Archive | February, 2013

Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter [The Office Kitchen]

28 Feb

If that study (surprising precisely no one, btw) that came out last week about how your work coffee mug is a “cesspool” of germs due to the incalculably gross number of bacteria on office sponges didn’t convince you the office kitchen should have a sign over the door a la the gates of Dante’s Hell, I give you the following evidence:

Not five minutes ago, I walked into the kitchen to refresh my water from the Brita (which, I don’t even want to think about the germs, so please refrain from commenting). La la la la la not thinking about germs, please don’t let there be too many awkward people in OH MY DEAR ZEUS. PLEASE tell me he is not BRUSHING HIS TEETH in the KITCHEN SINK?!

To this I have but one thing to say:

THERE ARE BATHROOMS. Kindly use them for being disgusting.

More Tales of Woe from the Reluctant MOH

28 Feb

Or, The Post With ALL THE CAPS LOCK.

(Quick recap: My Oldest Friend in the universe is getting married in August, and despite the eight states that lie between us she chose me as her MOH. Being fitted for the bridesmaids dress was trying, and now it’s time for the shower.)


I see a bridal shower in your future! Congratulate Oldest Friend with an evening of food, fun, and fortune telling. But shh! It’s a surprise!

My suitcase will contain one pair of undies and 50 lbs of decorations. Where: [ADDRESS]

When: Saturday, April 6th, 6pm-9pm

RSVP: By March 15th to

Like to cook? Let me know what you can bring!



Hypothetical situation:

You’re a bridesmaid. The MOH Facebook messages you with a very polite and cheery request for your address so she can mail shower invitations. “By the way, keep April 6th open, but not a word to the bride! ;)”

Things come up, you get sidetracked, her query slips by. So a week later she messages you again. “Just a quick reminder to e-mail me your mailing address for the shower invites!”

WHAT A BITCH, RIGHT? How DARE this woman think I have the TIME to WRITE DOWN MY ADDRESS AND CLICK SEND. THE NERVE. Obviously I should leave the Facebook message thread because this crazy lady is just TOO DEMANDING.

Well suit yourself ladies. Your painstakingly hand-written invitations are ready to go whenever you find the time to send ONE ZEUSDAMN EMAIL.

*Please note that Oldest Friend finds these three high-school-aged future CILs very obnoxious and did not intend to include them in the bridal party. CILs whined to future MIL who guilted Oldest Friend into adding them on. So there are eight bridesmaids and four groomsmen. BUT THE MORAL OF THE STORY IS THEY WANTED TO BE IN ON THIS.

Things women should (apparently) do at a bar

25 Feb

Moving has been good for my social life.

Moving has not, however, significantly altered my personality, ingrained habits, or genetic traits. Sober Penny is a feminist, and Sober Penny is also an introvert whose entire family crosses their arms and legs on the reg. (Note: I was sober by choice, but also because one thing Drunk Penny does not do is drive and it was raining; hence, Sober Penny could be found, arms crossed, in a bar at 1 am last Saturday night.)

Exhibit A: Exhortations to smile

I’m soooooo terribly sorry, drunk dude at the bar, that my I’m-sober-in-a-bar-at-1am face doesn’t meet your standards for Pleasing Object On Which To Gaze (And Potentially Maul With My Tongue).

Exhibit B: Exhortations to uncross my arms

I’m sober. In a bar. At one in the morning. I subsequently do not have a drink in my hand and would prefer not to have your fermented breath anywhere near my face. Sorry I’m not sorry for standing comfortably and being quietly amused behind my stony mask of indifference while you play out ancient and extremely uninhibited mating rituals with my decidedly less-sober friends.

Exhibit C: Intimations that I should stand up less straight Continue reading

Missed Kisses

22 Feb

There are two possible answers to the WHY DIDN’T HE KISS ME? question:

  • It could be me.
  • He could be dumb.

After a quick survey of the P&P crew, we think the answer is pretty universal and definitely obvious.

In Which Polly was Not Meg Ryan and Blonde Beau was Not Tom Hanks

My first kiss was perfect. I was in Disney World for a high school marching band trip (cool kid right here) and a slightly older, british, tenor sax-playing, tennis god (with terrible acne but let’s focus on the positives) seized exactly the right moment and smooched me under the fireworks in EPCOT. It was better than a Mary-Kate and Ashley tween movie.

Well it had to go downhill from there, right?

This is exactly what we didn't look like.A year later I was a senior and courting a very blonde fellow from the nearby all-boys private school. We made adorable plans to skip half a day of school and take a train into the city. Our time was spent exploring an art museum, enjoying a park picnic, feeding the ducks, attending a musical, and eventually finding ourselves at the top of the city’s tallest building looking out at the sparkling lights during the observation deck’s closing hour. There was oodles of hand holding and longing stares and hinting words but not. a. peck.

Of course longing stares take time and we missed all the trains back home. Blonde Beau’s dad had to pick us up from a seedier part of town. So instead of the observation deck (OR the museum, OR the park, OR the theater) he kissed me in the school parking lot where his dad had to drop me off at my car. Slick.

Circe’s Country Song Gone Wrong

This kiss wasn’t missed in the end, but it probably should have been.

So it wasn’t exactly our first kiss…just the first one we both fully remembered (flashback to 3 days earlier, drunkenly making out at a bar). It was a warm spring evening and we had gone to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants in Aeaea. Croquet Playing Hipster paid: +5 points. Then he suggested taking a walk around the harbor and getting ice cream +100 points (ok, so I really like ice cream…). We walked down by the docks hand This but scarier. With ice hand for a while, until we decided to sit on a bench overlooking the water. That’s when things started getting awkward.

Conversation became strained as we both tried to determine how close/far we should be sitting from each other, should he put his arm around me, should I lean into him to let him know that would be just fine with me, does my breath smell? (In retrospect, garlic fries may have been a bad first date choice, but if we both ate them, that makes it ok, right?). I felt like I was giving all of the proper signals, and the setting could not have been more perfect.
After sitting there in awkward semi-silence for what felt like an eternity and a half, I couldn’t take it anymore, so I blurted out: “So are you gonna kiss me or what?” Now in my head, this sounded like that cute, playful country song by Thompson Square. In reality, it came off as way too aggressive and accusatory, and I think he was so taken aback/frightened that he finally kissed me so I wouldn’t hurt him.

Penny’s Cuddleless Night

(To be fair: THANK ZEUS NO CUDDLES. I like my space.)

Wayyyy back before MMF and I started actually admitting that we maybe sorta wanted to try seeing each other I accompanied him to a cocktail attire work holiday party and… spent the night.

MMF: Ok, well, here’s the bed and the bathroom is there; I’ll take the couch, obviously.
Penny: You do not have to sleep on the couch. Continue reading

Latte Boy Sighting

21 Feb

As I strolled down the street with my new single girl pep in my step who should I feast my eyes on but my Very Own Latte Boy driving his coffee truck. We totes made eye contact, guys.

That is all.


19 Feb

I love living alone. It’s awesome. I’m pretty sure I wear pants 70% less often than most people. But despite the overwhelming “pros” there are some undeniable “cons” to being your only roommate. Choking or slipping in the shower used to top the list, and Jack agrees that my fears are rational:


But a new danger is upon us. We here at P&P believe the same culprit is behind these frightening cases, their motive obviously being to eliminate all sad, solitary, dieting women by inciting slow death through internal bleeding.

Glass shards were first found in mushroom ravioli Lean Cuisines, and now in Special K Red Berries cereal. Watch out comrades, our probiotic yogurt is likely next.

Drunk me is not a feminist

19 Feb

Bar-bar did have a surprisingly good Sauvignon Blanc. I will remember this.

Drunk me never fails to mystify sober me. (Do drunk selves ever make sense to sober selves?)

A quick snapshot of things drunk Penny did/said Friday night, with commentary:

  1. “I just want a boy to tell me I’m pretty.” (To be fair, sober me also said this.)
  2. Encouraged Strapping Marine to buy me drinks. (Hey, even sober me is all about the free things.)
  3. Allowed said Marine to introduce me as his wife to some random chick at the bar. Why he felt the need to do this, I am a tad unclear. (While amused that a 28-year-old Marine would feel the need to hide behind my figurative skirts, sober me would have definitely taken this, along with the repeated offers to visit him in his city alllllll the way across the country, as a RED FLAG.)
  4. Refused another beer and asked for a pint of water (GO DRUNK ME!); was talked into a shot of whisky 15 minutes later (peer pressure is a bitch).
  5. Allowed Strapping Marine to pick me up outside the bar; proceeded to make out with my legs wrapped around his waist. (What can I say? I am a sucker for tall, strong men being tall and strong. Blame the romance novels/the patriarchy/alcohol.)
  6. Wisely refused Strapping Marine and friend’s offer to help us find our way home, hailed a cab and was home by 12:30. (GO DRUNK ME!)
  7. Folded and put away my scarf. (Awesome.)
  8. Left jeans and shirt on the floor, next to the hamper; socks made it in. (Still, mostly a fail.)
  9. Washed face (well done!) but didn’t brush teeth? (Grosssssssssssss.)
  10. Charged phone (verrrrrrrrrra nice) but didn’t set alarm? (Thank goodness the furniture delivery men called BEFORE they showed up at 7 am is all I can say.)

The only conclusion I can draw from this is that drunk me is not nearly so feminist (or logical) as sober me. Because sober me would never have been okay with Strapping Marine’s blatant macho maneuvers and conversation (grabbing my ass in combination with the patronizing nickname “Girly” would earn him a scathing set-down from sober Penny).

But damn, drunk me had a good time Friday night. Continue reading

Hiking Photography

Beautiful photos of hiking and other outdoor adventures.

Furor Scribendi

the rage for writing


Just another site

Pretty Feet, Pop Toe

It's just my point of view. Love it or hate it.

I'm Just Sayin'

Are You SURE I Don't Get Paid for This?

The Hand-Written Life

The Official Website of Andrea Kelly

Gen Y Girl

Twentysomething. Annoyed with corporate BS. Obsessed with Gen Y. Not bratty. Just opinionated.

The Unadulterated Truth


this is Val.

Can I Get Ur Number?

Answering the question "Why Am I Single?" one post at a time...

One Awkward Year

wow, this is awkward . . .

%d bloggers like this: