Day 9: If I had a million dollars...

If I had a million dollars, I would pay Y to stop asking me how his new bow-tie looks*. But I don't. So I'll pass the job on to you, readers. Dashing or Colonel Sanders-esque? Cute or douche-baggy?

*Just kidding, Y. I enjoy being your neckwear consultant.

tales from the highway

I know you were all disappointed that I broke from the WBThirty posts this weekend and you didn't get to find out "what I would do if I won the lottery." I have a good reason, though. This past weekend, I drove 8 hours roundtrip to spend exactly 24 hours in Texas. The payoff was worth it - I got to see friends who live out of town, watch an episode of "Sisterwives", eat my first Vietnamese sandwich, and nearly vomit from laughing at an Aziz Ansari show. I think everyone needs to experience nearly vomiting from laughing at least once in their life, so I definitely recommend you see Aziz.

(Let me clarify that: I definitely recommend you see Aziz if you understand the humor in R Kelly and Kanye West, and can handle 99% off color jokes. Y's parents heard I was seeing Aziz, trusted my taste, and rented his stand up. They were...not impressed. Moral of the story: don't blindly trust my taste, and avoid Aziz Ansari if you can't laugh at a joke about R Kelly having sex with an ATM.)

To be honest, I kind of enjoyed my eight hour solitary road trip. The highway I took was really interesting -- especially this:

It was so cool and old that life actually started de-saturating as I drove by.

Turns out someone might actually live in this abandoned theater. This being Texas, I decided to get off their lawn as quickly as possible.

(Edited to add: I just did some Googresearch and discovered that this theater was an XXX drive in, which makes it that much creepier.)

Somewhere around hour 2, I discovered that my $5 Target sunglasses are magic autumn glasses. I kept thinking to myself how odd it was that Texas had such great fall foliage, but soon realized that the tint of my sunglasses was making things look way prettier than they really were. While the rest of the travelers on this highway saw this:

I saw this:

Also on this highway, I was able to play a rousing game of "Funeral Home or Fancy Neighborhood?" with myself.

(Well now that I've zoomed in I see there's a golfer in the first picture. That was NOT visible from the highway.)

Aren't you impressed with my ability to entertain myself? Any good road trip stories out there?

Fear not - back to your regularly scheduled WBThirty posts soon.

day 8: a photo of me taken over 10 years ago

Oh, hello.



It's me, 1994 D. I know what you're thinking: I stole these glasses from Dwight Shrute. FALSE. It is 1994, Dwight Shrute has not been invented yet.

So what's it like in 2010? Do I have diabeetus from all these orange sodas I've been drinking? Are black jeans and over-sized cartoon character t-shirts back in yet? Has my neck been excavated from beneath my chins?

The reason I am posing for you, foot in hand, is because I'm currently attending a surprise party for myself, thrown by my elementary school friends -- many of whom I will never see again -- before I leave the great state of Texas once and for all. That's right. I'm wearing a Flintstones t-shirt to my going away party. Kill me now.

I hope I've influenced you, 2010 D. I hope that you not only have sworn off the orange soda, but that you will always remember life's golden rule: you never know when your picture might be taken. Dress accordingly.

Day 7: My [dog's] favorite things {wbthirty}

One of the funniest things about Ike is that he has very distinct preferences. Are most dogs like this? My dog growing up would eat anything, lay down anywhere, and was perfectly content so long as he wasn't hungry, so I assumed that's how all dogs were.

Not this little diva.

"Uh, are you kidding? This log is NOT on my approved list of places to sniff."

Ike is quite exclusive about his food habits. Of course he'll eat any and all meat, but his second favorite form of people food is anything green.

I can't help but feel like I've done something right here.

Like a true diva, Ike is watching his carbs. He will not, under any circumstances, eat bread (he'll make an exception for challah, the bread of his people).

One night Y's brother left a pizza on the floor of our living room (don't ask. Actually, you know what, do ask. Ask Y's brother where he learned to be such a terrible house guest). We got up in the middle of the night to investigate some suspicious chewing -- Ike had licked the entire pizza clean, leaving only the crust, fully intact.

Ike also has lounging preferences. He will only sit on something soft -- yoga mats, socks, backpacks -- bonus points if it smells like one of us.




And of course, Ike has a preference in his college football loyalty. Chosen all by himself. Swearsies. He loves t-shirts.

A favorite quote. Or maybe just a quote. (WBThirty Day 6)

source

It's about time I discussed this theory with someone other than Y, because I'm almost positive he's just pity-agreeing with me.

If you've ever seen the movie Anchorman, you know that this quote -- about the effectiveness of Brian Fantana's cologne, Sex Panther -- is meant to be the epitome of his stupidity:

"60% of the time it works, every time."

But here's the thing - I get it. When I saw this movie for the first time, I laughed along with everyone else so they wouldn't think I was stupid. But it made total sense to me.

In my head, Brian Fantana is a scientist. He runs highly standardized Sex Panther trials. In one week, he'll use the cologne to attract the ladies exactly ten times. And every time he's tried this, it has worked six out of the ten times. See? 60%. Perfect sense.

Brian Fantana and I understand each other.

much love monday: a furry heart {wbthirty day 5}

{what is wbthirty?}

{what is much love monday?}

We're pretty sure that yesterday was Ike's second birfday. There are many things I've noticed since having Ike, like that all "th" sounds are now pronounced "f". Or that instances of saying "oh my goodness" have increased tenfold. Or that when your dog allows you to make him wear a pair of your glasses, you should capitalize on that and take as many pictures as possible, because it will probably never happen again.

The other day I started to wonder if Y was jealous of Ike. When I come home from work, Y gets an enthusiastic "Hi!" and maybe a kiss, if he's lucky.

But Ike... on Friday when I came home, I pulled Ike into my lap and spent ten minutes telling him how he is just the greatest little man on the face of the earth, and how impressed I was by how wide he opened his mouth when he yawned, and how squeezable his widdle belly rolls were.

I owe Y an apology. Y, your non existent belly rolls are squeezable too. But your mouth opening while yawning is not worthy of my praise.

Day 4: Why David Sedaris and I are not friends anymore

Today's WBthirty topic was originally "Your favorite book", which I broadened to "A post about books". I thought about being lazy and linking you to two other funny posts I've made about books, but I decided to be productive and tell you a story.

Y's mom just gave me David Sedaris's latest book, and I'm excited to read it... after I finish the teeny tiny list of other books I have on my to-read list:

Of course, the latest Sedaris book got me thinking about the time I met him. In 2008, Y and I decided we didn't want to spend the summer before his first year of med school relaxing at the beach like normal people -- we decided that we wanted to drive to Canada.

The view of Toronto from Niagara-on-the-Lake

In Toronto, we randomly discovered that David Sedaris was having a book signing at a bookstore near our hotel, and since his new book had been our reading material for the entire trip, and because we could find surprisingly little to do in Toronto, we decided to go.

After standing in line for an hour, we chit-chatted with Mr. Sedaris for a few minutes and then he signed a book for Y's mom. Apparently charmed by Y (Y has that effect on people), he wrote something like "To Mrs. P: You have a delightful son."

How sweet! I couldn't wait to see what he wrote about me in my book. I can be equally as charming as Y when I have to.

Mr. Sedaris (I don't know what to call him. David? Dave? ) asked me my name. Since I have a, um, unique name, he asked me how it came to be . Before I even started my story, Ole Dave started writing a message in my book. He finished the message before I even got to the good part. I was confident. He must have seen something he liked in me.

When I got outside, I checked my message:

Really, dude? Really? My story touched your heart? You wrote that before you even heard my story! Am I not delightful? Can't you just see the sarcasm dripping from that page? I must be a terrible story teller.

And then I found twenty dollars.