There is one benefit to not having sex

The other day, roommate Nicole and I were flipping through channels trying to avoid going to bed. Sleep is good, but that means the next thing I know it is the next day and I have to get ready for the day. Getting ready is my least favorite part of the day. I wish I was one of those people that can role out of bed, brush through my hair, throw on the cleanest thing I can find and still look good. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people.

So there we are delaying the inevitable and BAM - we find our new favorite tv show; I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant.

Really? Really??

Quality television at it's best. Do not worry, our DVR is set to record ALL episodes. And just be warned all you people that have sex, just because you don't look pregnant and have no signs of pregnancy doesn't mean you won't end up in labor one night popping out a kid in your toilet. I'm just saying.

Next week, I'll bring one of those tin foil face tanners

Since I was a baby, my summers have been spent up in Bear Lake. Jinny built her cabin back in the 70s. She wanted to feel outside when she was inside. And so naturally, the cabin is yellow. Like, bright yellow. It's like 24 hour sunlight. I usually have to warn people before they come up just so they aren't blinded by the brightness. I absolutely love it.

My favorite part of the cabin is all the different sun's that Jinny has placed around the cabin. When I was young, she had Hailey and me make clay suns, which she proudly placed on display. Clearly, I was not meant to be an artist:


With this one, I wanted my sun to be girl. So naturally, she has eyelashes:

Solid Advise

Last year, Jinny gave me a great card for my birthday. And this year, she didn't disappoint. In fact, she one up'd herself:

My grandma is cool.

Much like Dooce, but without the ranking in Forbes

If you don't read Dooce, I ask you to click here and read this post. And at the end of her post (which, when you read you will wet yourself from laughter), think of me saying those last three words. But instead of the number 26, replace it with 27.

And if I must spell this out for you, yesterday was my birthday. I turned 27. I got everything I dreamed of and more!

According to my shampoo schedule, I can work out 3 times a week

So, my body is physically rejecting the idea of exercise. I threw up on my bike ride yesterday. I didn't fall, but I threw up. I am not sure which is worst. And remember when I did that really stupid thing in the winter and cross-country skied 4.5 miles up Millcreek canyon to the Yurt? Yea, threw up there too. OH and let us not remember that one time I threw up in spin class. I haven't blogged about this because I have tried to suppress that memory. It was like 6 years ago and I somehow managed to run out of the class and throw up in a garbage can in the middle of the gym. AWESOME.

I am 99% sure my body is screaming at me "EXERCISE IS NOT FOR YOU! I know you really want to keep up with your friends and all that physical activity that they do, but I just don't see it in the cards for you. Accept it and move on."

Surprisingly, I'm not ready to accept defeat just yet. Now I just need to plan my workouts around when I wash my hair and I should be good to go.

And if you think I am kidding with that last sentence, you don't know me very well.

One day, I hope to be in the black

As of late, many people have asked me how on earth I have been able to take all my recent vacations. I've seriously wonder this myself. I mean, I did have to create a presentation that included charts and graphs, which I presented to my boss on why Agency X should let me go on a cruise AND Lake Powell within a month from each other- but besides that I am not sure. I must be pretty good at my job because they let me go on both. I was told that I would be chained to my desk after Lake Powell though. There's always a catch.

Maybe once a quarter Agency X gives each employee a little slip that lets them know what their PTO balance is. This act immediately prompts the great competition among employees on who has more vacation time. I have never won this competition. But today, I won for who has the least amount of vacation time:

You see that astounding NEGATIVE 55 hours? Yea, those were some good hours away from the office. At least our finance director gave me a smiley face on my slip. What is the purpose of this? Is she laughing at me? Is she happy that I wasn't here? Is she happy that I won't be able to leave this office for THE REST OF MY LIFE?

In my next review when I am asked what Agency X can to do improve I will tell them one thing: GIVE ME MORE PTO.

A stock worth investing in

Remember when I went on a business trip and had to purchase an emergency outfit? Well, I do and I didn't particularly like the top I bought. And so I kept the tag on, wore it and then returned it. I hate people who do that.

Anyway, I returned said top and instead of walking out of the store with a $50 credit. Naturally, I walked out with a $10 credit and a new pair of shoes.

I next had to return a top I bought at Anthropologie (I never wore this one). I bought it without trying it on. A cardinal shopping sin. I ALWAYS try clothes on. However I was shopping with other people. This gives me anxiety. Am I holding them up? Are they holding me up? I am done with this store, are they done with this store? The list can go on. Shopping solo is how I role. Anyway I planned to walk out of Anthropologie with a $40 credit. By some unforseen force, I walked out -$158. Um, how did that happen? I'll show you:


And how cute will this go with my new brown flats?

Yes, I do realize I have a problem.

But before I finish this post and have Jinny lecture me that I should be investing my money I need to post a picture of a fabulous new lamp I just bought for my room. It's totally funky and totally NOT ME. However, the second I saw it I was all I HAVE TO HAVE THAT. And being the professional shopper that I am, I only paid $59 for this. Originally $200. Booyah!

Said lamp:


Oh and what would my rebuttal be to Jinny telling me to invest my money? I would be all, "Grandma, I AM investing. I am investing in me. Stock in me is pretty awesome". And she would agree. And then give me money.

My form of hate mail

Dear Monday,
Why do you hate me so much? I mean, I really tried to prepare for you this week. I took a shower last night knowing that I would want to sleep in as much as I could to avoid waking up to you. You are never pleasant to wake up to. And today, was no exception.

First, you interrupted a good dream.
Second, you wouldn't let anyone get on the server at work until 10 am
Third, you made your standing meeting last not 20 minutes like usual, but a hour and a half
Fourth, you scheduled back to back meetings all afternoon.

Ok, well, maybe that last one was my responsibility, but because you have been so unpleasant today I am blaming you. If you could, just end now and let me forget about you. Please do not call, text or facebook me. I could really use the separation.

Lots of hate,
Natalie

I'll drink this right before church and not feel guilty about it

So, one difficult thing about me being a Mo is my desire/lust/want/hope to drink coffee. In high school, there was a brief stint of time where I was obsessed with those Frappuccino drinks from Starbucks and would pretty much have one every day. SINNER! I hear you yelling at me.

Anyway, fast forward 10 years to adult, working, stressed, tired Natalie. She could really use that coffee. Well actually I would drink it for the delicious taste. I can live without the caffeine. But, I work with all non-Mo's. They all drink the coffee. My jealousy rages on a daily basis. That is, until I found this:

That's right friends, it's called Choffy. Brewed Chocolate. My life just got amazing.* Brewed just like coffee, but instead of ground coffee beans, it is ground coco beans. DELICIOUS. And frankly, an answer to my prayers.

*Direct quote from roommate Nicole when she was told that Choffy would be in our home.

The Great Bedroom Relocation of 2009

You all know I am lazy, right? It's apparent in pretty much everything I do. Which, isn't much - so that should explain a lot. Almost 3 years ago to the day my old roommate Megan moved out. She had the nice big bedroom downstairs* with the large* closet and big bathroom. I was upstairs with my tiny bedroom, tiny closet and tiny bathroom. I thought about taking her room when she moved, but the thought of moving all my junk was too much for me to handle and so I stayed put. Laziness at it's finest.

This decision was probably one of the worst decisions I ever made. Because remember when I came down with Smallclosetasideous? Well I do. Note to self: Always ALWAYS take a bigger closet. Well, the day has come that the big room* opened up (which in-and-of itself is a whole other story. Thanks Mackenzi for getting engaged and leaving me. I might never forgive you).

Let it be called, The Great Bedroom Relocation of 2009. I had 15 days to move all my stuff....DOWNSTAIRS. I hear your judgment through my computer keys. You say; Really? It took you 15 days to move all your stuff? My answer to that is no. It took me 23.

I took a phased approach, which I have outlined below:

June 13th: Moved clothes on HANGERS down to new closet
June 14th: Moved bed, nightstand & toothbrush/toothpaste
June 16th: Moved dresser and bookshelf
This particular part of the move was sufficiently awkward. Kim & Penel offered their services in helping me move my heavy furniture. Yay for great parents. However, I also had a date this night. I tried to keep my parents away from meeting said date. I was not successful in this attempt to keep them out of my dating life. Date came. Met parents. I'm pretty sure this ultimately is why I am not dating him anymore. Blaming other people for the demise of my dating relationships is key to keeping my self-esteem in the positive.

June: 17 - 23: Moved remaining clothes from closet, shower and 1/2 of bathroom stuff (yes, just half), cleaned room.
July 5th: Moved remaining bathroom stuff.

I had so much unnecessary crap my roommates threatened to call me Pack Rat Nat. That is totally an unacceptable name, so I dejunked and my life is finally in order. Hell, if you are going to give me a nick name, make it something good. You know, something you wouldn't mind screaming over a large crowd. I don't know...something like, HUSSY! I'll get more dates that way.

A few pictures I took in the process:

This pile stayed in the room for a good week before I got off my lazy A and sorted through it.

My new digs:

*Big is relative. I live in a tiny house.

Technology is not my friend

Agency X functions on instant messenger. It's pretty awesome. Pretty much I don't have to leave my desk all day. I can be as lazy as I want. Well, unless I want to go yell at someone for not doing their job THEN and only then do I leave my desk.

That's a lie. I don't yell.

Really, instant messaging is nice because sometimes I really don't want to get up and walk across the office to ask one little question. It saves time. It improves efficiency. It does, it really does.

I have one friend in particular that I chat with almost every day. She is one that I cannot respond to for hours and have her still like me. That is the thing about IM, I can only have friends on IM that know that sometimes, when I don't respond that means multi-tasking is not an option. It's very important to have these types of friends. Otherwise, I block you because you bug me too much while I am work.

Anyway, said friend is one of my very good friends and so I tell her all about my life. You know, things that I would never dream about putting on my blog or telling anyone other than her (and a few other choice friends). Recently, we were im'ing back and forth about our dating lives. Innocent enough, but too much for anyone other than her to read.

So you can imagine my surprise when I get to work today and a print out of OUR ENTIRE CONVERSATION is sitting on my desk. Shit. "Here you go office, here are my most personal thoughts. Please read them". I didn't even know I can print out conversations. HOW DID THIS HAPPEN??? Now I begin to wonder, who the freak at my office knows all about my dating life? I am mortified and have decided not to tell details of my life again over something so fickle as instant messenger, ESPECIALLY at work. Lesson learned. Lesson learned the hard way.