I got a brand-new, full-time, fancy-schmancy, grown up job. And since my lease is coming due in the near future, I've decided it's time to get a bigger place. As quaint as the last year and a half has been, 240 sq ft is not the most practical to have friends over or to do my Sweatin' to the 80s video. I've been searching the web and driving around looking for a new place to live. While I'm making more money than I ever have, my close friends Sally Mae and Señior Private Loan are keeping me in a choke hold.   

Always have a safe word. {via}

 So it'll probably be another studio apartment but a little more spacious this time. Maybe 400 sq ft. In the meantime here are some weird things that have been happening:

Springtime. Birds are chirping. Flowers are blooming. Finding a bug in my apartment. A big one.
Troubling: Approaching the bug and thinking, "You're going to need a bigger shoe."

"Nevermind, the apartment's all yours." {via}

Looking for a bigger apartment.
Troubling: 1. Hoping that cute looking apartment I just drove by is crappy enough on the inside that I can afford it.
2. Hoping that crappy apartment that I can afford is nice enough on the inside that I don't get some kind of fungal foot disease.

Two of my favorite things: lip gloss and strong coffee.
Troubling: Picking out a spring shade of gloss with a nice sales lady and realizing I have a big ol' coffee ground stuck in my front teeth.

Teeth, they prefer tea. Makes sense. (Want to know more about teeth? Click here.)

Spending the last few weeks searching for a new apartment. Coming home to my "cozy" studio one evening and my key doesn't work.
Troubling: Realizing my apartment is never going to let me leave.
Troubling#2: And it's not going to let me have my stuff back.

Or it's just being haunted by Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis. {via}

Not having any idea of where I'm going to live next year, but knowing it won't be here.
Troubling: Feeling a little bit sad about it.

I have an announcement. And it's kind of a big deal, so prepare yourself.

In the next month, I will no longer be living below the poverty line. That's right, I will be introduced to the luxuries of the lower middle class.

Can I borrow that top? {via}

Now instead of crunching the numbers before every purchase, I can put the saying, "Keepin' up with the Joneses" to a very minimal use. Generic brand? HA! Actually, I'll still need to buy the generic brand. It's not like I found a money tree. But now when it says buy three and save, I can buy three and save. (You know, instead of just buying one because that's all I could afford even though it would make more sense and save you more money in the long run to buy all three (breath)... You know.)

I might have to start listening to the Boss so I don't lose touch.

An article, from a reputable source (wikipedia), stated most Americans between the ages of 25-75 spend at least one year living below the poverty line.

The Poverty Line. It has a face. Eerily similar to Angela Lansbury {via}

I spent ten months below the poverty line, but I'm getting out early. Precocious? No. It means I have AT LEAST another two months in the next fifty years to get real poor again.

Looking forward to it.

But to my current and soon to be past place of employment, it's been real. We've had some good times.
Don't wear your hair that way.

Just a hat? I like your style.

Did you smell that? That's the pungent smell of desperation as guys of all ages try to create an evening of sweet and thoughtful gestures for their "Pooky Bear."

Love it or hate it, it's almost Valentine's Day. I tend to feel pretty indifferent about it. Unless I get some chocolate, then my vote starts swinging towards loving it.

Valentine’s Day is one of the worst (/best) days out of the year for things to go terribly wrong. And, let’s be honest, they usually do. I have to admit, there's something funny about hearing others’ uncomfortable and failed romantic dates (I know it's wrong. Stop judging me).

In my experience most guys aren’t romantic, unless you’re dating a Harlequin Romance writer (In which case an awkward Valentine’s Day isn’t your biggest problem.)

I find this incredibly romantic

FAILED ROMANCE: An old acquaintance once told me about his gift to his then-girlfriend. It was the typical Valentine’s Day. He saved for weeks to buy her flowers, candy and a pricey bracelet. Sounds great, but it was more like the conditions for a perfect storm. She wasn't on the same page, unfortunately, and gave him one of those cookie cakes from the mall.

Happy Tenth Birthday!

The girl had asked the cookie stand to put, in french of course, “I love you” with frosting. When he opened it his disappointed expression lead to a very dramatic fight. To make matters worse she also bought him a pair of silk boxers with hearts on them.

Boxers ≠ True Love {via}

We’ve all heard these stories. There’s so many ways for it to go wrong: miscommunication, hurt feelings, dramatic fights and maybe best of all, the exchange of really terrible gifts.
“Do you even know me?” should probably never be uttered on Valentine’s Day. So I did a little research and came up with a list of things to avoid giving your "Cuddle Cakes" on the fourteenth.

Don't get a cutesy stuffed animal.

"I don't know you. At all." {via}

Or a Venereal animal.

"Surprise! I've been meaning to tell you..." {via}

Undies/lingerie. As good as your intentions, just don't.

No {via}

Made in the USA? NO {via}

"I got you these creepy footsie pajamas" {via}

Don't get your girl a globe. Because she'll never forget that you got her a globe. On Valentine's Day. She will NEVER forget.

Red flag {via}

Pizza Party!/unforgettable night

If you're struggling for the perfect gift for your "Huggalump," just keep it simple. Put on some slow jam and give a thoughtful card. Like this:

Always {via}

I guess it's become a Christmas tradition for my dad to drive 16 hours a few days before Christmas to drive me from Wisconsin to Missouri. Some people have tree trimming and Christmas carols, we have sleep deprivation and 450 miles in a Prius.

Why don't I just drive myself? Because I drive this:

That's a lie {via}

This year's road trip was a little different than last year's. I had just finished a month of Holiday retail madness at work and my dad was wasting his only day off to work Driving Miss Daisy style to my pampered self. This year was less awkward conversation and more:


Just like last year we did pass the roadside Christmas light display. Somehow I managed to convince my dad that it was must of this road trip. He paid the eight dollars at the front gate and the lady handed us a handful of candy canes.

Sam: (talking around a candy cane) This is going to be great!
Dad: (Dryly) The candy canes alone were worth it. 

We crept along the road lit up in Christmas light splendor. Within the first couple of seconds I was surprised to feel disappointment. My dad, not surprised. Making the best out of an embarrassing choice, we both got out our phones and starting filming the whole pathetic ride.

Sam: This is embarrassing. Why did I think this was a good idea?!
Dad: (Gleefully, dripping with sarcasm)Your Mother's not going to want to miss this.

My mother did miss it. We both forgot to hit record on our phones.

While driving out of the Christmas light display:
Sam: I can't believe we just wasted eight dollars on that.
Dad: We could have seen a better light display in any trailer park in Mid Missouri.

Nothing really interesting happened on this road trip. Not surprising since we were driving through Iowa. But I did learn a very valuable lesson on this trip. Don’t do your Christmas shopping early. Next year I’m just going to use this trip home as the time to find that perfect gift for everyone on my list. Just look at these little gems I found in a gas station:

Precious

By the way this was the new horrible ornament I bought this year. It's about 8 inches long and looked great on the front of my parent's tree.

Happy New Year!!

Thanksgiving has come and passed, and the horrid memory of Black Friday is becoming less vivid, officially marking the Christmas Season. I've got the puny tinsel tree out of the closet, Christmas music blaring from the radio, cards and gift buying on my to do list, and a long list of holiday recipes ready to fill my tiny apartment with Christmas joy. It truly is the best time of the year.

But every year there's one thing that tries it's hardest to dampen my Christmas spirit. My car. It's the Scrooge to my Tiny Tim.

...nope {via}

The Christmas season is it's favorite time of year to break down. And right on cue, it broke down last week. 

For about a week it took it's pretty little time starting up. It would groan and shake for about five minutes but finally start so I could drive to work. On a Friday, it decided 20 degrees was just too cold, sputtered then died, refusing to restart. Leaving me with public transit to get to work.

It's been awhile since I've rode the bus and I'd forgotten all the characters you meet. As I waited at the bus stop, I remembered an episode of the Late Show in which David Letterman was giving relationship advice. To paraphrase, he said if you can't find a date you should just ride the bus around and you're bound to find someone.

After paying the fare, I made my way to the middle of the bus. After deciding not to sit by the twitching guy, I found a seat by young man. He was drooling. Letterman has clearly never ridden the bus.

Don't follow relationship advice from this man {via}

After a weekend of public transit, I took my car to the repair man on Monday morning. He has long hair pulled back into a ponytail, listens to screaming 80s heavy metal, and doesn't have all of his teeth. There's an assortment of half naked girls on the walls and a pirate flag hanging from the ceiling of his shop.

Doppelganger {via}

He's also the best repair guy I've ever had and at the top of my Christmas card list.

So I've got my wheels back and it's back to listening to the 24 hour Christmas music station, God Bless us, everyone.

Oh, and what says Christmas more than Bing Crosby and young Bowie dueting? You're welcome.

Here are 10 reasons why (or Reasons I'm not aging gracefully):

1. After four hours of sleep I no longer have the stamina to jump out of bed, pound a couple espressos and then run around like I'm hyped up on meth. Instead, I do a very good impression of a zombie.

She's not 21 anymore either... {via}

2. Instead of dreaming about Ryan Gosling, I now dream about a dish washer.
3. Common Saturday night at 21: Going out. Common Saturday night at 25: Sitting in a chair, feet in a lavender foot soak, falling asleep at 7:30.

{via}

4. Credit cards no longer seem like a magical, wish granting, VIP card.
5. At 21 I wanted a boyfriend. At 25 I would be just as happy with a masseur, a personal grocery shopper, and a chef (I got 99 problems but a ...).
6. I no longer get food poisoning from my own cooking (on average). Expiration dates, unlike speed limits, are not suggestions.
7. Eating three pieces of cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory (Year 2007) is no longer an epic account of youthful metabolism, but a cautionary tale of "Minute on the lips, forever on the hips."

{via}

8. Some shoes have such a thing as arch support. I now know about it. 
9. The allure of apartment living loses it's luster when you can hear bathroom sounds from the upstairs neighbors. Ew.
10. I used to wear one carefully planned outfit all day. Now when I get home it's elastic waist sweats. Next step: Uggs. Aging truly is scary.

Please, no. {via}

Remember in Scream when Drew Barrymore is blond and she's on the phone with Ghostface and he asks, "Do you like scary movies?" And then there's the crazy chase scene through the house, fire, blood and finally ending with (spoiler alert!) a hanging?!

I don't watch scary movies because I can't handle them. And by scary, I am including movies shown on the Lifetime channel and anything with Christopher Walken (he creeps me out). But once a year, I make an exception. In the weeks leading up to Halloween I really get into the spirit. Not in a gothy, hang out in morgues, seance kind of way but in a much more normal way like decorating your house and watching people do weird things, like this:

Pig tails were a good choice {via}

or...

geez {via}

I admit, I haven't watched any scary movies lately (besides Muriel's Wedding which was scary in a very different way) but I have been appreciating all the spooky and bizarre decorations popping up around town. It seems decorations can go two ways: scary or disappointing. One example: a couple streets from my parent's home there is a family that puts out a cemetery every year. I know what you're thinking. Cemetery? That sounds creepy. But no, this fake cemetery is not creepy. Why? It's tiny. Not Steven King Pet Sematary...

Cujo: The Conclusion? {via}

but smurf graveyard.

picture true to size

From what I learned last year, Madison loves it's Halloween. They really do it up right. I've tried to take some pictures of some good ones.
Time to share: (this could be as bad as any slide show vacation pictures...)

Stage Left... Packers?

Stage Right

Scary