Will swears that cook and serve pudding is far superior than instant.

I totally disagree. The film situation with cook and serve alone is enough to deter me from standing over a stove stirring constantly for 12 minutes waiting for the freaking crap to boil.

Oh wait.

Standing over a stove stirring constantly for 12 minutes waiting for the freaking crap to boil is enough to deter me from cook and serve pudding.

Will has been begging for me to make some cook and serve pudding for a couple weeks now.

This in and of itself is alarming to me. Who begs their wife to make them cook and serve pudding?

No really. Who does that? An old family recipe layer cake made from scratch with homemade frosting I can understand. Cook and serve pudding? Really?

Anyway, because I try to be a good wife I made Will cook and serve pudding tonight- and not only that, but I put it in a crust.

Therefore can call it a “pie.”

Could I stretch and say I made a pie?

Um- probably not… All I did was stir (for a million minutes- watching that stupid freaking pudding threaten to burn the sides of the pan), and pour, and top with cool whip. That means I made it right? Ha, of course it does.

Between you and me? I could have made instant pudding and I doubt Will would have been able to tell the difference, although he swears up and down that he could. Who knows…

So I “made” our pie around 8:00 tonight and really want to have some. Only it takes 3 hours to set- which would put it at 11:00. Granted, it’s only a few minutes -and who knows? By the time I finish this post it very well could be 11- but it seems very random to me to eat dessert at 11.

Although- let’s face it- time means nothing to me when it comes to desserts. That’s crazy. It’s like saying vegetables are bad for you. Or hypercolor shirts are appropriate work attire. Um actually? I’m pretty sure hypercolor shirts are inappropriate at all times.Do they even make hypercolor anymore?

Sorry- getting distracted. Back to pie.

So I’m leaning towards eating a piece of pie and going straight to bed.

Because I’ve always heard that’s a GREAT idea (ha ha).

You know, for someone that “doesn’t think cook and serve pudding is all that great” I sure am staying up late to scarf it down, aren’t I?

Ooh- and you know what else?

After living in our house for only a year (actually- still less than a year) we finally decided to clean out our whirlpool jets and are going to try out the tub for the first time!

Oh- please be assured I’ve cleaned the tub many times before that- I just never ran the whirlpool and got the previous owner’s yuckys cleaned out.

Anyway- I think we’re going to eat pie and try out the whirlpool.

hmm- or try out the whirlpool and eat pie.

Ooh- OR have pie and then try out the whirlpool and then have pie again.

Okay just kidding. You have to have SOME limits right?

As you can see, my Saturday night has been out of control. But you guys know me well enough by now to know that’s the norm.

Hey guess what? It’s almost 11. I made it! I really made it! (ha ha. Wow. This is really sad).

Yay for cook and serve pie (I guess).

Have a good evening- and happy mother’s day to all my lovely blog friend mommies, and to my lovely mom as well.

<3

Forgive me friends for I have sinned. It has been several weeks since my last confession.

Because it’s been a while, I will plunge deep into my heart and provide you with quality, meaningful confessions.

Like this one:

1. My husband parks my car in the garage every.single.day.

No seriously- I swear.

I know.

Pathetic.

So here’s the whole back story.

When I was 16 I got a car and- like all 16 year olds- was very eager to drive and be TOTALLY responsible with it.

So the thing with my car was that it was really long and it barely fit in the garage. In fact, there were many times in which the garage door lightly smudged the back of my car. Not only that, but we had a two car garage growing up so it was a really tight squeeze fitting the car next to the big purple minivan. So- long story (somewhat) short- my parents parked the car in the garage for me. Yes, I was TOTALLY responsibile- but why risk me doing something stupid, right?

Right.

So- one night I was being TOTALLY responsible and coming home late. Instead of calling my parents and telling them that not only was I late, but I also needed the car put in the garage, I opted to be the “good” and helpful daughter and park the car myself.

As I pulled the car in the rear right side of my car let out a painful cry of torture-

SCREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECH

I couldn’t stop! I kept driving, thinking it would be better.

It was worse.

Definitely worse.

I totally dented in the side big time. Plus the paint was destroyed.

Good job kid.

I know.

Anyway- ever since that I’ve been very leery of parking in tight spaces. Mostly because I suck. Mostly also because I have this reoccurring nightmare of doing something terribly stupid again.

So anyway, since we have the truck now it goes in the big part of the garage and we park my car in the third garage door, which is a tight squeeze (ahem- for me- not for anyone else, I’m sure).

Will knows this awful and totally embarrassing garage story, and although it’s been 10 freaking years, he still doesn’t trust me with “baby #2” (did you guys know that’s what he calls his car? I know- he’s crazy).

So there you go- I can’t park my own car in my garage. How’s that for a confession?

2. When it’s just me and Will eating at home I cover my baking dish in foil so I don’t have to wash the dish and instead just throw away the dirty foil.

Because I’m just that lazy. No other reason.

3.  Sometimes I pretend to be annoyed whenever I scoop ice cream (cookies and creme) for me and Will because “I’d rather he do it,” but the truth is that is that I totally love doing it because I always (always, always) give myself the giant pieces of cookies.

ha ha. I feel like I need to go to crunches after confessing that…

Anything you need to confess to lighten your load? 

I had the best.time.ever. last night.

We went over to Ross and Rachel’s to watch the NFL Draft (fun, fun… NOT!) and afterwards Rachel and I played on her old Super Nintendo!

I know- we’re major losers. I don’t care. We had the best time- and now the poor boys are going to have to watch us on our mission to defeat Bowser.

...

Do you guys even remember Bowser?

...

Anyway- it was so much fun and brought back a ton of memories. Mario was pretty much the only game I could play- and I was totally awesome at it. I used to manipulate P into “playing with me.” I would put it on 2 player but only plug one controller in. She thought she was playing one of them, but I was playing both.

I loved being an older sister sometines.

Anyway, it was a ton of fun- but mostly made me remember of my sedentary awkward chubby elementary school days, and afterward I felt like I needed to run a couple miles so as to avoid any possibility of her returning again. Fun times.

I have to say-playing at 26 might have been even a little better than playing at 10 or 11. I mean- for one thing I had the freedom to throw down the “d word” instead of the usual, darn, crap, and dang it back then. I’ve also never played after a glass of wine- not that it impaired me at all, but still- defintiely something new. Also- I most definitely didn’t have a boy in the room when I played back then (ha ha).

I look forward to playing again, and I must say- PS3 has nothing on Super Nintendo.

"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.

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. 

The famous Gym Nazi bruise is posted to the right.

Disgusting.

I don’t know what’s more disgusting- the bruise itself or the fact that I actually decided to share it with you guys.

Probably both.

I almost embedded it within this post, but I have to draw the line somewhere, right?

Happy Easter <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 used to be so good at sitting in front of the computer and just typing about nothing.

About anything.

Just sitting and typing and wherever my mind wandered I followed and somehow it turned out to be a halfway decent post.

However, it seems as though lately I haven’t been able to sit and mindlessly wander. It feels as though like now I need to have a “purpose” for my post- a direction.

The truth is- I’m full of crap. There’s no blog law about purpose and no wandering. I think the truth is that I’m getting older.

I’m growing up.

I don’t know about you guys, but it seems as though each year I age, more creativity and imagination gets sucked out of me and more boring black and white corporate blah adult “stuff” gets shoved in me. I guess part of that is normal and goes with being older, but at the same time, it’s as though it gets easy to lose a part of yourself as you get so tangled up in work and mortgages and “adult responsibilities” (I have no idea why I put that in quotations) that you forget just to lighten up and freaking do what you want to do. Post. About about whatever makes me happy. Who cares if no one else cares?

I have no idea why I’m rambling on about these things.

Maybe because I’m about to turn another year older in a couple of weeks and it’s actually got me a little bummed?

It could be that.

I could be “projecting” (I have no idea why I put that in quotations either).

It’s probably that.

Actually, I have no idea.

Perhaps I’m using my birthday as a way to address my “lack of blogging direction” (again- I have no idea why that’s in quotations)?

Or it also could be that hey- I’m not getting any younger here. These wrinkles? Only going to get worse. And so therefore instead of focusing on the fact that I’m about to officially enter my mid-to-late 20s I am diverting attention to the fact that I can’t “mindlessly wander when I post anymore” (yeah- no idea what’s up with these pesky quotations… or the fact that I’m putting the period on the outside of them. What an annoyance. I wanted to spell nusciance, but yeah- as you can see, I have no idea how to spell it, so I thought it best not to put it in my post...)”

In all honesty, it’s probably a combination of both. I’m getting older. I look back at my first posts in 2005 and they seem to be written differently than the ones of 2009. I guess it’s because wow- I was a baby back then!- but now here I am, almost four years later and a little more mature and experienced than the 2005 Brittny. Also, 2005 Brittny never lived much of her life in the real world, and 2009 Brittny certainly has. I’m sure work and bills and adult-hood has changed me and my ability to sit down and just talk about whatever I want.

Oh- and who can forget that now I actually tend to care about who’s reading these days.

I think that’s a factor as well.

Whatever it is (and really- who cares?) I’ve come to realize I’m evolving. I’m changing everyday and so are my thoughts, interests, and things I share.

So who cares that I can’t just sit here and ramble about “silly things?” (ha ha, now I just want to annoy you with quotes. Yeah- I know. SO mature, right?)

I’m growing up. We’re all growing up. We’re changing and evolving and hopefully getting better.

I’m sure I’ll sit down and mindlessly write some day soon, and it will come easy and I’ll laugh because I was just certain it was due to my little quarter-life crisis.

Until then? I’m not worried.

More to come…