Thursday, June 28, 2012

Happy Birthday, Boyfriend!

 …kinda. Okay, it’s not REALLY Boyfriend’s birthday. His birthday is in September. However, we've been celebrating some birthdays and decorating cubicles/desks at work. 
I sit right by Boyfriend's department, and one of my coworkers/his employees pointout out that we should celebrate his birthday. Another coworker swore that she remembered it was in July.

Conversations like this happened:

Coworker 1: We need to figure out his birthday!
Me: Yeah, did you guys ever celebrate it in the other office?
Coworker 2: It's July. I know it's in July. 
Me: Oh okay. Cool. 

Coworker 3: Let's facebook stalk him!
Me: *pretending I haven't done that a million times* Oh, look at that. His profile is mostly hidden. Sadness.
Coworker 3: His birthday isn't on it! Boooo.
Me: I. Am. Shocked. 

Coworker 4 (the troublemaking one): Of all people, Gia, YOU don't know when it is?
Me: Nope. 

Coworker 1: Hey,  why don't we just celebrate it next Friday?
Me: Sounds good!
Coworker 1: He definitely won't expect it on a random day. 
Coworker 2: Perfect! It'll coincide with Hawaiian Shirt Friday!

[Hawaiian Shirt Friday is something started by a manager as a way of bringing a tiny bit of joy into the office. Boyfriend started wearing one, too.]

And then, genius struck.

Me: Guys, I have a ton of old decorations from when my family threw a luau-themed graduation party!
Coworker 1: Perfect.

Look, a Hawaiian Lady pinata!

Complete with glory hole: (the poor man's inflatable doll).

Then Boyfriend told me he was taking Friday off. So we decided to celebrate on Wednesday instead. On Tuesday, after Boyfriend left, we decorated the ever-loving shit ouf of his office. Look:

And then he told me he wasn't coming in on Wednesday (needs to take care of his kid).

Sigh. So he should see it today, Thursday. I'm hoping he's super surprised this morning. Hence why this post is going up a bit late. I didn't want him to decide to read it from home this morning and have it ruined. I only wish I could get up at the asscrack of dawn, so I could see his face when he comes in ungodly early. 
But please don't really have sex with my pinata.

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Mosquito Bites: Sunrash’s Ugly Cousin

Alternative Title: Hey guys, know what’s sexier than sunrash? Mosquito bites. God, I’m attractive. (Also damn you, rape trail).

As we’ve discussed, I walk (and now fish) on the duck rape trail. It’s on the water, so there are lots of mosquitos.  And it’s summer, so I’m also suffering from sunrash.

For some reason, they really like me.
Like, seriously like me.
It’s bad. Boyfriend and I will take a walk and come back looking like this:
So I bought some heavy duty bug spray and used that before our walk.
And yet we come back like this:
These are some tough mosquitos.
The worst part is the morning after a walk, when I’m lying in bed relaxing. And all of a sudden I feel it. IT, you guys. The itch.  I can’t help it. I’m a scratcher. Remember Boyfriend and the eye poking? I have nails and I NEED to use them. I spend all day contorted into weird positions so I can get some good scratching it. Plus, the scratching makes the bites bigger and redder, until it looks like I have welts all over my legs. And like I said, it’s sunrash season. I end up looking like this:


Sigh, I suffer. Do you guys get all bit up? And if not, WHAT IS YOUR SECRET?!?!                                        

Monday, June 25, 2012

Boyfriend likes fishing. This is a fact.

[First, a bloggy note: I've figured out how to register/set up forwarding for  a domain so now you can get to me by going to just YAAAY!] 

[Also, linking up with yeahwrite!]

I was walking along the duck rape trail the other night (it’s along a stream). This texting happened between Boyfriend and I:

Me: The stream says its stocked with trout.
Boyfriend: WHAT!!!
Me: Oh is that good?

Boyfriend: Very. Why isn’t anyone fishing on there now?
Me: Is it trout season now?
Boyfriend: Yes
Me: Hey what do you do if a Canadian goose attacks you? Asking for a friend.

Boyfriend: Need a special license for trout, but can get it online.
Where did you hear this?
Me: From here:

Boyfriend: Cosi fan tutti!
Me: Huh?
Boyfriend: Amazing
Me: Did I do good??!?
Boyfriend: Very!!

You guys. I’m back on my game.
However, I soon realized this:

So, we went fishing on Saturday. Unfortunately, it didn’t result in a fish. Although when I was holding the rod (that’swhatshesaid) something pulled on it for a second. And Boyfriend got a bite but it got snagged on something under the water. So, we didn’t catch a fish. But if we HAD, I imagine it would have looked like this:

WOOHOO! (But I'm serious guys. Anyone have any advice for when a bunch of canadian geese inevitably attack you for walking by them daily?)

Friday, June 22, 2012


Boyfriend likes to call me shankapotamus. He calls me all sorts of weird things all the time, so I didn’t think much of it. Until a conversation like this happened:

Boyfriend: …golf shanks, which aren’t good…
Me: Wait, what’s the shanks?
Boyfriend: Blahblah-bad-golf-thing-blah.
Me: *thinking* waiiiit.
Boyfriend: What is it?
Boyfriend: Uhhh…
Boyfriend: It’s just an expression.
Also "just an expression."
Boyfriend’s also having a hard time with his golf game. I sexified him a few weeks ago, but that wore off and he’s still slicing the ball or the swing or something.

So last week, I got him a t-shirt. The front looks like this:

And the back, this:

Beautiful, right? This texting happened soon after:

Boyfriend: I may have fixed my slice
Me: Were you wearing the shank shirt?!?!?
Behold the power of shankapotamus
Boyfriend: No  it’s in the laundry
Me: Still, since you own it now.
Boyfriend: Power
Of the ‘potomus

Yaaaay!!! A few days later, Boyfriend went golfing and things went much, much better. I fixed you, Boyfriend. 

You're welcome.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

A Happy Thing and a Sad Thing in Pictures

This is a short post, but I have some pictures to share. FIRST! A happy thing:

We wanted to put a bud next to it to compare, but they only had the "new" cans. Not exactly the same effect. 
You know how it was Father's Day this past weekend? I got my dad a beer cake. How freaking awesome is that?!? Also, it tasted delicious. And then I ate a lot of it and felt sick from the sugar and almost barfed everywhere, but I didn't take a picture of that so this is a happy thing!

Okay, here's the sad thing:
RIP Wine Glass. 
As you may have seen me complain about on twitter, I lost a trusty wine glass this week. No, I did not drunkenly drop it. I lost it to the evil, evil dishwasher. It survived the washing, but broke when I tried to take it out of the rack it was jammed into. 

Sniffle. It's possibly the worst thing ever.

BUT WAIT! Boyfriend is the best. He already bought me a replacement:

It's not good ol' greenie exactly, but it's a very nice wine glass. I take solace in the fact that no wine was lost during greenie's death. That is all.

Monday, June 18, 2012

The Futon of Death May Literally Be Trying to Kill Me

Also known as: I May Be the Only Person Who Finds This Post Entertaining

Remember how my futon sucks? Well, I’ve been having leg pain lately.  And also, remember that time I had boobpain? It’s important. Because this convo happened:

Now Boyfriend gleefully tells me I have a blood clot approximately 18 times a day. It’s “great.” Case in point, our gchat conversation from last Tuesday, when I was home waiting for the cable guy. It covers a variety of fun and inappropriate topics:

Watch that dog dance! [Seriously, you guys should check it out too]
Holy shit
The dog is talented.
Boyfriend: Please don't spend your day looking at dancing dogs and kittens
Me: The cable guy is here and in the attic.  
and I'm not spending ALL day doing that.
 Hey I get one free on demand movie the first month of cable
Boyfriend: show him your tits and see if you can get other stuff
don't [redacted] him though. He'll charge you extra and cut the cable on the way out [That is a reference to a filthy thing that ONE TIME went horribly wrong but is usually quite satisfactory, thankyouverymuch. Read about it here]
Me: Heeeeeeeeeey that was ONE time.

Me: I’m sad its so icky looking on my day off
I have to run errands after cable guy leaves
Boyfriend: i hope it rains so I can't play golf
Me: oh
You really don’t wanna play?
Boyfriend: My confidence is shot
Me: :(
I'm sorry sweetie
Boyfriend: I might cry
Me: ...i'll hold you.
Boyfriend: uh......
i'll cry harder
Me: I'll hold you tighter

You just let it all out
There there
Boyfriend: I'll squeeze your blood clot [Reference 1]
Me: that's not funny.
What if the futon gives me a blood clot?
Boyfriend: Blood clots are fun to play with. [Reference 2]
The forecast is bad for the afternoon.
Boyfriend: Good
Blood clot [Reference 3]
Me: Hey!!!!
Boyfriend: Hey my son’s starting a new med for [thing]. Few side effects.
Me: Oh that’s good.
Boyfriend: not jittery and you don't lose appetite
Me: oh good cuz he's already too skinny
Boyfriend: Yes. Too skinny. Unlike
and your blood clot. [ [Reference 4, for those of you keeping track]
Me: rgihseilrghslei gesghuseilg
Boyfriend: why not
I feel another pain in my leg
Boyfriend: futon of death
chair of death
papasan of death
bed of death
Twenty minutes later.

Me: I just went for a walk
First, it poured on me on my way to the post office
where it was closed cuz the guy was at lunch.
Then I went to the consignment shop which is closed on Tuesdays
Then I went to the liquor store
Thank God that was open

Now I’m wet and I learned my lesson and I’m not going out again today
Boyfriend: two words
clot [Reference 5]
Boyfriend: futon of death?
brain aneurism
Boyfriend: pelvic embolism
heart failure
toe fungus
which is disgusting 
malignant bonjovism
that's a cancerous bonjovi
Me: ha

5 Minutes Later

Me: Okay my cable is working.
I’m overwhelmed
by television 
Boyfriend: da pictures, they mooove
Me: they dooo
Boyfriend: how are the midgets? [Boyfriend thinks all I watch is weird reality shows about midgets. He’s half wrong.]
Me: huh
There’s singing…
…it’s glee.
I’m watching glee.
Boyfriend: what no toddlers marrying a wolverine 
Me: They’re singing loudly on Glee.  Dear Neighbors, I don't care what you think of me. Sincerely, Gia.
I'm going to start singing along
Boyfriend: please god, no
Me: You wont be able to hear me from work.
Boyfriend: just the thought of it
Me: they're singing paradise by the dashboard light
Boyfriend: I don't know you
this futon hurts my legs
Boyfriend: how is this new news
Futon of Death, 'member? 
Me: whimper

And then I watched cable for the next 8 hours.  I probably don’t have a blood clot though. Right? RIGHT?!?

Friday, June 15, 2012

Wooing Boyfriend: An Inappropriate Love Story

[Linking up with yeahwrite!]

There once was a girl who got a job at a nonprofit.

 There, she met a boy.

Well, not a boy, a man.

He was a  great deal older than her, but she didn’t care about such silly nonsense like age or social norms. She liked him.

He wasn’t quite as responsive. In fact, he thought she was pretty weird.

But she made friends with him anyway.

And she flirted with him.  As best as she could, anyway. Which wasn’t very good at all.
(answer: no.)
Mostly, she just talked to him. Unfortunately, they worked in different office buildings, so she had to rely on talking on the phone.

And chatting online.

Which they did…a lot. 

But, he still didn't want to ask her out. So, she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Eventually, he realized she wasn’t so bad. And he started flirting back a little. Well...mostly, he just said filthy things.

And finally one day, while she was walking alone in a park, he sent her an email asking her out on a date.

And she grinned like an idiot.

And they had a wonderfully nerve-wracking first date. They realized that they very much liked one another, and he became Boyfriend.
A few months later, he encouraged her to start a blog.

And she did.  And then one day, she realized a whole year had gone by since she first started dating Boyfriend.  So she used her blog to say:

Also,  she wanted to let him know that she is going to hug the crap out of him after work today.

The End
PS. He still thinks she’s a little bit weird.