A Brand New Paula In The Country!

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Hey everyone! So, as you are aware (because I know I have surely been missed in the blogging world) (or not) (whatever), I have taken what seems like a long hiatus from blogging. You see, I think my problem was that I lacked directionality. And, well, crappy things sort of happened to me that made me reprioritize stuff. There was that, too. But the other night I was lying awake and thought to myself, “Man, Paula. We’re bored. We need something fun and creative to do so we don’t go nuts. By the way, we’re really hungry, too.”. And this, folks, is how my brand new blog called Cook It. Eat It. Repeat It. was born. Thus far, I’m having way too much fun with it, and much more is in store. So follow me over there! Please? I’ll give you all a dollar. Or my neverending gratitude. One of those. Probably the latter. What more do you people want from me?!?!

Ok, I am now done being melodramatic. Come visit me here!

http://cookiteatitrepeatit.wordpress.com/

Sincerely,

Paula In The Country

 

Well, My Floors *Could* Use A Good Mopping…

In today’s edition of fun with online dating, we have who I refer to only as ‘the one who got away’.

*Sigh*

They always run at the first mention of the word ‘laundry’

 

Paula In The Country’s Fun With Online Dating!

You guys know what’s hard? I mean, besides folding a fitted sheet, and playing Sudoku? (Seriously, does anyone really know how to play that game? I don’t buy it.) It’s dating. Especially dating at 39, particularly when you’ve never been married. It’s automatically assumed that you’re horribly disfigured or have a psychotic streak. Which I do not, unless you count the one time I stuck an entire box of donut holes up a guy’s tailpipe. I regret nothing. Except that I wasted some perfectly good donut holes. Anyhooooooo… As I was saying; There was a time when I would wallow in a pool of self-pity, fielding poorly penned messages from these so-called ‘gentlemen’ in my dating pool. But one day I realized, “P-Dawg!” (because that’s what I call myself sometimes is P-Dawg), “What’s the hell’s the point of feeling sorry for yourself? That is dumb.”. I’m pretty wise when I talk to myself. That was the day I decided to have fun with these dudes. So here, I present to you, the first edition of Paula In The Country’s Fun With Online Dating!

It’s pretty exciting stuff. Trust me.

Here we go!

 

I like to call this one ‘Mr. Romantic And Slightly Creepy’.

I actually did make a walrus face at my dog. Didn’t even make that up.

 

Liebster, Liebster, Liebster!

 

Ok, ok… So I haven’t blogged in forever. Can I tell you all something? I’m gonna. See, I have a brother that’s pretty ill. I blogged about it a while back. I don’t talk about it a lot because, well, it’s not really a fun thing to talk about. Anyway, a lot of my energy is being expended right now on family, and I’m afraid it’s impeding both my blogging and my Tweeting. It’s a damn shame, really. You guys are missing out on some quality Paula In The Country thoughts. I’m certain you’ve all felt an emptiness inside because of it. Or not. Whatever. Anyway, I was nominated for this award thingy a long time ago, and I’m just now getting around to doin’ this thang. So… here we go:

First off, thank you, http://athenenoelle.wordpress.com/ for nominating me for such a prestigious award, just for doing nothing other than occasionally amusing myself by rambling about absurd things. I feel like just Jennifer Lawrence at the Oscars, except that I’m totally way cuter. Yep. That’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it. And now… to answer all these questions. Whew. I’m exhausted already.

1. Do you think having to answer questions for an award is stupid? If so, proceed to the rules, and ignore the questions. You can ignore the rules too! I don’t care. I still like you just the way you are.

I don’t HAVE to answer anything. You can’t make me. You just said so right up there.

2. What color just makes you so happy, and why?

Orange. Because it is the color of carrot cake, and carrot cake makes me happy.

3. Do you have a favorite bug? Why is it your favorite?

I do not have a favorite bug. Except maybe those bugs in the movie Bugs. They were cute. In real life, though, all bugs can pretty much suck it.

4. Do you believe in reincarnation? What is your reason for your belief, and do you feel you have proof if its existence?

Maybe. I’m not really sure. It seems a little farfetched, but my brother swears he was a weed at my parents’ wedding before he was born. True story. My family is weird.

5. How do you define “infinity”? They say our universe is infinite. Can you even conceive of the infinite? I can’t, so don’t feel bad if you can’t either.

This question is requiring me to think hard way too early in the morning, so I’m moving on.

6. What do you think real love is?

Real love means I’m never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around… Wait… That’s a Rick Astley song. Never mind.

7. What do you dream about, if you remember your dreams?

The older I get, the less I remember my dreams. My last memorable one was about mutant puppies and me giving birth to kittens, though. You know, normal stuff. I had nipples on my stomach. Whatevs.

8. Do you believe in living with someone if you’re not married, with all of that packing and trouble for a relationship that could end in a few months?

I think living with someone prior to marriage is a requirement. I ain’t gonna marry someone I know leaves a dribble of pee running down the front of the toilet daily.

9. Do you think all Muslims are evil terrorists? (I don’t). Like all extremists, I think they are a small percentage of the total population.

No, but I think those red hat ladies are.

10. Do you like your nose? If you could have a celebrity’s nose, whose would it be, and would it go with your face, aesthetically speaking?

My nostrils look like peanuts, and I have far too many blackheads, but otherwise my nose is ok. I think I’d like a nose like Jennifer Grey’s new nose, but I think it’d look odd on my big head.

11. Do you believe in God/a Creator, and if you do, do you think God is a man or a woman, or just a Presence or a Being?

I think there’s something out there, but I don’t think I’m smart enough to know what he/she/it is. I’m pretty sure he/she/it has a Samuel L. Jackson voice, though.

Shit… 11 random facts? Good Lord, this is like the SATs up in here. Here we go:

– I have three older brothers. I’m the baby, and the only girl. My parents stopped at me because they knew they had created perfection. Again, that’s my story, and I’m stickin’ to it.

– I’m scared of the ocean, bridges, flying, and bees.

– I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

– One time in junior high science class, I was reading out loud and I said ‘orgasm’ instead of ‘organism’. It still haunts me to this day.

– I used to be a fat girl in my late teens/early 20’s. Then I got real skinny, then back to semi-fat, and now I’m somewhere in between.

– Yesterday I biked 20 miles, and I feel like someone butt raped me.

– I have a dolphin tattoo on my lower back, and it is the stupidest-looking tattoo ever. Never get a tattoo when you’re 18 years old. I need to start a campaign about this so others don’t ever have to live in shame of their lower back region like I do.

– I love musicals. LOVE them. I’ve actually taken some theatre classes, and I can sing, but sadly, I cannot dance unless it’s an accidental twerk. I wish I’d taken some dance and gotten into the theatre stuff in high school, because it seems like it’s just plain fun.

– I want to go to Greece at least once before I die. I want to see the ruins, eat the food, and sleep with a hot Greek stranger.

– I was a virgin until I was 24 years old. Despite my naughty librarian appearance, I’m really a good girl. But if I ever find the right dude and fall in love, it is SO on.

Hey look, I did 11 already! That wasn’t so hard. Now for my nominees!

http://farmerfarthing.com/

http://longchaps2.wordpress.com/

http://fisticuffsandshenanigans.com/

http://thephilfactor.com/

http://restlessnightsincheaphotels.wordpress.com/

And the questions:

1. Do you prefer to blog with or without pants on?

2. Can you please tell me how many licks it takes to get to the Tootsie Roll center of a Tootsie Pop?

3. Who would you run into a burning building to save?

4. Are you at all psychic?

5. Have you ever been arrested?

6. What’s your favorite decade?

7. If you could have drinks with one person, living or dead, who would it be, and why?

8. What is your favorite household appliance?

9. Do you believe in ghosts?

10. Why’s the sky blue?

11. What’s your favorite book and/or author?

I think that’s enough questions. I have to go pee.

The rules: (which, of course, are made to be broken)

1. Thank the person who nominated you and post a link to their blog on your blog. (There’s no need, if you don’t feel like it).
2. Display the award on your blog–by including it in your post and/or displaying it using a “widget” or a “gadget”. (Don’t feel bad if you don’t know what a “widget” or a “gadget” is. I didn’t either.)
3. Answer 11 questions about yourself which will be provided to you by the person who nominated you.
4. Provide 11 random facts about yourself.
5. Nominate 5 – 11 blogs you feel deserve this award, who have less than 1000 followers.
6. Create a new list of questions for the blogger to answer.
7. List these rules on your post. Once you have written published it, you then have to:
8. Inform people/blogs that you nominated that they have been nominated for the Liebster Award and provide a link for them to your post so they can learn about it (they might not have heard of it!)

Now I have to figure out how to inform my nominees that they’re nominees.

Blogging is hard.

 

Adventures In Online Dating

Dating can be tough.

However, this morning I was comforted by the fact that, if nothing else, at least I am NOT a match for ManZebra.

Today is a good day.

I couldn’t make this crap up if I tried, folks.

 

For The Love Of Tight Pants

So, today was opening day of baseball.

*Yawn*

I suppose I should be excited. This means it’s officially Spring, right? And it’s America’s Favorite Pastime, right???

But… Sadly… I. Just. Can’t.

It’s not that I don’t WANT to care. I really, really do. I feel downright un-American. Baseball seems like something I should be able to get behind. Men in tight pants? Drinking? Shoving encased meats in my face? Sounds kind of great, actually. I mean, I live in Chicago, we have two baseball teams, for God’s sake. Two!

But… I don’t care. I just don’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I love movies about baseball. ‘A League Of Their Own’? Hell yeah, there’s no crying in baseball, bitches! ‘Field Of Dreams’? Preach on, James Earl Jones! ‘Trouble With The Curve’? Ok, I was a little disappointed Justin Timberlake wasn’t in baseball pants, not gonna lie, but I can overlook that because I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, and who doesn’t love Clint Eastwood? Even as an old dude, he’s completely badass. Come on now. But the game itself? Like, dudes hitting a ball with a stick and running around some bases? I don’t get it, guys.

*Sigh*

I know… I’m ashamed of me, too.

But seriously, at least bend over a little more, fellas. Don’t let the pants go to waste.

Uhhh… Play ball?

 

Why Friends Are Better Than Dates

I haven’t written anything in a while, I know. I haven’t really been inspired. You ever get like that? Like, you WANT to write something. You know you have decent grammar skills and are mildly amusing in spurts. But there’s just nothin’? Yeah. That. Anyway, after my recent dumpage, (See a couple blogs back. Some dumbass dumped me. Pfft. Whatevs. He may have briefly hurt me, but he’ll never take my Chunky Monkey.) I told myself I was taking a long dating hiatus to focus on my upcoming 10 mile run from hell. However, I got these new glasses that make me look all sexy librarian-like, and ever since, I’m beating dudes off with a stick. I probably shouldn’t have used ‘beating’ and ‘off’ in the same sentence regarding dating, but whatever. You know what I meant. So, I’ve been doing a smattering of flirting and such, which I guess is what single chicks are supposed to do, and just the other day, I was discussing a recent potential date with my friend Donna. Donna is a great friend. I think she gets pissed at me because I complain to her I’m fat all the time, but that I really want a cheeseburger, and somehow she puts up with my rants, and then says that she’s just done with me. It’s much less harsh than it sounds. Anyway, I thought I’d share one of our recent conversations, because it’s definitely share-worthy:

Me: “He used the wrong ‘your’, and you know how I feel about that.”

Donna: “Paula, some people are just better in person than in messages. You should give him a chance.”

Me: “I don’t know. He seems like he may ok. But he called me ‘babe’ in his last message to me. Like, who does that? Babe? Who says that? It reminds me of some male chauvinist dude with gold chains and an overabundance of chest hair.”

Donna: “I don’t mind ‘babe’. I mean, it’s better than ‘cunt’ or something.”

Gotta admit, she has a point.

And this, people, is why friends are better than dates.

I rest my case.

The End

 

Run, Paula, Run!: Part II

So, last week I signed up to run a 10 mile race.

Yes. On purpose.

I’m not quite sure what inspired me to do this, because if you’ve read some of my very early blog posts (Which I’m sure you haven’t, because Paula In The Country was not the worldwide sensation then that it is today. Shut up. Just go with it.), you’ll find that I did this exact same race last year, and didn’t find it particularly enjoyable then. I haven’t miraculously begun to love running since. Trust me on that. Granted, I’ve gotten slightly better at it, and am now at least able to run a 5K without having what I’m pretty sure is a very mild heart attack only curable by bagel, Big Gulp, or cupcake. But still. In sunny 45 – 70 degree weather, a nice 3 mile run can actually be quite refreshing. Once a month or so. With some walking breaks in the middle. Actually, it’d be ideal if I could get a little running monkey to follow behind me with snacks and stuff, too. Maybe some Triscuits. They’re good carbs, right? They have fiber. Would I be required to clean up after the monkey if it pooped on a nature trail, you think? It’s not like Triscuit monkey can wear a diaper or anything. That’d just look silly. Anyway… I got way off on a tangent there. That happens when I start talking about snacks and monkeys.

So, you may be asking yourselves, “Paula In The Country, why did you sign up to do such a stupid thing if you hate running?”. Well, smartass, I’ll tell you. Uhhhhh…

Shit, I can’t remember now.

Wait! I remember!

It’s because for a brief moment, upon completing that 10 miles, after I’ve gotten past my extremely angry “I’m never doing this bullshit ever again!” moment as I’m drooling on myself and trying not to pass out immediately following the race, there’s a different feeling… One of “Holy shit. I just ran 10 miles. 10. Fucking. Miles! I’m a Goddamn badass!”. Yeah, I know there are a lot of half-marathon and marathon runners out there who would scoff at my measly 10 miles, but for a girl like me, who graduated high school at well over 200 pounds, rarely exercised until my mid-20’s, and has never, EVER been athletic in the least, unless you count ping-pong or marathon White Castle slider-eating, 10 miles actually is a pretty badass thing. So that moment- That, “I’m proud of me.” moment makes all of the struggling through training, getting up at 4:30am to run 5 miles on a Wednesday before work, two months of sore calves, and smelly, sweaty feet, completely worth it. As lame as that sounds. Plus, there are Mimosas and chocolate malts afterwards. That helps, too. I refuse, however, to ever say, “You go, girl!” to myself. Not out loud, anyway. Maybe, like, in my car on the way home while listening to Kelly Clarkson or something. There may be three snaps in a Z form as well.

Until then, wish me luck in getting through the next couple months of running hell without the aid of a Triscuit-toting running monkey. It could get rough.

 

What I Did On My Jamaican Vacation, by Paula G.

I haven’t blogged in a while, and I’m sure you’ve all been very concerned. I can assure you, I’ve had good reason. Shoveling snow, dieting, and jetsetting to tropical places, mainly. I had a very special request from a very special lady to blog. And I can’t rightly ignore a blog request, can I? That’d be like Michael Jackson ignoring a request to do ‘Billy Jean’ at a concert. I mean, if he wasn’t dead and stuff. You know what I mean.

Last week, I went on a much-needed winter getaway to Jamaica. Let me stop there and reflect for a moment…

*Sigh*

Now that I’ve had that moment of reflection, which included looking at the snow outside my patio door and getting mildly pissed off, let me tell you what I did on my Jamaican vacation, in no particular order:

1. Jamaican Drank

Those Jamaicans really know how to booze up some Americans. From the moment you get off the airplane, it’s ‘No problem, mon, here’s a drink, which already has rum in it, but I’m gonna top it off with MORE rum. Yeah, mon! No problem, mon!”. Normally, this would be no problem, mon, except when you’ve been on an airplane and haven’t eaten since breakfast. The first day is a margarita, pina colada, some blue drink, mojito blur, with a nap, followed by more margarita, pina colada, blue drink, mojito blur, ending at a piano bar, where I’m pretty sure I made the piano player play Journey, which didn’t go well, and a young Jamaican girl in knee socks tried to teach drunk white people to dance like Jamaicans. Which also didn’t go well, from what I remember. Which ain’t much. That was Monday. Tuesday, I told myself I wouldn’t drink. That lasted until dinner. The rest of the trip pretty much went the same, except for the fact that I also remember I told a hibachi chef that his attempt at culinary fried rice art looked like a vagina.

2. Jamaican Almost Died Climbing The Dunn’s River Falls

When you sign up for this free excursion through the resort, nobody quite tells you what to expect. Suffice it to say I was not at all prepared to rock climb up a slippery, steep, rocky waterfall in nothing but a string bikini, all while being filmed for a Jamaican tourism video and being splashed and told to look like I was having fun by a strange Jamaican who, were it not for the fact I was holding on for dear life to the hand of another strange Jamaican man who was climbing the falls barefoot like some sort of Jamaican Superman, would have gotten Jamaican bitch slapped. I noticed at one point that my nipple had also made it’s way out of my bikini top. So I can now say I climbed a waterfall, and may possibly be part of a ‘Girls Gone Wild: Dunn’s River Falls’ video.

3. Jamaican Spin Class

I was very excited to have found a resort with Spin class, as I’m newly addicted. I did not anticipate, however, waking up most mornings at 7am still slightly drunk, and for the class to be in an 80 degree un-airconditioned room. But by God, I made it there every morning, and I’m pretty sure my sweat could’ve gotten a few resort-goers drunk. I didn’t understand a word that large, muscular instructor said except for “In-ten-si-TYYY, mon!”.

4. Jamaican Massage

I can’t remember the massage lady’s name, but I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her. Massages can be a little awkward at first, what with the whole being naked with a stranger thing. But between the sounds of the ocean, and the initial rough-yet-gentle scalp massage, I was hers. Whatever her name was. I hope she writes.

5. Jamaican Beach/Pool Sitting

This may be my favorite of the Jamaican activities. And I think it’s pretty self-explanatory. I’d also like to take a moment to pat myself on the back here, about the fact that although it took me 38 years to learn, I finally managed to apply the correct amount of sunscreen so as to not get burnt like a giant vacation-going lobster the first day there. Good thing, too, because between the sun soaking all moisture from my skin, and the booze making me pee out all the moisture from my insides, I may have only been a giant German raisin by the end of the trip.

Instead, I was just a fat, happy, relaxed Paula In The Country, who stole free finger sandwiches in a carefree manner from the VIP lounge at the Jamaican airport.

I’m sure everyone does that.

Yeah, mon.

 

Is That A Studfinder In Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

Well, it’s that time again, folks! No, I’m not talking about Valentine’s Day, although, less than one week until giant Hershey’s Kisses go on clearance! Woot! Anyway, what I meant was that it’s time for another edition of Quotes From The Lumber Yard! I know, I know… It’s been a while. But this Polar Vortex shit really takes a toll on us in the lumber business, and, to be honest, most of our sentences involve, “Holy shit, it’s cold.”, or just a Chewbacca/Sasquatch-like series of painful-sounding grunts. But I did manage to scrape together a few quotes somehow, even though my coworkers are now privy to the fact that this blog exists, and are seemingly in some sort of competition to make it into my blog. “Paula, did you hear that?! Write that down! Write that down!” *Sigh* Thankfully, there is no swimsuit competition involved, because nobody wants to see that. Trust me. Anyway… On to the quotes!

“He had trouble with the damn thing going up and staying up.”

It’s perfectly normal for a man your age.

“The chips they put behind our ears allow us to get 50 yards away before the dogs get us.”

This blog is a cry for help. Someone come save us. Katniss! Peeta!

“You have my permission to violate my locker.”

I don’t know about you guys, but I enjoy a good locker violation during work hours.

” “Ah, I’ve done many things myself…”, he reminisced fondly.”

Just walk away, Paula. Walk. Away.

“You gave birth! That thing’s HUGE!”

I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies!

“That can’s gonna freeze on your lips!”

The Polar Vortex: Freezing cans to lips since early 2014.

“What’s a cornjerker look like?”

I’d actually kind of like to know the answer to this one.

“Do you have something you want me to jump on?”

Not something you want to hear at work, unless there’s a jumpy castle around. Which would actually be pretty cool. I should bring that up at the next meeting.

“That’s a good-sized unit.”

Thanks… I, uhhh, just had it stuffed?

“Some of ’em are loose, and some of ’em aren’t.”

Also describes my graduating class, actually.

“He has a problem with his explosion. There’s a delay there.”

Again… It’s perfectly normal.

This is starting to reaffirm that fact that although it gets stressful at times, and it’s certainly not glamorous, I really, really love my job. Or at least  my coworkers, without whom this blog would not be possible. It also reaffirms the fact that I may be a 12 year old boy trapped inside a 38 year old woman. Whatevs.

Ha ha… I said ‘unit’ up there.