Celebrity look-alikes

If one more person tells me that Henry looks like Falkor from The Neverending Story....

Actually, I sort of agree with them. Only a Falkor could flex his body into that position, while toting Atreyu around on his back.
Yeah, Falkor was a pimp [and so is Henry]. I even liked his full name: Falkor the luckdragon. Not too many luckdragons running around these days:)

Also, I wanted to BE the princess from The Neverending story. She lived in a freaking ivory tower, people. She was gorgeous and she was very dramatic in her role. I believe her killer line was, "Please Atreyu, you're our only hope." I smell an Oscar! Her only downfall was her full name: The Childlike Princess. Can someone please explain this nonsense to me?

I think I looked like her back in the day, don't you? In my mind we were twins....kindred souls, in fact. [Ignore the fact that this was pre-braces]:
Wasn't that the best movie of all times? And the second one was nothing compared to the original.

Did anyone obsess over this movie like me?

Storytime part III

Today's story is funny and horrifying all at the same time; it was difficult for me to write without vomiting on my computer screen. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Rodent versus Woman: Scarred for Life

It was late fall in 2004. I was on my last clinical rotation for PT school in Little Rock, Arkansas. Only six more weeks until I graduated with my Masters left my school days behind. Life was good, my friends.

When they assign clinical rotations in different states the student is responsible for finding their own housing, and luckily for me Keri knew someone in Little Rock who could provide me shelter. Sounds perfect, right?

I made the 6 hour drive to Little Rock every Sunday night and headed back to St. Louis every Friday night---just to see the boyfriend and whatnot. There wasn't much to do in Little Rock and I had no desire to explore. But for some odd reason I decided to stay put one weekend: a decision that I will always regret.

Friday night I cozied up on the couch and began my TV night all alone. It was kind of nice, actually......until I heard something fall in the kitchen. I froze, thinking maybe there was a mass murderer hunting for a victim. But eventually I mustered up the courage to look in the kitchen and found nothing. "Meh, no big deal. I'm probably just hearing things," I tell myself. And I settle back into the couch.

Then out of the corner of my eye I see a dark object sprint out of my bedroom-- but as I jerk my head around to get a better view, I lose the mystery object. My heart starts pounding so loud that I drown out my thoughts. And then I see it: another dark object scurrying out of my bedroom and down the hall. My brain stalls for a second and then I realize that this object is a mouse. A real live mouse, sharing the house with me. Stalking me, ready to attack me, and scratch my eyes out. And with that came my first blood curdling scream. I present to you Satan reincarnated:
Immediately I yank my feet up onto the couch and call Nate back in St. Louis. He is getting ready to go out [how convenient] while I am hyperventilating. "Holycrap, wehavemicehere! Imightdie." is all I can say, and then another one runs right toward me and then behind my couch. I scream again and Nate holds back laughter. LAUGHTER, people. At a time in my life when I was nearly dying. The mouse then sprints from behind my couch over to the television and begins a staring contest with me. Those beady little eyes! Disgusting nose! And hideous whiskers! All staring right at me as if to say, "I'm going to get you, my pretty. Welcome to Arkansas!"

I get off the phone with Nate and call my parents, who also show restraint in holding back their laughter. I beg my dad to tell me the truth: can mice crawl up bedposts, or would they just slide right off? I have to know the answer or I might have a stroke. He calmly tells me [lying through his teeth!] that they cannot climb vertical surfaces and I would be safe in my bed. I don't fully believe him but I love that he tried to comfort me anyway:)

As I tried to sleep that night I could hear them in the walls. Scraping their razor sharp claws through the drywall in search of food. I am not exaggerating when I tell you that there must have been hundreds of them in the walls. Hundreds.

So after zero sleep I decided to take matters into my own hands. I went to Target and bought a ridiculous amount of mouse traps. Even though I was ticked off I couldn't bring myself to purchase the traps that cut off their heads. Can you imagine hearing those snap into place over and over again through the night? Me either, so I bought the ones with glue in them---which grab hold of their scrawny legs and never let go. I also purchased a new alarm clock that boasted 'soothing sounds to help you fall asleep.' I was pretty sure that the hearing waves crash on the beach was about a million times better than mice crawling in the walls.

I placed about 5 traps around the house in strategic locations and I waited. Every now and then I could hear a faint squeal but I didn't let myself fully process this sound. That night I blasted some mad ocean tunes and pulled the covers up over my head. Even though I was depriving myself of vital oxygen it was still better than going blind from mice claws.

That morning as I made my way to the shower I stole a glance at one of the traps behind my bedroom door. What I saw will scar me for life. There was not one, not two, but FOUR dead mice in the tiny trap. I dry heaved a little and then proceeded to check the other traps: all brimming with dead mice.
But the worst moment came while I was standing on a stool [to get off of the infested floor, duh] peering over the stove to investigate a trap. A mouse came barreling out of the heating duct through the floor and I nearly had a seizure. I think I blacked out for a moment in time because I don't remember much else.

When my roommate [who rented the mouse house] came back from her weekend away I informed her that if she didn't contact her landlord about an exterminator, that I would be staying in a hotel for the remainder of my time in Arkansas. She of course called, and they 'took care of it' [whatever that means]. I didn't see another beastly creature during my stay. But the people at work had a fun time teasing me about Gus-Gus....the mouse from Cinderella. Please. As if they were this cute:

Before PETA comes to get me, let me just say that it is not normal to share quarters with obscene amounts of rodents. They carry diseases and lay hundreds of feces all over the place [including our kitchen countertops! where we prepared food!], and they should stay outside where they belong. Don't tell me you wouldn't lose your mind after this experience, too. It always gets a chuckle from my friends but let's just say it wasn't so funny at the time.

Are your feet pulled up off the ground yet? Anyone else have 'an experience'?

Found me, part deux

More interesting search terms used to find my blog:

We have the boob varieties:

Tootsie roll size lump in breast

good breast

"expander boobs"


"hung by my boobs"

The loss of bodily functions:

"what if I poop my pants"

i peed my underpants blog

An occasional hair search:

chopped-it haircut

hair bangs nose style

hair cut off scissors

cute wigs for african americans

Lots of thigh chafing out there, huh?

thigh chafing vacation

wife big thighs chafe

girlfriends thigh chafing

orange cheerleading skorts

And of course, totally random terms:

henry cockapoo life in transition

kid leash

died, honeymoon

disgusting e-cards

how is important to show my mother love by teenage daughter

And the mother load:

pictures of girls with a birthmark shaped as poodle

Rewarding ourselves

By spending some quality time with this little devil:

After a 12 mile run, with frozen veggies and fluids:
After burning a billion calories on the 12 mile run, with a little piece of heaven:

After discovering an old $75 Crate and Barrel gift card from our wedding:

And therefore, by furthering our ridiculous repertoire of coffee paraphernalia [pimp coffee maker, burr grinder, french press, and now this espresso maker]. Can anyone say caffeine?

Aren't weekends made to reward yourself after a long week of work? Does anyone else adore coffee as much as us? Or bags of frozen veggies? :)

Go Shorty...

....it's your burf-day. Gonna party like it's your burf-day:) 

[ie your 21st birthday]

[partying for no reason at all]

[walking for a cause, our new mature version of 'partying']

[Celebrating our similar hairstyles. Welcome to the dark side, my friend.]
[being there for each other for the past six birthdays]
Happy 27th birthday, Keri. I know going to chemo isn't your idea of a birthday celebration, but we love you. Hang in there! 

Show the birthday girl some love on her guestbook. Round seven of eight is today!

Storytime part II

Again, these might be one of those 'you had to be there' things, but we'll see.
Today's story is called Viva Espana: our semester abroad. But I couldn't choose just one story from the best four months of my life, so you'll have to read a double edition today. Spain rules, everyone should live there for awhile. And my kids are definitely studying abroad someday.

1. A close encounter with Spanish jail:

During one of our numerous weekend trips Hannah, our friend Amber, and myself decided to explore Sevilla--a beautiful southern city in Spain. During a typical night out we found a cute little patio bar that suited our fancy. We sat down and breathed the fresh Spanish air, enjoying life to its fullest. Our waiter came up to us and he was a big burly Spaniard with an attitude problem. We requested our standard: Red Bull y Vodka [but in Spanish you have to say Wodka because they switch the V's and W's.]
I'm sure our Missouri-spin on Spanish was laughable to the locals---not to mention that I only took ONE basic Spanish class before hopping on the plane to my doom. Bad Attitude Man scurried off to get our drinks and I swear he grinned a devilish grin as he left. Upon his return we noticed that something was horribly wrong with our cocktails: whatever this concoction was, it was NOT Red Bull y Vodka. We struggled to form a few inquisitive sentences and he fired right back at us with his fast, fluent Spanish.

As he walked away we all just stared at each other and figured out that our drinks were VERMOUTH and Vodka. Yes, you read that right: two hard core liquors mixed together in a glass. I suppose he misunderstood us but regardless--he was not willing to get us a new drink. We each tried to sip this lethal mix but it was impossible: dry heaves, watery eyes, and coughing followed every attempt. I promise you that it tasted like pure gasoline with a hint of stomach acid.....and a pinch of death.

What happened next is a bit of a blur. We realized we did not even have enough pasetas [this was before the Euro in Spain] to cover our disgusting drinks. We were annoyed with Bad Attitude Man. And we were in the great Spanish outdoors....with an option to run. And on the count of three we pushed our chairs back and started to sprint away, but not before my legs got stuck under the stupid table. I managed to free myself and caught up with my girls, who the locals had noticed by now---and were yelling some obscenities in our direction.

I could almost feel Bad Attitude Man's fat hands on my shoulder, pulling me back and screaming at me. I could imagine the Policia capturing us three American renegades and throwing us into the dungeons of Spanish jail FOREVER. The phone call to my parents was already mapped out in my head when I realized that we just escaped our death! Bad Attitude Man was nowhere in sight, and neither were the angry locals. We were incredibly out of breath [not exactly in the best of shape at this time of my life] and delirious from our little debacle. And we did what any group of college girls would do: we found another bar and ordered the RIGHT drink this time. All three of us had nightmares that night about Spaniards chasing us through the streets. Serves us right, I know. But at least it makes for a good story!

2. Easter is all fun and games until your bladder explodes :

During our 2 week long Spring Break Hannah, Lindsey, Kristen, and myself decided to hit both the Canary Islands and then Rome, Italy. Since our Spring Break fell over Easter weekend we figured we should attend Easter Mass at St. Peter's Square. It was mad chaos like this:

We got there early enough to secure a great seat but not before I chugged two Diet Cokes and some water. I was parched, okay? I thought nothing of it but hold onto this piece of information. Pope John Paul II was still in power and he wasn't doing so hot in 2001....but he still threw down his message in about 10 different languages. Hannah and I are not Catholic but it was definitely a cool experience.

Approximately two hours into the mass I decided I had to pee. I looked around and saw thousands of people immersed in the message and I just couldn't do it. So I waited a little while longer. Surely this mass wouldn't take all day, right? As time went on my bladder expanded to the point of discomfort. Crossing my legs, sucking it in, and distracting myself did not ease my pain. It was getting unbearable and I needed to get the heck out! The girls told me to just go, and we'd somehow find each other afterwards [before the days of cell phones, people.] But I remained glued to my seat with a pulsating bladder--I'm pretty sure I could see the urine rise up to my eyeballs. And this is when I came close to crying.

FINALLY the Pope finished up his mass. The crowd rose to clap and I booked it towards the Porta-potty stations with a wicked limp, elbowing innocent bystanders in the process. But then, out of nowhere, everyone stopped---blocked me from entering my toilet heaven all because of this:
The Pope Mobile cut a path right across the crowd, literally feet in front of my trembling body.
Any potential for excitement was drowned by my intense pain. Come on already, JP! [and I mean that in the most respectful way possible.] Eventually he passed through and I regained my composure, just barely making it to the Porta-Potty. I was crying at this point and figured that I had probably just done irreversible damage to my internal organs. I bet a little bit of pee made it's way into my bloodstream since it had nowhere else to go.

I immerged from the toilet a new woman. My friends were rightfully chuckling at my face and the dramatic situation. I realize it's rather ridiculous but that was probably the most painful moment of my life and I don't wish that on anyone.

So my question is: has anyone pulled a drink and dash? What about nearly peeing in your pants?

The Big Bang Theory

The bangs are here! I'm sure I will push them to the side like this:

Even though I'm supposed to wear them straight across like this:

I like them pushed better, don't you?

And the back:

Sides worn down straight:
And how I'll wear it, tucked behind my ears:So once I push the bangs to the side and tuck my hair behind my ears, I like it. As for running, I sport those little rubber band headband things, anyway. And I can just squeeze most of it back into a tiny ponytail, so we are in business! Fresh haircuts always feel so good:)

On another note, are these real life pictures less creepy? I printed off two creepy ones [#2 and #6] to bring into the appointment and had to apologize for them. They were really freaking me out and the hairstylist didn't get it. He was like, "Is that your real hair?"

I hope these new ones are better.

Running with Scissors

[Yay for an unexpected Monday off, after working all day Sunday!]

My hair and I have gone through many transitions in the last year. Right before our wedding in May 2007 my hair was LOOOOONG [at least for me]:

Then after the wedding [and the honeymoon that bleached out my hair] I chopped it like this:
And a few months later went even shorter:
Well now I have an awful confession to make, my readers. I have not had my haircut since.......MARCH! Four months, people, which is utterly disgusting, especially since my hair is still pretty short. But I've just been wearing it back in a little ponytail everyday and kind of forgot about it. Until now. Now I want to get a real haircut and I'm toying with the idea of bangs. Not just the wispy side bangs but full on real bangs. This is me now [one time in the last month that I didn't don a pony]:

I stumbled upon the Makeover Solutions website and went a little crazy, so I need your help. Let's take these in sections, shall we?

I. Hair that is way longer than mine, but potential inspirational bangs:

1. Ignore the nasty stringiness here:

2. Oooh, now here are some real bangs!

3. Definitely not meant to be blonde but I like the bangs!
4. Hello layers!
5. Not even real bangs but I like this one.

6. Why does my hair have to be short again? Love this.

7. And this. I wish my hair could grow fast!

8. I just threw this one in because it's Sarah Jessica Parker's hair and I'm kind of digging the color on me?

II. Length that is more realistic for me right now:

1. But no bangs. Jenny McCarthy here:

2. If I wanted lots of layers I bet this would be pretty realistic:

3. I couldn't stand the bangs this messy but I kind of like the overall shape for my face?

4. This one borders on a mullet, not sure if I like it:

5. Again, lots of layers and very doable for my hair now:
6. And then there are the blunt cuts. Very severe and kind of look like wigs but I rather like them? Not sure, what do you think?

Any suggestions? Bangs or no bangs? How real should I make them? And what about the layers? Help! Haircut is tonight!

***Side note: Nate just saw this post and laughed at me. He says these pictures don't look like me at all and attributes me to Jessie Spano. He says I look creepy. What? I don't get it. He also says my nose looks weird. I guess it's because I'm not wearing any makeup and my head is tilted down a little bit. ***
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