"I’m 26 years old and I still loathe buying tampons. You’d think that was something I would have grown out of- but, no.

I wonder why, too? I mean- I realize it’s no big deal. I must admit, though, I really love when you go for me.”

“Yeah- but I don’t.”

“I know- but like I said, I hate it. When you go people know you’re just being a wonderful husband. They know they’re not for you. When I go, however, it is very, very clear that those super duper sized tampons are for me. Ha- or it could also be the gallon of ice cream I buy with them. That probably gives it away too. I mean- it’s this whole thing! Do you get a cart for the tampons, or do you tromp around the whole Wal-mart holding them discretely by your side while you casually walk to the entire other side of the store for the ice cream? Do you-”

(cutting me off)

“Brittny- lately it seems like anytime you talk about things or tell me stories it’s like you’re blogging.”

“Nooo. You’re crazy. I just like to drone on about things.”

And then I hopped out of the truck and began my tampon/cookie dough mission (thinking all the while about telling you guys about standing in front of the cookie dough section holding a jumbo sized box of tampons).

Um- between you and me? After assessing the most recent stories I’ve told Will this week? Yeah, he’s right. I totally talk in blog.

A nearby community is holding their annual Woofstock event this weekend, and I’ve literally been excited for weeks.

Weeks.

Poor Will has had to hear me drone on and on about Woofstock this and that and how much fun it will be and “maybe we’ll meet some nice people.”

Only there is an underlying predicament which needs to be addressed:

Which dog(s) are we bringing to Woofstock?

Yes- it has become a “predicament.”

Sad, I know.

It’s like being Charlie from Willy Wonka and having a bright shiny golden ticket into a whole new world of amazement and perfection and dog utopia- but can only bring one dog.

What a toughie!

I would say we’d bring all 4- but are you kidding me!? Not only would Wil and I end up in marriage counseling from all the, “You’re letting the dogs walk YOU! Get ahold of them, Britter! How did you manage to let go of the leash!? Teddy has officially taken out the Woofie Snack Table!”

It would go something like that= and that’s just the way WE would behave. That doesn’t even count the way the dogs would behave.There’s just no way we could bring all four. It would be pandemonium and we would most certainly end up blacklisted from any furture Woof event.

So- I’m leaning towards taking one Big and one Little.

But who!?

Lucy would represent the “Littles,” but I’m not sure who will represent the Bigs.

Rocky is by far our best behaved dog. He is so loving and wants to please you and is very obedient. However, I’m apprehensive to bring him because of the fact that he’s so freaking gigantic and I don’t want to overload him with a million dogs to play with. He’d be hard to keep on a tight leash because he’s so strong- and although obedient, I know he would want to go play with the other dogs.

Teddy, however, is WAY terrible. We call her Marley because she’s so hyper and has been difficult to train. She’s most definitely our most beautiful dog, however, she’s just so darn hyper and jumpy that I know she would maul everyone in sight with her excited-ness.

It appears as though I’m analyzing my dogs for you guys:

a. Like they’re children

b. Like you freaking care

Trust me- I realize that both are ridiculous.

So- I’m leaning towards me carrying Lucy in a carrier while Will keeps Rocky on a leash- because he’s way more capable of maintaining a leash than I am.

Wow.

Listen to me.

I make fun of people like me.

Weeks, guys, weeks! That’s how long I’ve been talking about this weekend.

About an event- for dogs!

I seriously need to get out more.

Although I’m beginning to realize how ridiculous I sound about my Woofstock zealousness, I will most certainly post pictures for you all to share in our fun.

<3

Today I had leftover chicken pot pie for lunch. It wasn’t too terribly awful for me so afterwards I decided to make lunch terribly awful by dipping vanilla wafers in a tub of peanut butter (I KNOW! So awful).

Oh, and before we move on to the rest of the story and I please, PLEASE tell you how much I hate calling those things mentioned above by their real name… “Nila” wafers? It makes me cringe. It’s like nails on a chalkboard and most definitely on the list of words I hate. It is for this reason I call them vanilla wafers- even if I’m wrong.

Anyway, I had about 6 vanilla wafers with peanut butter- straight out of the tub- and thoroughly enjoyed every awful second of it (until they were gone and I felt fat). It was at that point that I began to complain about my crappy eating choices.

I got in the car and headed back to work. It was on my way back I discovered I had several smears of peanut butter all over my right knuckles.

Like a kid.

Or a psychotic out of control binge eater.

Who gets peanut butter caked on their knuckles!? Who aside from the aforementioned categories!?!

It’s like having dorito crumbs tucked away in your neck fat, or dropping jelly on your shirt and licking it off. It’s awful. And desperate.

So-

as if that weren’t bad enough, instead of doing the normal, adult, 26-year-old-thing and taking a napkin and wiping the smeariness off, I stayed true to fat camp kid protocol-

licked it off,

and kept on driving.

I mentioned yesterday that Will surprised me with Dunkin Donuts on my birthday.

Did you know their slogan is “America Runs on Dunkin?”

Does anyone else see the hilarity in this slogan?

I’m pretty sure America does not Run on Dunkin. They waddle. 

Tomorrow we’re going to OU’s official Red and White game. It’s a scrimmage they do every year and is somewhat of a big deal around here- for sports fans anyway.

It’s funny to look back and see that four years ago this time I was doing the exact.same.thing. I guess life is cyclical a lot of times.

So- even though we’ve missed the last 3 Red and White games, Will and I are restarting this tradition. Although there are a lot of times during the week in which I miss our life in Kuwait, it’s days like today in which I think about how a normal American weekend sounds nice.

I’m trying to talk Will out of the Ted’s part though because it’s my “birthday week” and darn it- I should get to choose what we have, right!?

Okay- I know I’m stretching here…

So Saturday should be fun and I’m looking forward to it.

Oh- and did I mention I’m going to try my darndest to go to the gym before the game? In some really sick way I’m tempted to text The Gym Nazi to see if she wants to meet up with me….

Because I’m insane.

I’ll let you know what I decide.

If I don’t post in a few days please come looking for me as there’s a good chance my body parts will be strategically stuffed within gym equipment.

Oh wow- that would really be a bad way to go…

Okay no more psychotic murderous gym talk.

Anyway- so the verdict is still out about whether I’m going to text The Gym Nazi- but between the two of us? I so am.

Okay so anyway- Sunday is Easter.

Yay for Easter Sunday.

I’m not going to get into the whole importance of Easter discussion in this post, but I will say part of me is sort of blah about Sunday.

Okay blah AND excited.

If that’s at all possible.

And- I’m pretty sure it’s not…

Which therefore means I guess I need to choose whether I’m blah or excited.

…

How about we split the difference and just say I’m neutral about Sunday?

My in-laws are “surprising” me on Sunday because my birthday is next week. They’re going to drive to our house with a cake and my present and have lunch with us after church.

It’s really sweet and thoughtful- I know. Not only that, but Pat called Will and wanted to get me a birthday cake I really would like.

I seriously heart boxed strawberry cake with regular old canned vanilla frosting on my birthday, and Pat is going to take time out of her busy weekend to “surprise” me with my favorite cake.

I say “surprise” me because Will absolutely knows I would kill him if my in laws up and showed up without any sort of advanced notice.

I mean REALLY! He knows I have to create the fake house before people come over or he would be the one stuffed within a treadmill belt (um- totally kidding about that- don’t arrest me).

I guess the “blah” part is the creating the fake house part. I was really hoping I’d get to be lazy Sunday afternoon, but it doesn’t appear that will happen.

Oh well- it’s still a nice gesture and I should focus on that I suppose.

Please for my sanity say a prayer that Pat doesn’t say anything about the miracle of BIRTHdays and how they celebrate LIFE and how 26 years I was being BORN and how special NEW BORN BABIES are on their BIRTHday.

Because I seriously might launch a wad of strawberry cake up against the wall.

Ha-

Who am I kidding!? You guys know I could never waste a good cake.

That’s blasphemy.

I really want to sit down and tell you guys about the slave driver of a gym Nazi I worked out with Sunday.

She kicked my…

well…

you know.

“How in the HELL did I get this GIANT purple and red bruise on my inner thigh!?”

I have no clue.

Oh- that’s right-

It was probably when she stepped on my leg and told me I sucked and “You CAN do 40 more lunges or I’ll cut you!”

Yeah…

I think it was that.

Anyway- I want to tell you about the Gym Nazi but I can’t.

Apparently marriage is about sharing everything.

The last Little Debbie Nutty Bar,

the living room TV,

the last Little Debbie Nutty Bar (crap. I already said that one...).

Well apparently now I also have to share our computer from 9-10 pm.

That’s right- Willy Boy is cutting into my blogging time. My gym Nazi storytelling time. My unwinding time.

Long story short- we’re having DVR issues (gasp!) so we can’t tape and instead have to watch a show on fox.com tonight “that simply can’t wait until tomorrow.”

Doesn’t he understand my need to blog?

A GIANT PURPLEY-RED BRUISE.

ON MY INNER THIGH.

The people need to know!

THIS GIRL IS A GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT.

Sigh… he just doesn’t get it.

So- I’m off to share now- although I really don’t recall this computer crap being anywhere in our vows.

Here’s to healing- and a mediocre, not so great workout tomorrow.

<3

Hello lovelies,

Saturday night in the big town, right?

Most of you are probably out and about having some wild Saturday evening, while I’m sitting in sweats on my couch having (another) night in.

Okay- so the truth is that probably more of you than I think are having the same sort of night in, right?

I say that to make myself feel better.

I hope I’m right.

Who cares if I’m not? We’re going with this notion.

I have refreshed my facebook homepage countless times.

Nothing.

I’ve held the flashlight for Will as he investigated a weird sound in the truck.

Woo.

Actually- it was a little fun (but please, whatever you do, don’t tell Will or I’ll be deemed his “tool holder” forever)- but after while I began to feel like a little restless kid helping their dad.

“A little more to the left.

A little more…

Britter! Stop shaking your arm!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sort of bored...”

That’s sort of how it went.

Plus we he still hasn’t figured it out.

And now Will is all crabby and worried.

Which makes for a thrilling Saturday night.

I was all geared up to watch 48-Hours Mystery tonight but the stupid NCAA games have gotten in the way.

Now that OU is out I really don’t care. My bracket has been hosed since Louisville got out so I don’t really care anymore.

I tried to look up the fat content of the burger I had tonight, but surprise, surprise there’s no nutritional facts posted.

I have no idea why not. I mean I’m sure their sausage cheeseburger isn’t that bad.

Puke.

Don’t worry, I didn’t get that- but Will did. It looked like a bleeding, throbbing, greasy heart attack.

Although- mine wasn’t much better either.

Hey! I guess we did get “out” tonight after all, right? I guess if you consider a hole-in-the-wall diner getting “out.”

So as you can see, my Saturday night has been less than exciting.

Even after my awful Cholesterol Burger of Death I’m still contemplating eating chocolate chips right of the bag.

Some would call that Boredom Eating.

I say they’re full of crap.

It’s been close to a week since I’ve mindlessly wandered the internet- and I guess it seemed like a thrilling thing to do on a Saturday night but the truth is- not really.

It’s pretty bad when you look at the clock and hope it’s “late” enough to go to bed.

It’s 10:00.

I have deemed that late enough.

I know what you’re thinking- you’re feeling sad for me, right?

Don’t worry- I’ll have my midnight chocolate chip snack a couple hours early and go straight to bed without brushing my teeth.

Such a thrill seeker.

Actually?

I have a dentist appointment (on my birthday no less! :( ) coming up.

I better not.

But maybe just maybe I’ll do something crazy tomorrow.

<3

More to Come

1. I’m pretty sure I’ve only seen about four full episodes of Dancing With the Stars since it was created. Yes- I know it’s ranked #1 with a million gold stars, medals, A+ smiley faces or whatever else there is to convey it’s amazing-ness.

I don’t care.

I feel pudgy between the hours of 10 am and 10 pm, and therefore have no desire to see super duper cute girls barely covering their loins shaking all around a dance floor.

Yeah- that sounds like so much fun!

Puke.

2. I saw my very first and only Sex In The City episode during my Texas Girl’s weekend.

Between just the two of us? I actually liked it.

I never watched it because I assumed it was trashy and not something I could get into. I’m sure it’s probably trashy, but I must admit I did enjoy the episode I saw- and it wasn’t bad at all. I guess that’s because it’s in syndication now and can’t be as racy?

Don’t tell Will I liked it, okay?

3. I haven’t watched American Idol since 2005.

And even before 2005 I never watched a season.

I know- I’m not Patriotic. I don’t believe in apple pie and white picket fences and freedom and dreams.

The truth is that the judges annoy the CRAP out of me. And then

then

as if three wasn’t enough-

they added a fourth!

A FOURTH!

Do you know how much freaking time they waste yapping in between songs!?

It irritates me to.no.end and for that reason I can’t watch American Idol. NO ONE WANTS TO HEAR YOUR STUPID CRITIQUE.

My blood pressure rises.

I know- I’m weird.

4. I’m over the Octo-Mom crap. I was over it about an hour after I heard it. I’m tired of hearing about it. We get it. We understand the story. We’re not morons that need to hear it over and over again. The odds of you riding this story out until someone has nine kids isn’t looking too good- so just give it up already. PLEASE.

5. I have absolutely no idea what song is #1 on the pop charts this week (um- or any other week), and I don’t care.

Ha- I find it slightly humorous that my last post was all about getting old. This post just confirms I’m nothing but an old lady. Embrace the old, Brittny. Embrace the old.

More to Come <3

“I should probably get a hepatitis shot,” I thought to myself as I carelessly used an unlined public toilet for the fourth time yesterday.

I’m generally more careful, however it had been a long day. A really long day. I woke at 3:30 morning in order to shower, get dressed (complete with high heels), compile and condense my crap (unsuccessfully) and leave the house by 4:45.

I had checked in, gotten through security, and found my gate all before 5:30. I was in the air by 6:00.

I consider that a fairly busy morning. And early. A really early morning too. But who cared- it was a day trip. No big deal.

We had a fairly slow paced morning with a jam packed afternoon. We arrived, enjoyed a cup of coffee to awaken our tired brains, and prepared for the day ahead.

The coffee worked- but only for so long.

At least it was just a day trip.

By the time my meeting started (at 2:00 that afternoon), I was sleepy. Not only that- but seriously, what was I thinking with wearing these high heels!? Thank God it was just a day trip- and almost over.

The meeting went well and was valuable- but by the time it was over I was ready to drive like Mark Martin all the way to the airport to be home to see Will-

And sleep-

And most of all, get out of these freaking heels.

We arrived at the airport, got through security- you know the normal stuff.

We found our gate and also found a mob crowded around the little check-in counter.

“Hmm- this doesn’t look normal…” I thought to myself.

Perhaps I had finally tempted fate long enough had actually contracted some strange hallucinatory disease from all my careless bathroom use during the day- and this was all just a mirage.

It wasn’t.

Damn.

You know- because the reality of a mob is so much worse than a communicable disease.

It appeared storms in Dallas had caused several delays and even cancelations. As we looked on the screen we noticed our flight to Dallas had been delayed two hours. Instead of our lovely 6:30 we were now pushed back past 8:30.

At this point you try to settle in and began the lion-like hunt for an available outlet for your laptop.

Think National Geographic channel- cheetahs chasing the little gazelles.

Thankfully this cheetah was quick enough to secure an outlet to check much needed email. Hunger inevitably kicked in, and I gave up my post to eat. When I had finished, my flight had been delayed almost another hour. With each delay a call was made to Will- who was going to pick me up and take me home.

Home to my own bed.

And no high heels.

Did I mention I had been in them for 15 hours in heels at that point?

Heels and an extra huge purse.

Heels and an extra huge purse and an extra huge laptop bag.

After all- IT WAS JUST A FREAKING DAY TRIP.

Finally- 9:15. Everything looked good. Our flight from Dallas to Oklahoma was going to be tight, but we had about 15 minutes to get off and run to our gate before the plane left. We felt confident we could do it- with my heels in my hand, of course.

We arrived in Dallas right on time- 15 minutes to spare.

Thankfully.

“Okay- so it’s no big deal. I’m only a few hours behind schedule. Willy will be waiting for me at 11:30 and we’ll go home and I’ll sleep in an extra hour- rest my feet- and go to work. This will be fine.”

Only we sat on the plane. And sat. And sat a little longer.

Just when I got to the point in which my left eye began to twitch uncontrollably, the captain informed us there was no gate ready for us and we were going to have to wait a little while.

…

So I sent a text to my colleague who had made the earlier Dallas flight and was already in the airport waiting for the Oklahoma flight. I wanted to see if she thought we would be able to make it, or if it was simply too late.

“You’ll make it,” she said.

Thankfully.

I figured with all the delays it would be okay.

“Just a little longer, Britt, and you’ll be out of your heels and in bed, fighting with the dogs for space.”

We finally got to the gate- I began getting into sprint mode. We got to the gate and waited. And waited. And waited.

My eye began to twitch again.

The captain informed us that although we were at our gate we had to wait on an attendant to open the doors-

Or some crap like that.

I didn’t care. It meant that the chances of my cramped calves getting out of these heels and into my own bed were getting slimmer each second that ticked away on that plane.

It meant I was going to spend the night either driving all the way home to Oklahoma or in some skuzzy hotel.

It meant this was no longer just a day trip.

I could only hope something was delaying the plane to Oklahoma so that we could make it in time.

But that would be normal and predictable- and why in the world would I want that, right?

So of course I missed my flight.

By the time we got off the plane we were met by another mob.

Another mob that had missed their flights too.

And must have been wearing heels for 15 hours too, because they were super grumpy.

I mean, sure I was tired, my back was seriously aching from all the stupid weight I had towed with me. My calves? Pretty much numb at that point. My feet were permanently shaped in triangles to mold to my stupid pointy heels.

Yet somehow I wasn’t in an awful mood.

Okay- I was.

I think I said “What the hell” or something like that- but I didn’t get too mad. I don’t think I even cussed- which I consider a success in this circumstance.

I know-I’m such a classy lady.

So we stood in line with the mob to see what to do next. The airline put us up in a hotel because of the delay.

So much for my little easy day trip.

“At least we get another day of per diem!” my colleague said enthusiastically.

“Really? ’At least we get another day of per diem!’” I said mockingly to myself. “HOW LOVELY! Because I’m SO excited about $30 when I’m going to need $30,000 to buy prosthetic calves after wearing these heels all day!”

Men seriously have no concept of what it’s like being a woman.

Seriously.

Anyway, we loaded up and began the trip to our hotel.

The whole way there I began to watch myself begin to panic internally.

It finally hit me.

I’m.spending.the.night.

In these clothes I’ve worn since like 4:00 this morning.

I had no toothbrush.

No mascara.

Gasp! No deodorant!

And let’s face it- I’m a sweater.

Please- please just swallow me into the ground now.

There’s something interesting that seems to happen to you once you realize that your simple little day trip is going to turn into an overnight stay. A stay in which you’ve carelessly not planned for.

(um-sidebar! Okay so I’ve flown a million times and have never ever experienced any issues. So why, WHY would a simple day trip cause me problems, I thought to myself, right!?)

Your whole mind begins to turn to mush.

Your frame of reference becomes totally distorted and you have no good solid compass between what’s socially acceptable and entirely ridiculous.

“Okay- so do I take off my make up, or leave it on?

What am I going to do about not having deodorant? This is going to be bad on so many levels.

Do I stay in my undies? Try to wash them? Go commando?

Do I saturate my shirt in perfume to freshen it up?”

Suddenly these really easy everyday hygiene decisions become little crises.

What do I do!? What is the proper etiquette? This shouldn’t be that hard. Why is this so hard!?

The truth is that it’s hard because you’re only planning for a day trip!

Why wasn’t I prepared? Sigh…

So we got to the hotel late. I have no idea when, but I know it was after 11:00 and I could barely walk. I got my room key, tried to do a little work- which turned out to be fruitless because I was totally spent-and went to bed.

I got up at 5:30 this morning, got fully dressed in my work attire (except for the shoes. I went barefoot and hoped for the best) and went down to the lobby to try to pillage for at the very least toothpaste.

Turns out a lot of idiots are like me and don’t plan ahead. I scored toothpaste, a toothbrush, and- and- deodorant!

Men’s deodorant.

Men’s deodorant without antiperspirant.

But hey- who cares- it’s better than nothing, right?

I opted to shower and wash my face. I took my make up off but I didn’t remove my mascara.

I got ready.

I looked like death.

I had lipstick.

I remember a friend saying that all you really needed on an extremely ugly and off day was lipstick. That would make it all better.

She is full of crap.

I had a greasy complimentary breakfast and was finally, finally on my way home.

I arrived home this morning at about 10:30. I went home, freshened up a little, changed clothes, PUT ON FLATS, and went to work.

I was swamped, but hey- the problems I faced at work today seemed like a piece of cake compared to the whole dilemma of proper 2nd day undie etiquette.

It feels incredible to be at home. I’m so ready to slip into my own sheets tonight.

I no longer believe in day trips, will always be prepared, and am officially retired from business travel. At least for a while anyway.

<3

I fly out of Oklahoma tomorrow morning before the sun comes up.

Why is it that even when you’re flying before the majority of normal people are even waking you have to be at the airport at least an hour early to check in?

I think that’s ridiculous.

So much so that I want to arrive a little later tomorrow- but Will won’t let me.

Because he’s boring and isn’t a risk taker like I am (ha ha).

I’ve never flown for “business” before.

Granted the entire human public probably has at least one, but for some reason I’ve been thinking about it like its something really fun and grown up.

You know- because waking up before God, applying your make-up in the car, and sitting next to all sorts of weirdos “on business” is LOADS of fun.

Ha.

Every time Will and I would fly in the mornings I would cringe at all the “business people” travelling around us. Obnoxiously talking extra loudly on the phone- informing the entire world of their latest win or new business prospect. Their gigantic laptop bags the size of a large marsupial. The way that none of them ever.use.mints…

Cringe.

Retired blogger Sarah is a frequent business traveler (and never violates any of the abovementioned annoyances, I’m sure) and I’ll never forget her trick for how to cope with a smelly nearby passenger- she puts nice smelling lotion under her nose and it fights the funk for the flight’s duration. It makes me laugh every time when I think about it (I’m not sure why), but it’s a very good and practical idea. One I would highly recommend. As someone who has used it many times myself I will say it works amazingly- unless you’re on a transatlantic journey. Then? Not so much. You’re pretty much on your own on that flight. Every stinky man for themselves.

Was flying ever fun to you? When I was little it was a big deal and so.much.fun. Now it’s the biggest frustration that keeps me from where I am and where I want to be.

It is right about here -> in which I would be extremely positive and try to think of fun and exciting ways to make flying bearable. But yeah- why tease ourselves? It’s just a day trip, so the nice thing is that I’ll be able to sleep in my own bed.

Instead of lamenting over getting up at 1:58- I’ll watch The Mentalist, try to enjoy my two hours of sleep, and anticipate my 8:00 Venti Skim Latte. On business.

Venti Skim Lattes.

Heart.

Tomorrow will be great, I know it.

And hey- if nothing else it will provide a plethora of blogable material.