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Brunch (via Hot Sofa)

11 Dec

We get to spend our brunch with Enya from Hot Sofa and some of our other favorite lovelies tomorrow. Don’t be jealous!

I’ve gotta say, I’d never thought about the maturation of my brunch habits until Hot Sofa laid them out for me. Check it out. I think she hit the nail on the head.

Brunch I have a hot brunch date coming up on Sunday. After much schedule discussion, taking into consideration adequate time to accommodate for some holiday party hangover recovery, this group of friends decided on a time. One-thirty in the afternoon. Bring on the waffles! I fully expect this “brunch” to last at least three hours. I’d be shocked if it didn’t. Something about tasty food, catching up, and planning future events does not bode well for a sh … Read More

via Hot Sofa

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Bad Attitudes

24 Nov

I’ve gotten approximately 3 solid hours of sleep in the last two days. Which means that Mike has probably only gotten about half that.

Do not judge me.

Last night I refused to eat unless he went on a corn dog run.

He did it.

He did it even though he called me a dick on Sunday.  He did it even though we had yet another fight about how I hate, hate, hate the holidays. And despite the fact that I threw one of his cats out onto the balcony Saturday morning.

Yeah, I’ve had a bad attitude lately.

Today our girl Redhead Writing posted about how we should basically stop being such assholes. (Seriously oversimplified). So, I’m giving myself an attitude adjustment.

Tomorrow I’m going to get up and watch the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, thankful that my dear friend, Phil, has had such a successful year in New York.  Then I’m going to put on my cute lace dress that Mike bought me with room in the tummy for Smokey and I’m going to stop being an asshole long enough for Mike to enjoy his Thanksgiving.

I mean, the man went out in the cold to get me a corn dog last night when I could have just eaten the delicious pasta he made.

And I am thankful. For our wonderful TTTM community here. For the fact that theVar and I have had a blast these last several months coming up with crazy stuff to say. And for all of you – readers, friends, folks that keep us accountable.

Thanks, yo!

Guest Post: Making friends and going places

26 Oct

Our post today comes from my Lady Crush, Girlasaurus Rex. I met her a year or so ago and fell in love right away. She’s funny, smart and foul. All of my favorite qualities. Plus. she has a heart of gold. Did I mention that I really admire the way she makes shit happen for herself. Yeah, she’s pretty much a rock star. Enjoy…

When I was five, the second worst punishment you could leverage on the playground was, “oh yeah? Well you’re not invited to my birthday party anymore!” No matter how far away your actual birthday was. I believe kids innately understand the importance of social networking. The worst punishment? “You’re not my best friend anymore.” Ahh yes, even as a child I was a prolific emotional terrorist.

Awwww BFFs today. Years later the one on the left bangs the other kid's wife. Image courtesy of timeinc.net

But it was so easy to remedy those tragedies. You’d either make a new best friend before lunch or forget about the whole thing altogether by the time you got on the school bus that afternoon. As long as you weren’t the smelly kid (you know there was always one in every class), it was pretty easy to make friends from preschool through approximately 8th grade. I won’t touch high school in this post. No way.

A couple or three decades later, the protocol is worlds different. Friendship becomes something you earn based on a very ethereal recipe of mores. Sometimes friends are friends because they’ve known each other for years. They’ve been with each other through the worst and best parts of their lives and come out the other side together, often with some kind of freaky Vulcan mind-meld powers to show for it.

Some friends have what I like to call a “flash friendship” which is maybe not quite as sturdy a foundation as the previous, but is still loads of fun and enrichment. Flash friends meet in a whirlwind. Maybe they bond as coworkers. Maybe they meet as acquaintances of acquaintances and some common spark between them explodes into a feeling like they were Siamese twins in a former life. I have introduced so many flash friends over the years I’ve lost count, but I rarely make them myself. Always a bridesmaid, right? Sometimes these friendships endure the ages; sometimes they burn out in a dramatic cataclysm of horrific proportions. Real bad to deal with, real fun to watch.

Some friends used to be more than friends. Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Those friends are solid. It would be a mistake to discount that kind of friendship just because she got what you need, but she say he just a friend.  To have loved (or lusted) a person, hit hard times and split up, gone through any number of emotional and psychological hells to come to terms with the split and then decide the person is still so valuable to you that platonic love is an option? That’s gold.

And what else? How does one make friends in the absence of all the above situations? I find myself at a loss. The older I get the more difficult I find it is to actually make new friends. I can make the shit out of an acquaintance, but as I creep out of my youth, the number of people I feel comfortable calling up “just to talk” shrinks along with many other things in my rear view.

Damn that was some melodramatic bullshit. Let’s get own to brass tacks: I lived in the same place (give or take a hundred miles) from birth through the twilight of my twenties. I made a lot of friends. I grew out of a lot of friends. I filled every pocket of the above friendship categories and invented a few more, to boot. I’ve received so many suggestions on how to meet people, how to get myself out of solitude and into new social circles, but none so far as to how to take the acquaintance beyond coffee and chit chat without being creepy. I don’t know, is it creepy or too forward to tell a person flat out, “I like you and I think we should spend more time together. Let’s ditch this coffee house, pick up some beer and head back to my place for the greatest Wii bowling tourney you’ll ever lose.”  Because that’s really all I’m looking for: a new ass to kick at Wii.

So what happened, Scoundrels? Tell me how you all ended up BFFs with folks you didn’t meet on a school bus.

Mustache Rides?

19 Oct

image courtesy of give-us-money.blogspot.com

Every October our dear friend, Ben, grows one of the worst mustaches we have ever seen.

For charity.

So here at TTTM, we wanted to swing our support  behind him and encourage you Scoundrels to do the same.

Mustache 4 Cash supports local non-profits that help “at-risk youth” in the Metro Denver area.  Every October young professionals spend the month growing mustaches and the ladies join the fun by sporting high-res, colored streaks in their hair.

It’s sexy, it’s awesome, it’s for the kids.

The growers and colorers raise funds through donations and then there’s a big party at the end.

During our research, we found that Ben has only raised $5 to date. Um, that just won’t do for a friend of TTTM.  Click on Ben’s name to donate. And remember, Scoundrels, this is for a good cause, so dig into those pockets and show Ben some love. Did I drive that home with the Ben hyperlinks? Good!

For more information or to become a grower or colorer, visit Mustache 4 Cash.

The dark side of co-habitation part 2: On cats, couches and sharing the covers

15 Oct

Life as I know it is about to change. In exactly one week, Mike and I sign a lease and move into our new place together.

Holy ish. *Cue panic attack.

I lurve Mike, so why panic? Well, it’s a big change from the unattached life to the land of co-habitation. I’m not really worried that we’ll have problems living together. Sure, there will be arguments and blow outs and even tender moments. It’s more that I’m losing my alone time. Where I can sit on my couch in my underwear and pluck my eyebrows while wearing a pore cleansing mask and munching on hummus and pita chips. All the while singing songs from RENT or Spring Awakening.

I can’t do that in front of Mike. Frowny face.

But we’re moving forward in our relationship, which means moving in together.  So there you have it.

 

image courtesy of frugalnfit.wordpress.com

 

I have found that anytime you decide to hitch your wagon to someone’s horse, it comes with – oh, let’s just call it baggage. And my dear boyfriend just so happens to come with two rather furry, and at times infuriating  pieces of baggage: cats.

For those of you who read my personal blog, you know I have a history with these cats. And the scars to prove it.  So the idea of living with these cats full-time is one that I’m not actually all that fond of. In my head I run a cost/benefit analysis. Mike comes with the cats, and I love him enough to put up with them. Continue reading

The dark side of co-habitation: part one in a series

1 Oct

I’ve long been the person that would say “let’s just get apartments in the same building” regarding living with a mate.

In theory, it’s the perfect scenario. Separate living quarters for the alone time we all crave, with the convenience of living with in steps on your loved one. Seriously, talk me out of that one. Talk about guaranteeing  the longevity of a relationship.

image courtesy of http://essenceoflifechronicles.comYou add a baby to that equation, and suddenly my bright idea makes for a dysfunctional family waiting to happen. So fine. The boyfriend and I embarked on the Great Apartment Search of 2010.

Holy shitballs, Scoundrels. It’s one thing to search for a place on your own, but it’s a whole different animal to consider the needs, desires and whims of another.

I mean really. Who needs a dishwasher and AC? My fancy pants boyfriend, that’s who.

We finally found a place. After over a month of looking. Note: I’ve gone out looking on a Saturday morning and signed a lease by that same evening. The drama, stress and toll it takes on a person to search Craigslist on the daily for a flipping apartment is something that no one should bear. Especially for a month.

I have discovered that Craigslist is really only good for the Missed Connections listings and PNP (if you’re into that). Otherwise, it’s a cesspool of half truths and misleading location listings. GLENDALE IS NOT CHERRY CREEK, Craigslist. Glendale is a bed bug infested shithole.

In the end, I will say that we did find a great place, in our budget, with AC and a dishwasher and in the neighborhood I wanted. Plus, it’s 1,100 glorious square feet of newly remodeled (read no bed bugs) urban comfort. *sigh of relief*

I know I’m difficult. And as this series progresses, I’ll reveal more about how hard I am to live with.

For today, Scoundrels, tell me. Tell me your apartment hunting with a mate horror stories. Or tell me about how you breezed through the process and happily found the perfect place with no stress.

Although, I may put bodily injury to you up on a vision board if you come to me with that shit. Just sayin’.

When paths diverge

28 Sep

There are times in life where you realize that you are on a different path than all of your friends.

There you are. Alone. And it’s your choices that have gotten you there.

I realized this about myself a few weeks ago. I’ll soon be the first of most of my friends to crap out a baby. Many of the friends in my circle don’t ever intend to have kiddos. But hey, this is no sob story, I stand by my decision to start a family.

The thing is, while it seems to happen at one moment when you’ve made a huge decision for yourself, you and your friends, and all the people around you are all actually on different paths. All the time. Continue reading

Guest Post: Sick & Wrong? Possibly. Happy? Most Definitely

24 Sep

Today’s guest post comes to us from Jane, a TTTM reader and blogger of Jane’s Infinite Wisdom. To be honest, we don’t know much about Jane other than she has balls of steel. Jane submitted her post to give us a little glimpse into the life less ordinary. Thanks, Jane!

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ll never get married. You’re one of those people destined for eccentricity, yelling at kids to get off your lawn!”

I don’t remember what I said to my best friend to illicit that response but I do remember it stung enough to be able to recall it nearly 20 years later.

image courtesy of http://engagements.ca

I think I tried to get married just to spite her. I spent most of my 20’s locked in a relationship even though it didn’t feel right and I lived my life as though I was already a suburban mundane despite the fact that he and I didn’t live together, or near one another for that matter, most of the time. Once the proposal happened and the wedding planning began in earnest though, I freaked out. I ended the relationship over the silliest possible reason and walked away with a sigh of relief. Had texting been available back then, I likely would have been one of *those* people. Fortunately, my moral standing was somewhat upheld in that I was forced to do it by telephone.

Continue reading

From the broke files: It’s a pic-a-nic basket!

6 Aug

By Sara Downey
blogger for meanest look

As the summer winds down, I’m reminded of one of my favorite fair weather activities: picnics!  The true beauty of the picnic is that the you get to decide how much you want your meal to cost. Some picnics can be as simple as a baguette and some wine. Or you can do it old school and pack in some potato salad, chicken and watermelon. Either way, you set the price tag.

Even cartoon bears can appreciate a good picnic.

The flexibility also makes it great for dates. Actually, there is no more perfect date than an impromptu picnic. It’s so romantic to just grab your food and head to a park to sit under the sky and share a meal. Aww tender.

Wait just a minute, is that girl bear topless? What is going on in the world of cartoon bears where the dudes are wearing ties and #nopants but the  lady bears are topless? And what did they bring for their picnic? Is that ice cream? Boo Boo looks suspicious eating a whole carrot on a plate like that. Hmmm, I should have picked out a better picture.

Um, sorry, that was a bit off topic. Back to picnics. In summary, picnics are a great way to rock a budget friendly date. Cartoon bears confuse me.

Scoundrels, what do you pack for a perfect picnic? Also, how effed up were the cartoons we were watching as kids? My goodness!

Guest Post: I’m too old for this shit, too young to go to bed at 8

4 Aug

She’s a Girl with Glasses can’t be the only one out there in this predicament. Wait. Should I use the word predicament? I mean, we non-children-having-some-would-say-lucky bastards may be in the predicament. All I know is I don’t have kids. I’m one of the fucks she keeps referring to that goes out doing cooler things. Or so I think they’re cool. No. They are cool. Right?

Meet Girl with Glasses

A friend asked me the other day what I did on Saturday night. I think he was unimpressed with my answer: drank Diet Pepsi while watching canceled television shows on Netflix Instant Play, at the same time reveling in the silence of my sleeping children. What, that doesn’t sound like a wicked good Saturday night to you?

I never claimed to be the coolest duck in the pond (that designation would clearly go to Donald, because the guy can rock out without pants and no one, over a half century later, has had the nerve to bring it up to him), but I find myself less cool with every passing year. It’s difficult to be cool when you can never leave the house. The odd happy hour invitation or music gig must be weighed against the husband’s work schedule, appointments, how much sleep I managed the night before, whose car has gas, and the most recent time I conned my parents into baby-sitting. My husband works evenings, and so his few nights off a week have to be orchestrated: my time out, his time out, our time home together ignoring each other.

I’ve marveled at my single and childless friends and the amount of time they spend out doing far cooler things than I. I follow them on Facebook, through Foursquare, popping handfuls of M&M’s in my mouth as though I’m watching a movie. “Ohh, they’re at the Meadowlark now! I wonder who’s playing… Nice, after bar snacks the Denver Diner…” It’s both pathetic and reassuring, this night out while I wear my pajamas and take in season two of Veronica Mars for the tenth time. Maybe I’m not out in lipstick and doing that hip wiggle that comes onto me when I get a couple shots of tequila under my belt, but I can predict the photos that will be coming from my friends’ cell phones over the course of the evening.

I’ve never been the most outwardly social person as it is, so I didn’t have much in the way of a style to cramp when my kids came along. I saw all the Buffy episodes on their original air dates. I am a cheap drunk because I mostly never drank in bars. I found a rut and firmly implanted myself in it and– I don’t regret it. I have many friends who are parents, who regularly mourn the loss of their previous lifestyles. I secretly rejoice that I have a firm excuse to stay the hell home on a Saturday night. I can’t believe I’m the only one who prefers the idea of some streaming video, fleece pajama pants and snackfood in a quiet room over bar hopping or a party. I’ve been described as a homebody, but I think it’s more accurate to call me anti-social without the murderous implications. I’m lazy but without the sloth. I’m too old for this shit and too young to go to bed at eight.

I’m excited about next Saturday night. The husband and I save up new episodes of the Guild and watch them together, then he plays video games while I spend the night talking to my best friend, another mother who would much prefer to watch life outside her window than put on her pants and join it. We have our own little fishbowl lives, and dammit if I don’t like my wee treasure chest. Bubbles: mine.

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