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WTF Wednesday: I look like a cartoon character.

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The fact that I’m posting this picture of myself publicly on the internet is a problem, but I have to show you something. My bangs are at the most awful stage bangs ever experience, which I refer to as the “Aaaaah!” stage in the Cycle of Bangs. This is where I spend 60% of my waking hours pulling them to the side, calculating the distance between their current length and the length at which they will remain behind my ear after being put there and then estimating the number of months left until that magical day arrives.

Clearly, whatever “unstyling” thing I’ve been trying to get going with my bangs is not working. Cut me a little slack because I ran 6.24 miles earlier today and haven’t showered yet. I know, gross. But trust me when I say that my bangs looked this bad all day long even before I hit the gym. I’ve been willingly inflicting this shit on people for weeks now.

Today I finally realized that I look like an older, low-rent version of Peppermint Patty.

Yeah no.Peppermint Patty

I mean really, why. I need to get some freaking barrettes (my hair is too fine to sustain bobby pins on a reliable basis) and vow to never, ever, ever get bangs again.

Written by Tracy

November 2nd, 2011 at 8:31 pm

WTF Wednesday: I got kind of shitfaced at my kid’s birthday party.

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Although I talk about drinking all the time, I don’t actually drink all that much. I’m not, like, one of those moms carrying a flask of vodka to playdates or throwing back cosmos (Do people still drink that shit?) at girls’ night out. And although I don’t always drink, when I do drink, I prefer, well, beer. As a general rule, I don’t touch hard liquor aside from maybe once or twice a year at a Mexican restaurant.

So um this is a problem.

This is more poor photography than alcohol.

I hadn’t been what I refer to as “shitfaced” for a long time. I can’t remember when I last got good and drunk. It didn’t even happen at Beer Fest — I got a good buzz there, but I wasn’t anywhere near shitfaced. Not getting shitfaced at Beer Fest is kind of crazy, but it happens. You move on.

It started innocently enough, which I suppose it always does. Ben and I had been working our asses off getting ready for Soren’s party — cleaning (both of us), baking (me), and cooking (Ben). We were kind of worn out. Shortly before our guests started arriving, I figured it was beer o’clock. Then our guests started arriving and it was time to start making margaritas, which was my job.

Margaritas are pretty much the only non-beer alcohol I’ll ever drink (I’ll also have the very occasional glass of wine or champagne, but last time we had a bottle of wine in the house it eventually turned into vinegar). Last year, we meant to make margaritas for Soren’s birthday party — I feel like you kind of need an excuse to make margaritas, or at least you need to have a bunch of people coming over because otherwise you’re going to end up shitfaced. Of course, that’s going to happen anyway, but maybe it seems more noble to undertake the margarita-making endeavor when you’ll be able to share the results with friends.

Last year, I became obsessed with making margaritas “the right way,” which to me meant squeezing fresh lime juice, making some sort of sugar-water concoction in a cauldron acquired from a secret cauldron store located behind that exclusive speakeasy on Larimer Street, and serving them in a set of perfectly mismatched glassware acquired from various upscale estate sales in the Wash Park neighborhood. Of course this failed and, if I recall correctly, we just had beer.

This year, I set a more modest goal, which was to make margaritas without using margarita mix. I followed this recipe exactly, with the following ingredients: All Natural Freshies Sweet -n- Sour Lemon Squeeze (no HFCS!), Hiram Walker Triple-Sec, Olmeca Altos Reposado Tequila, Grand Marnier, limes, and sea salt.

I had one margarita in a glass I forgot to salt. Unfortunately, having failed to acquire a set of perfectly mismatched glassware before the party, we were woefully lacking appropriate margarita-drinking glasses, so it wasn’t like I could pour my margarita into an appropriately salted glass. Of course now that I think about it, I realize I could’ve poured my margarita into an inappropriate glass, washed my original glass, appropriately salted it, and poured the margarita back in, but geez that’s a lot of work. So then I had another one because I had to have one with salt. It was pretty good.

This was around the time I realized something kind of amazing. My child was in another room having a blast playing with friends and adults who aren’t me or Ben. One of our friends was cleaning our kitchen and putting dishes in the dishwasher. At that particular beautiful moment, I had nothing in the world to do but, like, have fun. And also I was kind of shitfaced. Anything stronger than beer tends to sneak up on me. I’ll be fine . . . fine . . . fine . . . and then shitfaced, just like that.

Fortunately, I didn’t do anything too embarrassing, other than just talking way too much. Oh holy mother of hell I talk too much when I’m drunk. I haven’t even been able to write a proper blog post for days because I’m so sick of hearing myself talk and writing a blog post is kind of like really intensively listening to yourself talk. (For the record, although I skipped this week’s fantasy football post, I did win again — evidence here.) Get some tequila in me and I’m all blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah and even I want myself to shut up but I just can’t.

Getting kind of shitfaced at my kid’s birthday party wasn’t my finest moment. I mean, it was fine and nothing bad happened and I think people had an okay time and most important of all, Soren had a super-awesome day basking in the attention of a bunch of people who think he’s the bee’s knees, which of course he totally is. But I generally try to learn something from moments that are not my finest. So if I learned things from this experience they are:

  • I probably should make more of an effort to have a social life. It turns out I really like people! I just don’t often hang out with them. I kind of thrive on being a lone wolf and have pretty much no time to put into cultivating much of a social life, but I really should try to get out more. It’s one aspect of my life I totally neglect.
  • I can count the number of times Ben and I have gone out without Soren in the past two years on one hand. We think Soren is awesome and love hanging out with him, but we should get out without him more often. This is hard for a few reasons — we’re broke, we have no local family, and I in particular have a very hard time asking people who aren’t my parents or Ben to do things for me (this means people pretty much have to beat me over the head with a written offer to babysit for free, which, thankfully, people did and we’re going to be taking them up on their offer for real).

Obviously, Ben and I enjoy alcohol, particularly beer. I hope that as Soren gets older and begins to understand these things, we set a good example of enjoying alcohol in moderation most of the time, with only occasional shitfacedness. Maybe he’ll talk even more than I do.

Written by Tracy

October 26th, 2011 at 10:25 pm

Posted in and life

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WTF Wednesday: Pool Crashing

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In addition to planning a non-wedding wedding (which, honestly, isn’t much work at all — our wedding to-do list looks like this: 1. get marriage license), Ben and I are planning a staycation honeymoon.1 Our staycation honeymoon will involve taking the week after our non-wedding wedding off work, dropping Soren off at daycare on his usual three days, and puttering around Denver doing whatever random stuff we feel like doing.

That probably sounds pretty lame, but I’m looking forward to it like crazy.

Aside from driving to and from Chicago to visit family (the last time was 2007), Ben and I haven’t had a vacation since 2003. If you’re doing the math, that’s a long-ass freaking time without a vacation. (I did take a 12-week maternity leave after Soren was born, but that arguably does not count as vacation even though it was time off work.)

Considering that all our money and then some goes to child care, even though we won’t have any travel or lodging expenses, we’re still trying to do things on the mad-crazy cheap. So, you know, maybe we’ll get some seitan wings at City O City, hit up a few local breweries, go on a hike, sit in a hotel lobby and pretend to be tourists, and try to scoop up some free/cheap Avs tickets (I’m on the verge of starting to really watch hockey as a result of the NBA lockout, although it seems like quite a commitment because I know next to nothing about hockey; for example, I just googled “crease”).

As you can see, my staycation honeymoon goals are, as you’d expect, pretty modest. There is one thing I’d like to get a little fancy about, though. It would be awesome if we could spend at least a couple hours lounging by a nice pool somewhere. Now that it’s no longer summer, I’m not sure how easy that will be.

Bellagio pool

photo: MGM Mirage

My gym has a pretty nice pool, but it seems kind of silly to lounge by a gym pool in gigantic sunglasses and a cleavagetacular swimsuit like you’re, well, somewhere other than the gym. I once read a novel where the main character spent most of her time sneaking into unoccupied hotel rooms and using hotel pools, but I’m not sure how well that works in practice. I’m also a little wary of this sort of endeavor because the one time in my life I was ever arrested (although, full disclosure, it wasn’t bad-ass enough arrested to result in being taken to jail) related to late-night escapades in a hotel in a sort of trespassy fashion (that was fun to explain on the character and fitness portion of my Bar application; yes, they do allow you to be admitted to practice law if you did stupid shit when you were in college).

Pools are kind of a thing for me for two reasons. One is that I’m at a point in my life where I’m not too embarrassed to wear a swimsuit in public. The other is that they’re pretty much symbolic of complete and utter relaxation, at least for someone like me who doesn’t live near a beach or like to fly. (Side note: I really, really, really want to go to Las Vegas someday just for the pools.)

So whether it’s by unauthorized crashing or more legitimate means, I hope to spend at least a little leisure time by a pool in the near future.
1. Yes, it does kind of pain me to use the word “staycation,” but what are you gonna do, staycations gonna staycation.

Written by Tracy

October 19th, 2011 at 1:50 pm

WTF Wednesday: Bangs

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Bangs. I always get them and I always hate them.

It’s as certain as death and taxes. As soon as my bangs finally grow out and I am freed from the prison of having annoying hair in my face all the time and the associated problems including but not limited to greasy bangs (and the existential dilemma of whether to wash them more often even though I know that just makes them more determined to be greasy) and sweaty bangs that bug the crap out of me while running (I can’t wear headbands because they, like, move around and also my head is gigantic have you seen it) and bang separation issues, I’ll go right out and get them again.

I made an illustration of my relationship with bangs using my toddler’s LARGE washable crayons. I call it “The Cycle of Bangs” and it is destined to repeat itself over and over and over in my lifetime.

cycle of bangs

I’m currently in Why?!! territory, headed toward Aaaaah!! Fun times.

Maybe one day I’ll learn.

Written by Tracy

September 28th, 2011 at 9:41 pm

WTF Wednesday: I take pictures of myself in the bathroom.

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When you realize

My mini bar is cash only.

I’ve finally figured out that if you want to make it as a blogger, you have to post alliterative, gimmicky stuff on Wednesdays. I can understand this. It’s hard to come up with shit to write on Wednesdays. You might be coming off a hard day at work, where, among other things, you’re trying to organize a meeting for a group of people with a median age of 97 who have trouble operating technology you and I take for granted. (“The document I submitted wasn’t attached.” It was. “I submitted information to a different person for a different project 27 years ago. Can you find it for me? I’m going to be on Hoarders this week so you can understand the difficulty I will have trying to locate it myself.” I’ll see what I can do. “I’m a mysterious and unknown person you didn’t even invite to this meeting but here I am! I can’t open half of your documents. I’m running Windows Holes in Caves OS.” Of course. Let me save down to .rock format. I hope you have the Times Old Roman font installed on your computer.) You ran your nonexistent ass off at the gym and came home to dinner on the table (yes!) and a grumpy-ass toddler (boo!). You’re tired and uninspired and have no idea what to write about on Wednesday.

I mean, just take a look at the Wednesday blog offerings out there. We have “What I Ate Wednesday” (some food) and “Wordless Wednesday” (_______). I don’t have much to offer in these areas (and I already do “Photo Fridays” with some regularity, which is more than enough contribution to contentless blog posts from one person), so I figured I should come up with my own Whatever Wednesdays. How about WTF Wednesday? I can use it to make fun of myself for stupid shit I do. That should provide enough material for several Wednesdays, should I be so dedicated to pursuing something that probably shouldn’t have seen the light of day instead of never thinking of it again after today.

Speaking of things that shouldn’t have seen the light of day, let’s talk about my bathroom photos. Yes. My inaugural WTF Wednesday is the groundbreaking post wherein I admit the embarrassing fact that I take pictures of myself in the bathroom. And if we’re being honest here, which we are because we are nothing if not brave in confronting our demons on the internet, we’ll admit that I’m not the only one.

Why do people, bloggers (and those weird Facebook women who often show underboob while seductively standing in front of a toilet and have a penchant for friending former NBA players) in particular if my theory is correct, take pictures of themselves in bathrooms? It could be because we’re vain assholes like everybody else on the internet. Or we’re always the ones with the camera and sometimes we worry that one day we’ll pass on and the only photographic evidence of our existence left to our children will be our hideous driver’s license photos. Maybe we’re a little self-conscious about having other people take our pictures because nobody is going to want to take the 27 shots required to ensure that there’s at least one that doesn’t feature an unappealing chin/nose/face-in-general angle. Maybe it’s an innate thing, not unlike the toddler “mine,” that comes to the surface as soon as we’re alone in a bathroom with a camera, which happens quite often when you always have a camera with you.

The good news, if there is good news, is that I now strictly adhere to an unofficial bathroom photo code of conduct (as you’ll see below, I didn’t always). Rule #1 is “no visible toilets, especially, for the love of all that is good and right in the world, no visible toilets with the lid or seat up holy crap.” The other good news in this situation . . . does not exist.

This wouldn’t be WTF Wednesday without presenting the incriminating evidence, which consists of photos I’ve taken of myself in bathrooms over a number of years and voluntarily posted publicly on the internet. These should be marked NSFLife.

*trigger warning: bathroom photos*
Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Tracy

September 21st, 2011 at 9:39 pm

Posted in and life,WTF?

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