The One Where I Didn't Get Carded

You know how there are some people in your life who you can go for literally years without seeing and it truly doesn't matter because you can just pick up where you left off? Tonight, I had dinner with one of those people - my friend (and for part of our time at college, roommate) Lauren. Her boyfriend Patrick also tagged along. I give him a thumbs up - and not just because his hair does this cool swoopy thing. 

This is me and Lauren in college. Totally sober. (Not joking.) And yes, I used to be blonde.

So they spent the day at Disneyland and since I work about 45 minutes from The Happiest Place On Earth (As Long As You're Not Crying, And It's Not Too Hot, And The Lines Aren't Too Long), I decided to meet them for dinner at Downtown Disney. So, I head down there...

Who comes up with this stuff?!?

After I park my car, I'm walking to the restaurant and there are a few people walking behind me, clearly teenagers.

Google "teenagers" and this pops up on your image search. I have so many snarky things to say about this.

As we're walking, I hear what sounds like a bus honking. And one of these teens behind me says, "Oh! I didn't know there was a boat here!" Like... whaaaaat? How do you not know the difference between a bus horn and a boat horn? Unless you're used to buses that turn into boats, like such:

Anyway. Confusing. So I get to the restaurant and am there slightly early, so I head to the bar to get a glass of wine whilst waiting. And I don't even get carded. Which... fine (read: not fine). But as I relay this information to Calla via text (also known as the other half of Nalla, also known as my just plain other half; you'll learn more about her later) I become slightly indignant and then I text Calla "I mean, I could be a cop, okay buddy? If you don't ID, I'm taking you to jail!" To which she suggested I carry around a fake badge for just such an occasion, and this prompted me to think about looking for the badge from my cop Halloween costume from a couple years ago. Hello!

Me arresting my now-roommate, Monique (a.k.a. Mother Nature)

So then Lauren and Patrick arrive and, it was so nice to catch up with my old friend and make a new one. We also ate delicious food - hello tortilla frites! I also basically job interviewed Patrick, as ANY GOOD FRIEND WOULD DO, just to make sure he passed. He did. Even though he admitted to eating and liking sardines and pickled herring, to which I asked "Are you from Old Germany?" And he said, "No, Iceland." Excellent. I'm sure you've had the experience where the evening is clearly ending and you just don't want it to because you're having such a nice time. So to delay the inevitable, we took pics. Obvi. 

Patrick's swoopy hair and the bella Lauren - they knew each other in high school, but just reconnected a couple years ago. I LOVE when that happens for people. 

Us laughing at Patrick taking 14 pictures.

Ahhh, glorious. Just what I needed today. 

On to more adventures tomorrow! 

The One Where Ish Gets Real

Not racist... just think this is funny.

Now that we got that out of the way... nice to see you. Welcome back! Tonight, I'm going to post about something I debated writing about, but I think a lot of you can relate (not calling you all fat... settle down... PS you don't even know what I'm talking about yet) so let's discuss! The topic? Weight loss, OF COURSE.

Apparently eating a sausage off a fork is "hot in weight loss" according to Google Images. Well. I kind of hate sausages and eating one off a fork is just silly so that's not the direction this post is going in. However, here's a pop quiz for you.

What do Sara Rue, Mariah Carey and I all have in common? (Circle one)

A) We all look good in plaid
B) We all got married in Malibu
C) We are all doing/have done Jenny Craig

C is the correct answer! Now... I might know what you're thinking. Jenny Craig? Like... really? Jenny Craig?

I know, guys. I KNOW.

Well... yeah. For the record, the food is pretty tasty. Mostly. And it's one of the only weight loss programs I've successfully lost weight with, so that's cool. In fact, it's the only thing I've tried in recent years where I've successfully lost weight. So I am hopeful that this time around, I will be successful again. 

In my weight loss journey, which I've basically been on since birth, I've been chubby, overweight, normal weight, REALLY overweight, then towards normal, then back to overweight. I've learned a LOT along the way, such as it helps me to write down and post concrete goals to look at and I can exercise as much as I damn well please, but if I keep eating the way that's "natural" to me, I won't lose an ounce.

This is so true.

I really don't want this to turn into a weight loss/running/exercise/food journal blog. But I do think people should know what's up in my life. And this is kind of a big thing. I mean, I eat like 5 times a day. And not necessarily small meals, like they recommend...

Just a typical lunch... I'm ON the Michael PHELPS diet!

But in all seriousness, I hope the next time I post a pic of myself on here, I weigh less. That's my vague, amorphous goal for now. And if any of you are on a weight loss journey, just know there's one more person out there who knows what you're going through. And choosing veggies over cake gets moderately easier, but some days it's still a struggle.

In other news, I went to the movies the other night (Silver Linings Playbook - holla at me J. Law and B. Coop! You two rocked!) and as I was walking from my car to the theater, I hear this kid hollering and crying and snotting and I get closer to the car he's standing next to with his parents (maybe??? I couldn't tell if this was a Teen Mom situation or if he was the girl's brother or what was happening) and I hear the "man" tell the kid "Dude! It's okay you threw up! You just ate too much candy!" Okay, so this is where I started questioning if these were his parents because anybody I know with children wouldn't have let the kid eat so much candy he puked it in the Ontario Mills parking lot. And then I side-eyed them and continued on my merry way. Needless to say, I did NOT want candy after hearing that. So at least that happened.

PS - don't worry. I'll never be super skinny. Even at the thinnest I've ever been in high school I was still a size 14/16. And that's fine. Because...

The One Where I Discuss The Need for Fast Casual Restaurant Etiquette

So, first, let's discuss the ridiculousness that is the phrase "fast-casual restaurant." For those unfamiliar with this term (apparently I'm an expert on it???), basically this is a restaurant where you place your order at the counter, but then it usually still takes some time to be made and then they call out your name and you get it from the counter or they bring it to your table (IF your little electronic table number thingamadoo works, which sometimes it does NOT - I'm looking at you Panera!). Some examples include:

Chipotle, where the secret ingredient is crack cocaine!*

You can get a Thanksgiving dinner YEAR ROUND. GENIUS.

Noms.

*God, not really. Jokes, Chipotle, jokes. Don't sue me.


You get the picture. Anyway, saying something is "fast casual" makes it the culinary equivalent of  wearing a polo and jeans. Like, you look fine. Sometimes better than fine. But not amazeballs. And that's fine. Amazeballs on a daily basis is boring. 

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, something else you should know before I continue. I am a planner. Like a constant, never-ending, need-to-be-on-top-of-it-all planner. I just really like planning okay? OKAY!? 

All right! Now that we've got all the background out of the way... So after work today, I zipped over to the gym and worked out with my trainer, Ashley, in preparation for the race my "sole sister" Shelly and I are running on Sunday. (More on that later.) By the time I left the gym, it was 6:30 and I NEEDED TO EAAAATTT. So as I'm driving home I think to myself "Huh. What's the easiest way to undo all the work I just did in one fell swoop? Ah yes. Mexican food. Oh look.... A Wahoo's!"*

Do not be fooled. Nobody in here actually surfs or knows what any of the stickers on the walls mean.

*Yeah, I went in all workout sweaty. No judgies.

So in I go. And while I'm looking at the menu, I decide I'm getting an enchilada PLUS two tacos so I can eat the tacos for lunch tomorrow (this is where you knowing and already accepting that I'm a planner comes in handy). These will come with rice and beans, so this is obviously a pretty decent meal for one person in one sitting, but whatever. This makes total sense to me since I will be spreading it out across two meals.  I order, and the girl behind the register informs me they'll call my name when my order's ready.

So I sit on the small bench across from the end of the counter. My reasons for this are two-fold. One, I needed to sit so I could comfortably do some "information gathering" (some call it stalking, whatevs) on Facebook while waiting and two, the fact that I'm sitting so close to the counter means they do not need to holler my name for the entire restaurant to hear when my order is ready. While waiting, these bros roll in behind me.

Visual representation of bros

These bros are bedecked in sweatpants, carrying mega size cans of Monster energy drink, and they announce to the girl behind the counter she's giving them "too many options" and they say "F$%k it! Halfsies!" when she asks whether they want red or green sauce on their enchiladas. Whilst this is going on, my order is apparently ready. And the assistant manager grabs the bag and yells "NANCY!" like I'm sitting in the parking lot, not four feet in front of him. I stand up and grab the bag and he proceeds to read my entire fatty order back to me at top volume: "SO I GOT TWO TACS, RICE, BEANS, AND ONE ENCHILADA. TWO TACOS, RIGHT?" 

Jesus Christ, man. No need to read the order at all, let alone affirm TWICE that I got two tacos! I quickly mumble "yes", grab the bag, and head out the door, while the bros and everyone else in the restaurant looks at me. This was not one of the times it was my imagination, I got visual confirmation everyone was, in fact, looking at me. 

And that's how Nancy's rules of fast casual restaurant etiquette were born. So far, I have two rules:
1) Refuse to serve bros wearing sweatpants and carrying cans of Monster.
2) When you're giving someone their order, don't read it back to them unless they ask.
And 2a) Read it (only if prompted!) at a normal volume. If you have to yell all the time, that may indicate the need for a trip to the doctor. 

There you have it. Go forth and preach, my friends. And stop drinking Monster. It's bad for you.*

*Again, I am apparently an expert...

The One Where Perez Hilton Renders Me Speechless for An Entire Minute

Oh... my... GAWD. 

Stop eating or drinking whatever you are eating or drinking right now. Because consumption of food or beverage is not recommended before you observe what I'm about to show you. It is so absurd, I can't even process it.

Behold, Perez Hilton (note: he was attending a black-tie event of some kind according to Buzzfeed):

This is a smorgasbord of fashion hilarity. This is Jazzercise meets smoking jacket meets Disney's Space Mountain meets LMFAO glasses meets sad 90s hair. Also, is it just the shoes, or does he really have such tiny bird ankles? And is it just me, or do those glasses almost look Photoshopped onto his head? Perez. Pull it together. 

The One Where I Begin

Oh, my. So here we are, Internet. The time has come. For me to have a blog. (Which I always spell glob the first time I try to type it. If only those two words meant the same thing!) I feel like a moron writing this, knowing that probably only about 4 of my closest friends will ever read this. Whatevs. I hope one day to be a glob blog some stranger comes across and reads (secretly?) at work during a slow day and then that person tells their friend and they tell their friend and bam I'm up to 7 whole readers. What's the point of dreaming if it's not going to be a big one, right?

Anyway... pour yourself a glass of (circle one, or mix appropriately):

a) orange juice 
b) wine
c) vodka

and settle in for Story Time With Nan because I'm starting with a good one. Okay, fine, I'm starting with a decent one. Cut me some slack - it's my first entry. 

So... imagine this is me, bopping along to my haircut appointment in my car this morning:

"Turn up that Celine Dion!"

Except that's not me, that's a dog. You get the gist. Anyway, so I pull off the freeway and I'm waiting for the light to change and a truck pulls up next to me. But not just any old truck.

Snorefest.

No, not that boring truck. But one that's advertising some type of water removal business. Like when your house is flooded and you need the water to NOT be in your life anymore. Not like "got some extra water laying around? We'll remove it!" And I look over and this is what I see:

Again, taken at  STOPLIGHT not while DRIVING.

And I'm looking at this and I'm like "... That looks like the same guy. Not two different guys. And with the arm around the shoulder and the thumbs up, it looks like this guy is having a love affair WITH HIMSELF." And then I look again (this was one really long light) and I read, as you can, too, "Twice the service, twice the care!!" (Note the double exclamation point, like a sorority girl edited it.) (I can say that because I WAS ONE.) And then I think "Man. Those "brothers" (because I'm still not convinced that is two different people) must have really wanted to be in a Doublemint commercial back in the day. And now they're doing water removal instead. Talk about twice the sad." 

All of this led me to think about something else interesting I saw a couple weeks ago. This does not involve a truck. It does, however, involve a vanity license plate. Now. I have a problem with vanity license plates. Even though my mom had a vanity license plate on the car she had before the one she drives now. God only knows what possessed her to pay an extra whatever amount of dollars to declare to the world that she was driving a Cadillac. Oh WAIT you can see what kind of car it is by LOOKING AT THE CAR. Mom, I love you, but I'm glad you grew out of that phase. Anyhoot, the other night, I was driving.... somewhere. Don't remember where. Probs to buy frozen yogurt. And I spy THIS:

"By having a vanity license plate, I can tell the world how unique I am! So brilliant and not at all douchey!"

And I immediately narrow my eyes in suspicion. Because without other context clues, this looks like it means "Hourly Lover." Am I right?! (The answer is yes.) And I'm staring at this car and I'm like "Lady. (I could see it was a lady. I was not just assuming.) Get a grip on yourself. Why would you tell the entire world you're a prostitute?" And we drive a little further and I see a couple Harley stickers on her window. Harley, as in motorcycles. Ohhhhhhhhh. I get it now. But I'm still going to assume you're a prostitute. 

The moral of this entire story is: 1) If you look exactly like your brother, differentiate yourselves in your truck advertising picture so innocent bystanders will not assume it is one person repeated. 2) Make sure when getting your vanity plate from the DMV you do NOT potentially imply you are a "lady of the night" if that's not what you're going for. That's why God gave you friends. So they can help prevent this from happening. 

More musings to come. Along with more ridiculous pictures of dogs driving. 

Stay tuned...