I’m Creepy!

For approximately 2,765 days, I was the proud owner of a 1999 Toyota Corolla.

His name was Bruce. Because I bought myself a bobble-head chihuahua of the same name to sit on my dash when my dad decided to buy me his coworker’s old red 1992 Cabrio. Then he got it checked out by a mechanic and changed his mind. So bobble-head Bruce sat on my bedside table for weeks. Eventually it was decided that I would be buying myself a car. So my savings were emptied and my parents went to pick out my car.

I do realize how opposite that is of every kid’s dream. Most of my friends got free reign to pick out whatever car would be purchased for them. I handed over my money and waited in my room, looking out the window, to see what they’d decided on for me. (My dad was an insurance agent. So that makes more sense now I’m sure.)

This was Bruce. I had showered while waiting.

I loved Bruce like he was my child. Although I kind of suck at taking care of things so after almost 7 full years with Bruce, I think he only got two or three car washes. Much to Big Daddy’s chagrin. But still, I loved him, as if he were my (dirty, mistreated) child.

Big Daddy drives for a living. The better the weather, the busier he is, and that means 6+ hours of driving a day – usually more. His crappy 2004 Jeep had oh about 180,000 miles on it as of wedding time last month.

Enter April Fools’ Day. He’s all, my car broke down again. And I’m all, you’re hilarious. And he’s all, this isn’t a joke. And I’m all, you got me! Ha ha ha. Now stop. And he was all… MY FUCKING CAR BROKE DOWN. I’M NOT FUCKING JOKING. So yea, I deducted from that that he wasn’t joking, and his car did in fact break down. During driving season, it was always a part needed here and there, monthly oil changes, frequent new tires, the works. It became apparent that the Jeep (which is purple maroon, by the way) wouldn’t make it to see Fall 2010 if Big Daddy drove it all summer. So what did we do?

We sold Bruce. And bought a new 2010 Camry. It’s dark green so I was ok with it.

(Meet Finnegan. My original name idea of O’Houlihan was vetoed.)

So yea. Here’s where it gets sad. Finn? He is Big Daddy’s daily vehicle. I got Barney the Purple Maroon Dinosaur.

(Pictured above in 2007 during Homecoming at IU, Big Daddy’s alma mater, in front of the house he lived in… if you could call that house-full-of-men living.)

So recap- we sold my car, and got a brand new one, which he got, and I drive the Barney mobile. I deducted from this all that it makes me the best wife ever. I am secretly a little upset that people aren’t stopping me on the street and asking to shake my hand. I mean, look:

182,353 hard-trekked miles. I have a 14 mile round-trip commute up the street each day, so it wasn’t a big deal for me, as opposed to his hundred plus miles a day. See that check engine light? It’s on about 50% of the time. You know… when it feels like it. Big Daddy would have had to get it serviced after a week… it’ll last me a month or two before I have to look at it. (He had the problem diagnosed so we know what it is, FYI. I won’t explode in my car or anything.)

So where does my creepiness come in? Every time I see a car similar to Bruce I flip out. I find myself getting misty thinking about where he is now, who is driving him. I hope they’re nice. Do they realize that his name is Bruce? That he “grew up” in New Jersey? That he doesn’t like going over 65 mph?

For their sake and mine, I hope we never meet.

Grown Ups

Ok. So you all rock and voted for my gravatar. I was leaning either 1 or 3 and you helped me pick #1!

It hasn’t updated for me on my page yet but I’m slowly changing over on all my sites. Mah siitteeees, yo. I’m so ghetto and cool.

Also, I wanted to tell you all why I feel like a grown up. Why Big Daddy and I are totallllly grown ups. It’s not because I went to change my name this week at the social security office. (Although that was an enriching experience in other cultures and Let’s Make a Deal… sort of.)

No, it wasn’t that. What made us big kids was we finally got a bed frame for our bed. I’m not talkin’ a fancy headboard. I’m talking the thing that keeps your bed off the floor. We broke ours a while ago (get your mind out of the gutter… it was actually B, chasing pugs, who jumped on the corner of the bed, thus bending the leg and rendering it useless) and put off buying a new one because we’re dirt poor. So we splurged. And… wait for it… I’m a big kid now!

PS- no, the pugs are NOT enjoying having to get up onto the bed. But they’re using their pug stairs, don’t worry.

Love Affairs

I have love affairs with things quite often. Most recently, that would be Meijer.

Meijer is a grocery stores slash everything store slash my newly-found mecca. You may know it’s cousin, Walmart (Wal-Mart?) (Quick rant: per AP style it was Wal-Mart until in 2009 or so when they changed it to Walmart for stores but Wal-Mart for the company. That makes me angry since I practically memorized the 2004 AP style guide. And because it’s confusing. Damn you AP style.)

Anyway – and this is per my coworker so it could be totally false but I’m in no mood to research – Walmart dude (Sam Walton?) and Meijer dude (someone Meijer) went to college together and came up with the idea for the big box store. Meijer dude just wanted to open them in Michigan so Walmart dude took all the other states, and they had a handshake deal not to infringe upon each others’ territories. And then years and years later Walmart dude dies and Walmart goes to open in Michigan and Meijer dude is all like “WTF!?!” and they’re all “What handshake deal?” and so Meijer dude decides to expand to other states since their deal is apparently off.

You know, or something like that.

Anyway, Meijer is just in the Midwest and? It. Is. Awesome. My friend Laura took me and my first words were “It’s like a Walmart. But clean. And not ghetto.” And my friends, that’s exactly what it is.

Big Daddy and I are really bad grocery shoppers. He is very focused and I’m very la-la-la until I get bored and want to go home. Meijer may just be the only place we both enjoy shopping.

Enter love affair number two of the entry. It’s a food product. I searched for it last week at Meijer, but no dice. But this week? Oh sweet success! I came up with this:

Yep. Yogurt for fatties. I’m not even kidding, they make this!!! And I couldn’t wait to get my little red velvet-lovin’ paws on it. See, I have sort of a history with red velvet…

My huge red velvet hog cake (that I ran out of icing for, don’t judge!)

Or the lovely massive Red Velvet Elvis cupcakes I found at a nearby bakery… (again, don’t judge. That’s a year ago, I was unemployed with no money to tan or dye my hair, AND I had already eaten the R.V.E. so that was it’s less-tasty cousin the spice cake cupcake. You get the idea.)

Or one could even consider my wedding cake…

Yummy! (Made by the same Meijer-loving friend Laura… interesting… I see a pattern…)

Anyway today we tried to eat our cake topper. From our wedding that was 39 days ago. It was… not 100%. I, being a red velvet aficionado, didn’t want to disrespect the velvet by eating 39 day old cake. Big Daddy, however, was all over it.

All the moist had died. I was le sad.

However that’s when I realized… I had red velvet YOGURT.

Behold, the inside.

So yea, it was pink… like as if some red velvet cake melted. The taste? Not so much like red velvet. Slightly, but I detected some berry as well. It sort of reminded me of this…

Pink little kid yogurt.

Which – considering I’m the world’s pickiest eater who refuses to eat any kind of yogurt with THINGS in it – is just fine by me.

Gravatar

Gravatar is something I use and really love. I don’t necessarily “get it,” but I signed up and all of a sudden I didn’t have to fill in my info when leaving a comment on another type of blog site (blogger vs. wordpress, etc.) Gravtar’s website says: Your Gravatar is an image that follows you from site to site appearing beside your name when you do things like comment or post on a blog. Avatars help identify your posts on blogs and web forums, so why not on any site?

Anyway my current Gravatar image is from almost a year ago. I’d like to update it but don’t know what to choose! I plan on getting professional photos taken some time, but right now I have wedding pictures to use. I don’t want it to be too wedding-y though. So I’m going to have you all vote. Here are the choices:

Choice 1:

Choice 2:

Choice 3:

Choice 4:

And just for funsies… Choice 5:

Ok, poll time! Vote and we shall see!

The Sweetest

My husband is the sweetest. He read my new bloggy-blog here and was all, you’re not mediocre! And I was all, but I’m not not-mediocre! And he was all, you’re selling yourself short!

So yea, I thought that was really nice of Big Daddy (his college nickname and now his blog nickname) to care about that. He thinks I’m good at things. I tried to explain that I’m really not, that most of my escapes end up being funny yet unsuccessful, thus proving them blog-able, but not not-mediocre. But anyway, he had a point. So I changed my blog name from kjpugs’ exercises in mediocrity to kjpugs: ordinary in indiana. Since we’re all pretty much ordinary, right? I know I am. For now. Until my distant relation to Rosie O’Donnell is picked up by the media. Then I’ll be famous. (True story- my step-grandma was her mom’s cousin. Or something like that.)

Since you don’t know him quite yet, here’s a quick pic of me and B:

That would be us on the first night of our honeymoon. The day before our horrible sunburns. See? Famous people don’t burn. Ordinary ones who forget to put sunscreen on their own legs do. (Although his were second degree blistering burns. Mine were just regular old burns.)

So there ya go. Slight change. I’m running with it!

Mall Magic Eye

If you haven’t read my about section, you don’t know that I have the world’s best job. I’ve said at all of my jobs that they could be a sitcom. For example, my first job was working at a Sorority’s NHQ. If you thought MTV’s Sorority Life was bad, you should’ve seen what it was like for a chunky, stubborn, Jersey-girl like me in an image-obsessed superficial office environment. I may or may not have been given etiquette brochures by my boss. Hilarity ensues!

But this job, this one takes the cake. It’s entertaining and everyone is nice. And things happen. Like a few weeks ago. A delightful older woman who claimed she was “not a prude” took me over to a popular lingerie store since there was something inappropriate in the window.

Do you see what I see? I did a scientific (read: I drunkenly asked friends) poll and about 50% of them saw some pre-penetration. Including my old lady whistleblower friend. Who swore it was her husband that noticed it first.

In any case, it’s just her heel. And they changed their windows a week or two later. But what do you see – heel or… man-meat? I was pretty pumped I could see both since I could never see those Magic Eye things as a kid, and this feels like redemption.

Something new…

Are you excited?

Yep, kjpugs, in one place, sure to be full of my awkwardness, inappropriate judging, sorority stories, and pug pictures. Who’s excited?!