Friday Night Lament

Another crappy Friday night. This Friday night is like all other Friday nights, except it involves the Olympics. Whoop-de-effin-do. I'm still married to Ralph; I'm still leading a crap boring life; and my wardrobe is just one big disappointment.

And to make matters worse, you will not believe what happened. One of my best friends got engaged! Wait, it's worse: her fiance is a total catch - tall, handsome, smart and he even likes watching American Idol.

Wait, it gets even more depressing: I'm a bridesmaid. How am I supposed to pretend to be happy for my friend's perfect life - while wearing a shiny dress that makes me look like a fat ugly beast - when I am married to Ralph?

We're going shopping tomorrow for bridesmaid dresses. Just kill me now. If I start drinking tonight, I might be drunk enough by tomorrow morning to handle the torture.

Wendy the Painfully Nerdy Cactus

I have been having issues with my contact lenses and had to wear my glasses today. Do I look like (a) a sexy librarian, (b) a smart but sassy international spy, or (c) a painfully awkward nerd girl who knows far too much about Star Trek and likes to stay home alone on Friday nights with her cat Frodo.

Please don't answer that question.

On The Benefits of Emotional Eating

So, I'm not pregnant. I should feel relieved. But I don't. Instead, I just feel depressed - why didn't Ralph take advantage of me when I was drunk? Aren't I beautiful and sexy and desirable?

I felt alone and needy. I wanted a strong drink, but I'm still recovering from my last bender. So I turned to Snap, Crackle and Pop instead.


I hate Snap, Crackle and Pop. Look at them. They look all happy and smug. Seriously, they are GLOWING. You know what I'm talking about. They are literally GLOWING over a bowl of freaking cereal. Look, I've been celibate for longer than I care to discuss, and even I don't get that excited about a bowl of cereal. (Except for Lucky Charms. Ok, and Frosted Flakes).

I'm actually not a big cereal person. I usually skip breakfast to save on calories. ("Breakfast is the most important meal of the day" my ass). But mix in some marshmallows and butter, and hello! I am a big supporter of Emotional Eating. Did your dog just die? Order a pizza AND EAT THE ENTIRE THING. Did your best friend just get engaged to a really hot doctor? You need french fries, brownies, and margaritas. And did your husband choose Wheel of Fortune over wild drunken sex?!? Make Rice Krispies Treats and start to eat the entire tray until you get sick, and then suck it up damnit and finish the tray.


Excuse me, please go away now. I am about to share a very intimate moment with the Rice Krispies treats.

I'm Not Pregnant!

Ralph came home today from work today and, looking very serious, said he had something to tell me. I ignored him. He sat down on the couch next to me and would not go away (some men won't take a hint). Then, he said, very calmly, "Wendy, you are not pregnant."

I snorted. What? He's psychic now?

But no, for possibly the first time in his life, Ralph knew what he was talking about. He told me, "That night we were drunk, we did not make love." [make love?? gag]. He continued, "Wendy, I would not take advantage of you in that way. I love you, and I want this relationship to work." I think he said some more things about "trust" and "true love" but I tuned him out. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. We didn't have sex when I was drunk? How could he possibly resist my overwhelming beauty and sex appeal when I was helpless? What, is Ralph too good for drunken sex?

But yay, at least I'm not pregnant.

What I Will Look Like If I Am Pregnant (Hint: Obese)

I am weighing the pros and cons of pregnancy. It is for the most part easy to identify whether something is a pro or a con. Having a child with Ralph? Con. I will be the first of my friends to have a baby and they will all be uber-jealous? Pro, big pro. But I'm not so certain about the weight gain - is that a pro or a con? On the pro side, I get to eat whatever I want and it is socially acceptable to wear jeans with an elastic waistband. But what will I look like?

I asked my friend Maggie to help me visualize what I will look like when I'm 7-9 months pregnant. Maggie is very artistic (she owns markers) and considered going to medical school when she was a college freshman. Maggie imagined two scenarios.

On the right, we see the "Sexy Pregnant Mama like Angeline Jolie." I gain some weight, all in my belly. On the left, we see gross, obese, miserable Wendy. I gain a lot of weight, everywhere and become Wendy the Walrus (although it looks like I might actually have some junk in my trunk).

Is it just me, or are these drawings total crap? It looks like there's a breast growing out of the side of my face. And in the walrus scenario, my head gets fat. Ok, so my cheeks might get a little puffy but am I really supposed to believe that my head is going to be encased in a protective layer of fat?

It's probably a good thing that Maggie did not go to medical school and became a lawyer instead.

Valentine's Post-Mortem

Ralph got me a Valentine's Day present! I was so excited. So what if it was a day late? So what if he bought me a crappy discounted candy? So what if I had to have a public nervous breakdown on my blog before he realized he should maybe make a romantic gesture? I got a Valentine's present! I'm not a total loser!

I tried to be sweet and grateful, but just look at this thing. This is quite possibly the most tragic piece of Valentine's candy I have ever seen. I am gorgeous, witty and nurturing. I deserve chocolates, roses and diamonds. I might be carrying Ralph's baby, and he gets me a piece of discounted candy? I got better candy from my fifth grade boyfriend!

I might have lost my temper.

I think this crappy broken piece of discounted candy is an apt metaphor for our relationship.

Worst. Valentine's Day. Ever.

Valentine's Day, I knewyou were going to be bad . But, congratulations, you exceeded my expectations. Here is a photo of what Ralph gave me:

















It's nothing. Ralph gave me a big fat NOTHING for Valentine's Day. Let's recap: my husband is desperate for my approval and affection; we finally have a night of drunken sex; I might be pregnant with his child; and then Ralph decides to pass on the whole Valentine's Day romance thing? Are you $%#ing kidding me?

I don't want to be pregnant. I'll get fat and lose my girlish figure. Then I'll have to take care of the baby, and babies smell bad and make a lot of noise. Also, Ralph is really ugly, so if he got me knocked up, the baby will be 50% troll ugly. How can I be expected to love an ugly troll baby?

Dear Period: remember how I was complaining about how much I hate you and how I never want to have my period again? I was lying. I love you. Please come back. Love, Wendy