should probably show you the table so you know what I’m talking about. How rude of me!

Here’s our new table. Chateau Rustique. I really like it. This picture doesn’t really do it justice. I’ll have to take a picture of the living room for you guys at some point.

Anyway- it’s just so funny to me how long it took Will to put the table together. He is such a perfectionist. One of the screws… nuts?… I have no idea. Screws! Yes- screws.  Anyway, one of those were stripped so Will had a hard time getting it to fit properly into the table. It took for.ev.er. I thought it was fine and perfect but Will, the “handyman” just like his dad, thought it could be better. I thought I was going to go crazy.

So- an hour and a half later my perfect coffee table was finally assembled.

I’m very pleased with our table. I am sort of afraid that it’s too big, but it might just be the fact that we spent a year without a coffee table and now I just need to get used to having one around.

I’ve already started to notice one thing about having this coffee table.

It’s another surface.

Another surface for Will to spread all of his junk atop.

That means more room for stupid crap mail and football magazines and newspapers.

Cringe.

His dad is a big time stacker of crap on surfaces.

Will is the same.

We have this gorgeous desk we bought last year which should really be displayed, only it’s hiding behind piles of Lord knows what.

I blame Will’s dad for this, you know.

My saving grace is that my parents are visiting next week and it will give us a good opportunity to overhaul his piles and organize everything the way it should be.

Let’s just hope it remains that way. Like father, like son I suppose.

Here’s to hoping.

So I mentioned earlier that I thought today was Friday.

For this reason I believe I’m having an off day.

When I wear flats with no socks I spray my feet with deoderant.

Only today I sprayed them with Pantene Pro-V hairspray.

I think that calls for some dry joke about having feet so healthy they shine.