9.30.2014

a novel snippet

i assume that most people like to read.
at least people i like to be friends with (if not - i can kind of look passed it).
i thought i would take the opportunity to introduce you to jenn.  who is one mighty nice lady and one helluva writer.  you can find her blogging at quirky pickings where she does some of the best giveaways and has great posts and just in general she's like the nicest person and one of my most favorite internet friends.

jenn is currently working on a novel and after reading the first chapter she sent me i demanded that she send me more and she did and it's excellent and i love it!  so here today is a snippet from said novel that i thought i would share with you!

so get your read on and then go ahead and let jenn know that you love it just as much as i do!


so there's this girl named isabel. she likes this guy called reese. and he likes her, but she's more than a little surprised by this. and not prepared for what happens next. their story begins three years ago in the fall.

“Isabel, it’s barely one,” Reese said.

She paused, angled her head so that she could see him. “I gotta be at school early.”

“On a Sunday?”

“I know.” She shoved her hair back. Not because it was in her way—she’d managed, miraculously, to get through a whole day without putting her hair up—but because she needed something to do with her hands to hide the way they sometimes shook, like her voice did, whenever she spoke to him. So she spoke fast. “I gotta get to the ceramics studio to finish up some projects.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll walk you out.”

Why? Her brow furrowed. “I’m not that far. Just the garage across the street. You don’t have to.” I kind of don’t want you to. Not that it’s not nice of you to offer. But, then I’d have to talk to you.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“Okay.” She waited, reluctantly, as Matthew let Reese out. He stood, placed a hand at the small of her back. A second of shock. Of alarm. Her dark eyes widened then fluttered shut as her mindset shifted from appalled to appreciative—it actually felt kind of nice to have his hand there—and then to wonder. What the hell? That’s not friendly. That’s… that’s… what the hell? Her gaze snapped to his. And she thought she saw amusement flash across his face.

“Change your mind? You gonna stay?”

He’s just being nice, Isa, which is what you like about him. Snap out of it. “No.” She turned her head and marched to the entrance. Glanced at the bouncers as she uttered, “Good night.”

His hand wasn’t at her back anymore. She’d walked a little too quickly for that. To keep her hands busy, for a distraction, she began twirling her keys. “I don’t know why you think I need an escort. I've walked to my truck a thousand times before by myself. I don’t—”

“I don’t understand why my walking with you is a big deal.”

Because I can’t talk to you! She walked faster. The sooner she got to her truck, the better. She didn’t even bother to check for traffic as they crossed to the movie theater and then again to the garage.

“I don’t understand that either,” he said.

“What's that?”

“You don’t talk much. Especially to me. If I didn’t know you, I’d think you didn’t like me.”

But I do. I do. “Maybe I don’t have much to say.”

“Oh, I doubt that. I think you have a lot to say. You just don’t say any of it.”

Hurry up, Isabel!

“Especially to me,” he repeated. “I wonder why that is.”

“I’m shy.”

“I know.”

Then why ask the question? “So?”

“So, I don’t understand why?”

She sighed. Because you’re a beautiful man, and I like looking at you. A good one, and I wouldn’t have a clue what to talk to you about because you’re you, and I’m me, and… I’m just a girl. Too damaged and far too fragile for the likes of you. “I don’t suppose just because would be a sufficient answer.”

“I suppose so. You’re gonna be at the studio all day tomorrow?”

Ugh. Unfortunately, yes. “God, I hope not.”

“What do you have to do?”

Pretty much everything. They’d gotten to her truck. She unlocked it, threw her things inside and stood there, her back against the cab. Sure, she liked looking at him. But not when he was looking at her. So she focused on everything she saw around him. The cracks in the concrete. The scuff marks on her favorite shoes, her Docs—I should take them to a shoe shop and have them cleaned. The shrubbery on the other side of the brick. The glint of chrome—And I should get my truck washed. And the gleam of red paint—Why anyone would spring for a red car, one the color of a tomato, and pay more to insure the thing makes no sense. Ceramics, Isabel. Focus. “I've to glaze three pieces and make one. I’ll probably be there all day. It’s gonna suck, but that’s what I get for cramming the majority of a semester’s work into one day, for waiting ‘til the last minute.” She glanced at her watch, more to busy her hands than to check the time. “I should’ve left earlier.”

“How much earlier? An hour? Two? We’d just gotten there at eleven.”

“Yeah. I know. But I won’t be in bed until two, and I doubt I’ll get to sleep until three, and I gotta get up at eight.” She’d been thinking aloud. Too much, Isabel. He doesn’t need to know this. She blew out a breath. “It’s late.”

“So. Sleep ‘til nine.”

“Can’t. Too much to do.” She looked him then. “Why do you ask anyway? You’re working, right?”

“Yeah. I was just curious.” He grinned.

Good Lord. She fought the urge to put a hand to her stomach, to chew on her lip.

“Making conversation,” he said.

“Hm. Okay. Well.” She pressed up against the truck. The way he was looking at her now… it was weird. She didn’t know what to think of it. “I’m gonna go.” She set a hand on the interior handle, pushed the door open wider and started to climb inside. His hand was on her again. This time, he’d wrapped his fingers around her arm above the elbow. Not tight. He didn’t hurt her. But the contact had unnerved her, nonetheless. And before she had a chance to say anything, he had turned her, stepped closer still and fixed his mouth on hers. Wait. Wait. What is this? You’re not supposed to be doing this. You’re not supposed to want to. I don’t know how to do this. Reese, wait. Wait. And then… two boys. The trees. The ground. Stop. Stop!

He did. Stepped back.

Just breathe, Isa. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. It’s Reese. Not them. He’s good. He’s good.
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9.29.2014

vacation woes

i'm literally counting down the days till the new year.
till 2015.
and for no reason other than i will once again have vacation days. 
HALLE-FREAKING-LUJAH.

between getting married and being in mexico for two weeks, getting pneumonia, and then also taking off of work for shitler's oral surgery tooth removal i was out of vacation days by the end of may.  as in there was still over six months left in the year and i have since relied only on the occasional holiday for a brief reprieve from work and i must admit that it's been a real struggle.  because combine that with working weekends at the restaurant and that leaves me with one day off a week.  woof.  and i've mainly only survived on hilarious internet pictures, wine, and various nonsense to keep me sane.  so at the stroke of midnight on the new year i'm going to immediately take at least three days off of work and hibernate in my house.  because come january in wisonsin i'm sure we will be balls deep in the polar vortex and it will be negative like a thousand degrees and it just makes sense to not leave the house as my first order of business in the new year.

and this all seemed appropriate to whine about on monday (see also: first world problems and yes i'm lucky to have vacation and mexico was a blasty).
because we're all back at work and generally hating life and everything in the universe is annoying us because the coffee isn't working and you couldn't sleep the night before so you stayed up till 2AM watching ella enchanted and then reruns of new girl that you've already seen a kajillion times.  oh wait - that's just me.
whatever.

in related news (internet things that have kept me sane) - i've been really into wombats lately.




p.s. that last one might be a beaver.  i'm not sure.  but it came up in my google search of wombats and i just really like calling people "noobs."
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9.25.2014

french whores

last night we moved grandma lincoln (shitler's grandma) from the third floor of her senior living apartment complex to the second floor.  and just the small taste of having to move not tons of stuff but enough stuff reminded me how much i truly hate moving.  and then it was like flashbacks of college inundated my brain and i was taunted with four years of having to move back and forth from minneapolis to the milwaukee area with a tiny car jam packed full of all my shit and i was like "WHY.  WHY.  WHY."

but that's neither here nor there because it was on one of my trips back downstairs that shitler's cousin (george) scampered up to me, full of giggles, and was like "smell your husband."  and i was like "uh what?  is he taking a shit?  did he fart?  because, gross, no i will not smell him."  and george was all "just trust me.  smell him."  and so i did.  and i was like "why are you wearing perfume?"  and george was snickering and said "i sprayed him with grandma's perfume!"  and then it became a battle royale of spraying each other with grandma's perfume and i was like "ugh.  bye."  and then a half hour later that tom's uncle started sniffing and said "what is that smell?  it smells like a french whore."  and george geeked out and said "uh that's grandma's perfume.  you just called grandma a french whore."  and then grandma lincoln was like "what are you all laughing about?"  and then shitler was like "grandma.  your perfume, which we're all wearing, danny thinks it smells like a french whore."  and then grandma was like "well."  and that was it.  and we all laughed hysterically.  because someone thinks grandma's perfume smells like a french whore and apparently grandma doesn't disagree. 

i couldn't have married into a more perfect family.

p.s.  i like to include at least a picture in all of my posts because things are fun to look at.  i couldn't decide what would be best suited for this post so i chose two pictures.  one is a picture of shitler and his grandma circa 2007 and also a picture of a cat with a hot dog delicately placed on said cat's side.




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9.24.2014

get you some. or at least one.

hey girls heyyyyyyy.
happy wednesday to you and yours.
and yours can be whoever you want it to be.
sometimes, in my mind, i'm really married to jeremy piven (ari gold) and not shitler.
but that's neither here nor there
because there are two things i love a lot in life.  wine and shitler.
so when whitney was all "hey whore, look at this" and showed me the newest #IWYP shirt for the month i died a few tiny, happy deaths because it's like it borderline spoke to my soul.  and when it arrived it was wrapped in golden deliciousness and a most delightful note.


and the shirt was even more magical than the note.
but then i was like "i don't enjoy having pictures taken of myself."  and then i was all "self, who do you know that will shamelessly let you photos of them in the most ridiculous of situations?"
and then i was like "OMG SELF - YOUR HUSBAND.  THIS IS YOUR LUCKY DAY!"
and then i was like "shitler - put this on.  just put this on and don't fight it."
and at first he fought it a bit and looked less than enthusiastic about the whole thing.


and then i was like "OMG I'M NOT WATERBOARDING YOU, QUIT LOOKING SO MISERABLE YOU FUCK."


but then it seemed like he really came into his own.
like was all "how would a blogger model this?"  and then he nailed the typical fashion blogger pose where they stare off into the distance looking at nothing and acting like they're too good for whoever they conned into taking pictures of them.


and i think that maybe the best thing about this shirt (besides the obviously lovely slogan) is that it really accentuates shitler's chest hair and he very clearly loves to sip on things so it just encompasses everything he's about.  which is chest hair and sipping beverages.

and then in the middle of me trying to coax something other than obvious disdain for me and what i was trying to encourage him to do it was like shitler had an epiphany and he was all "WWTBD?!"  which, for you losers that don't know, means "what would tyra banks do?"  and then he turned to the camera and smized so hard, giving me full H2T (head to toe), and fucking nailed it.



but seriously.
you should buy the shirt.  because it's delightfully comfortable.  the message is legit.  and also sparkles.

so you totally hit up the whitney's blog and get you one.
and you should do it right meow.  because today is the last day to get you one.
and then you'll be up shit creek without a paddle.
so go ahead and click here.

and also if you're interested in seeing what the shirt looks like on someone non-shitler then voila.

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9.23.2014

the more you know

you know what's mind blowing?
that people do shitty things.

BUT THEN you feel like the joke is on you because the world is filled with terribly, awful people and then you can't help but feel like the idiot considering it's something that you probably should have expected because duh people are monsters.

how is it that people don't live by the golden rule?  it seems so simple.  if there's something that i wouldn't want done to me, then i'm certainly not going to do it to someone else (ray rice - this applies to you and also AP - you fucks).  

and it's not that i necessarily have low standards when it comes to friendships, but that my requirements are basic at best.

don't steal from me.
don't be a cunt to me.
don't lie to me.
do drink wine with me.

those seem easy enough to abide by, right?
YOU WOULD THINK SO.
except then people that you thought were your friends go ahead and commit thievery and/or ruin your bachelorette party (yes that was like six months ago but i'm still salty over it because i didn't get to go to the strip club).  

so the moral of the story is "trust no one, question everything."
and now i'm going to google pictures of cats hugging each other.
it's the only constant good thing in my life (see also: yes i know that's dramatic).


p.s. i'm aware that it's not two cats.  but they're wearing clothes and they're snuggling and it makes me feel better about life.

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9.19.2014

hairless cat

remember when i wrote that post about getting my snooch waxed?
if you don't you can refresh your memory by clicking here.  and also here.
with that being said and read shitler told me that he would be home tonight.  as in like twelve hours from now or something.  and i was like "oh.  ok."  and then he was like "do you miss me?"  and i was like "i would like some D and some snuggsin."  and he was like "only if you're lucky."  and i was like "rude."  but then it dawned on me that my downstairs business was still like something out of rain forest and that it would probably take a machete to hack through it.  you're welcome for the visual.  and then i all of the sudden was like "fuck i thought i had more time to take care of my power bush."  but now the time is dwindling down to like hours and there's no time left to see my regular snooch lady and i'm sure as shit not going back to that one lady with the rubbing and the rounding of the imaginary bases and then i remembered that my friend mentioned that a new place opened up not too far from us.  and so i jumped online, googled, booked an appointment, and just like that i could add another person to the list of people who have seen my snooch at its very worst.  and i didn't even blink about adding to the list because since the place is new i get half off my snooch wax today.  so for $27.50 she'll be right as rain and just like that we all learned how cheap my snooch is.

tell no one about my cheap snooch.
i also think this means that i would be a terrible hooker.



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9.17.2014

shitler the blushing bride

if you're new around these parts - WELCOME.
if not - hey you're addicted to this trainwreck; like a crack you can't quit.  but it's cool because i'm not harmful to your health.  at least not that harmful.

but this blog is mostly about nothing.  and when it is about anything it's usually just random stories and pictures of shitler (and sometimes the dogs).  

so maybe shitler is my muse.  but don't tell him that.  
his ego is large enough as it is.  

which brings me to what i would like to tell you today.  shitler is the perfect subject for any and all photo taking.  i swear his eyes light up when i whip out my camera and it's just an instant show and i just click to my heart's content and usually end up with some sort of gold mine of loveliness.

with that being said i wanted to share a story from the one time i got married.
an anecdote, if you will.

so after everything was done.  like after all the ceremony crap and the vows and such our one-hour photographer took shitler and me on down the beach and started taking pictures.  i will say that i typically gush over all the gorgeous portrait shots of all the pretty bride ladies and i'm always all "UGH I WILL NEVER LOOK LIKE THAT."  but then people are like "just you wait for your big day, you sure will."  and i'm here to tell you that i proved all those people wrong (i actually don't think anyone told me that but it was mainly just me reassuring myself in my head).  first and foremost our photographer didn't speak english so he brought along a translator and giving that i was slightly buzzed off of champagne i wasn't really comprehending the things that they wanted me to do (like the by myself shots).  the translator lady kept taking my flowers and whipping her hand back behind her and then the photographer would gesture wildly and all excited like "YES!  that's it!  that's how you do it!"  and i was all like "uhhhhh i don't get it.  like this?"


and as you can tell from my face i was clearly questioning whether or not i was nailing this.
and the answer is no.
and then they kept trying to demonstrate.  but in like the same way they initially tried to show me what to do and i couldn't help but think "uh that clearly didn't work the first time so maybe try a different way or maybe we could just skip this pose entirely because i'm remedial."  but not - they kept trying.  and then i like slightly gave up.  and then they took this photo.


i call that one "I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK YOU WANT FROM ME I'M BAD AT THIS LET'S PLEASE STOP."  but then shitler stepped in and said "you would be a terrible model.  you don't know how to take direction" and ripped the bouquet from my hand and demonstrated, to a tee, what the photographer wanted.


and then i tried one more time.


and still failed.
so.much.awkwardness.

so the moral of the story is that it was shitler's day, he's a way better model than i will ever be, and also i'm terrible at taking direction.

Wedding Wednesday


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