Category Archives: Rants

Dear Verizon, %$@#*

Did I mention that I hate swapping cell phones?  I haven’t blogged about this for the entirety of the summer because I’ve just been living in dread.  The whole process has got to be one of Dante’s Circles of Hell.

We have been to the Verizon store three times this evening. 

We have been on the phone with Verizon for two hours this morning.

Marcus has pretended to be his father, and I’ve pretended to be his mother, so we could get his number released from Verizon so that we could create another Verizon account.  Apparently if you don’t have a Verizon phone (comme moi), this is a non-issue and they’ll just steal your phone number from whatever carrier you were using.

For the record, if you’re trying to get in-touch with me, it could take anywhere between 30 minutes and 48 hours for me to get my old phone number back.  So feel free to try, but as of now, we’ve got nothing.  I do, however, have an exciting mystery-number for the time being that isn’t worth giving out.

Don’t even get me started about what happens if you let Facebook onto your phone.  It’s cringe-inducing (including incorporating all of your Facebook friends into your contacts list…like seriously, just kill me now.  Please.).  Especially since lately, Facebook and I just haven’t been on the same wave.

To make things even more ridiculous, after talking on my phone for all of three minutes tonight, it’s become deadly-apparent to me that the speaker on my phone is broken (It rattles.  We did a test and Marcus’ is clear as day).  So now I have to fight-my-way to the top of the waiting list at the Verizon store for the next Droid X so that they can replace the thing because it’s defective. 

For what it’s worth, for all of that horror, the phone itself is pretty freaking gorgeous.  The display is incredible and the app-support is insane (coming from a BlackBerry AND iPod Touch user).  I spent zero time researching the phone in advance (that was Marcus’ bag) but truly, I am astonished.


Issues addressed.

This we know to be true: Last weekend was not kind to my fingernails.  They endured all manner of horrifying chipping that left me on Monday, quite frankly, totally ashamed of my hands for the first time in my life.

Consider that issue addressed.

An issue that’s not been addressed?

My eyes.

I’m not sure if it’s the mascara I bought last week, the fact that running after work seems to heat-seal whatever amount of make-up remains on my person to my face, or the fact that I think the skin underneath my eyes is allergic to sweating.  But that skin underneath my eyes?  Not sexy.  Unless you’re into elephant skin.

See, I’m painfully minimalist when it comes to skin-care routines.  My body is a perfect environment.  But this.  This.  THIS.  I am simply at a loss as to what one does in this sort of situation.

I’ve sworn off eyeliner since Saturday, which I think gives me a really effortless “beach-y natural” look, composed of blush, bronzer, eye shadow and one blink’s worth of mascara.

What the rest of the world sees: A girl who is in a bad, bad place.

Operation: Face Lotion has begun.

On the bright side, since I had the day off yesterday, after all of our errands-running and re-settling in, I finally got to go and watch Marcus’ kickball team, Blue Steel play.

I wish I could say that the game was riveting, but this is what happened instead…

Roxy, the Teacup Chihuahua

Puppy Patrol

I’m just going to throw this out there, and y’all can throw it back…But I truly did not envision my first chihuahua-toting experience as being perched on-top of a cooler, sans-makeup clutching a Miller Lite in a baseball glove turned makeshift-can coozie.

I mean, at least I was wearing pink, but that’s just not how I saw it all playing out.

Need it now.

Internet, I need a wife.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite pleased about the fact that Marcus and I are “living in sin,” as it were.  My clothes?  All in one place.  My groceries?  All in one place.  Everything I need to run the kitchen I want to have?  ALL IN ONE PLACE.

And I don’t even need to say it because y’all already know, but did I mention the wireless internet and cable? 

So modern.

I am a Domestic Goddess and a Working Woman.

Except for the fact that I did not sign up to have two jobs.  I have no interest in doing two jobs.  It’s just not what I do.  I am a one job girl.  Obviously. 

I get that some people think that “having it all” means being able to successfully run a home AND have a job, but that seems like some sort of man-slang for Queen Pack Rat.  For men, “having it all” means having one job.  Period.  And a woman by their side that “has it all.” 

I hope you’ll understand that it all sounds a little bit hinky to me.

Seeing as my days of yoga, lunching and chardonnay are not even remotely near, I’ve decided that the easiest way to address the situation, is to get a wife.

So what will my dream woman do?  It’s quite simple, really.  She will…

  • Intuitively know how to deal with everything on my “honey-do” list, including the tasks that involve putting away objects in obscure places knownst only to me.
  • Know exactly the way that I like to load the top rack of the dishwasher and how I discriminate between what is “top rack material” versus what belongs on the bottom.
  • Be readily able to run errands for me, including perfect execution of our weekly shopping list as well as the ability to shop for make-up, shampoo, and other lady toiletries.
  • Surprise me with the odd small skinny vanilla latte from Caribou.

This sounds like the right sort of game plan to me.

On prettier things…

Friends, story of my life (coming off of one of the gnarliest Mondays ever), I woke up this morning with a zit above my left eyebrow.  Not just above it, but rather more in the “middle of my forehead”-above.  No lie, I have not had a zit since my freshman year of college and it has been pure magic. 

Right now?  Just call me tri-clops.

Yes, that means at this point right now, you should be referring to me as Puffy McPufferson-Tri-Clops.  It’s a new twist on an old favorite – the hyphenated last name.  But I think we can all agree that it would be best if I don’t have to add another name tomorrow.

That little splash of insanity aside, it’s been so long since I’ve had a zit, I don’t even know what you do with the damn things.  Inhale an entire pack of birth control pills and zap it with some hormone-induced rage?

Probably not.

But a girl can dream…right?  And, in the meantime, since the unvarnished truth is no fun to focus on, let’s turn our minds to prettier things.

Obviously, if I wasn’t working in a business-casual office (or really, if I wasn’t working at all) and if money wasn’t of any particular importance, this is what I would love to be cavorting around in this week.

What’s not to love, right?  All of it is gorgeous and none of it violates my rule on purchasing over-priced jersey fabrics, which Katie* seems to embrace enthusiastically as well.  Live the rule and love it, friends.

Show me your Hangry Face

I’m 100% positive that I’m food obsessed at the moment.

Between the lovely candy that made an appearance in my Easter Basket yesterday…

(Be honest, you know you’re dying to bite the ears off of that thang too.)

And the insatiable urge to stuff my face with a sandwich of some description.  Preferably a hot one…on the order of a grilled cheese or a burger. 

Different ends of the spectrum, same end result: happy Kat.

Some girlfriends were talking about eating tacos and I was thinking about how delicious a nice, totally stuffed, topped off with spicy sauce taco would be.  And then I thought OH WAIT, YOU CAN’T EAT THAT EITHER.


All I’m sayin’ is that if Moses could have, you know, let the women in on the big secret like an hour sooner, we would not be having this problem today.  How’s that for a good example of not thinking through a situation before you act?  THOUSANDS OF YEARS LATER we are still living with the repercussions.

I think it should come as no surprise to you all that “hangry” wouldn’t be an entirely inaccurate description of my feelings toward the world at this very specific moment in time.

A rant et les jeux olympiques d’hiver.

I am SO over the feeling that when I drive through my apartment parking lot, I’m off-roading.  Like, what?  This is 2010, we live in Minnesota.  Snow/Ice removal should not be the challenge of the century.  I mean, we’re like talking about either a foot of ice or a foot of water/slush.  Nobody wins.  If I can make it through the rest of the winter with my tires and suspension intact, I will be thankful.

On a note of self-loathing, I got sucked into watching The Bachelor this season.  Which would be unfortunate to begin with, except for the fact that Jake is pretty much the worst bachelor of all time.  I mean, there’s literally nothing that’s redeeming about the man.

And finally, I absolutely can’t believe that I haven’t taken any time to share my thoughts on the Olympics with you all!  To summarize: I still hold to the theory that we could host the games here since another area in which we, Team U.S.A. are beating Team Canada is appropriate weather.  Even though I think it’s cliche, I am 100% team Lindsey Vonn.  For the men’s long program, I turned off the t.v. following Evan Lysacek’s program.  I figured if his performance wasn’t good enough for the gold, then the rest of the competition wasn’t worth watching.  The Opening Cermonies weren’t a total fail, but they could have at least tried to make it look like they were trying.  I REALLY don’t understand the difference between Ice Dancing and Pairs Skating.  I am thankful that they turned to Ralph Lauren to do some of our national outfitting again.



Winter has a lot of gross parts.  Wind, Snow, EFFING FREEZING COLD TEMPERATURES, Ice, Shivering, you know…the usual.  But the part I really hate the most surprisingly isn’t the uncontrollable shivering (which I am an expert at).  It’s the dryness.  There’s just something about having all of the moisure sucked out of my body that is just 
I’m a super-hydrator by nature, so trying to drink enough water to counter-act The Winter is awful.  Yesterday I realized exactly how perilous the battle with hydration is when I was chugging half of a 32 oz bottle of “Pure” (how ironic) Cranberry Beverage (it was15% juice) intended for mixed drinks while trapped in traffic on the drive home from the Mikvah.
And then there’s the lip-chapping and the nail cracking and all of the sudden winter isn’t just a pretty snow scene, it’s a horror show.