Top 10 Ways To...

Not Be the Only Single Loser in the World. No, really.
Take Our Advice, It is Priceless, As We Are Completely Learned in the
Acquisition of Attractive Men.

Or, Why "Top 10 Places to Meet Single, Attractive Men" Suck.

Once in a good while, maybe once a week, some free lance idiot plops out a witty how-to for meeting the perfect single man to satisfy your desperate cat-lady needs. This is MNOP's time to shine, baby. Not only will we provide you with the list that some other broad(s) "originally" birthed, but we'll tell you why the list is terrible and what we think are some better options for meeting some sort of approximation of a "man":

1. Eat Out.
(Aubri can't read this heading without breaking into a fit a of giggles.)

Theory: Single Men don't cook, because that's a woman's job and they don't have one. (A woman). Q.E.D. Single Men frequent chain restaurants where they can essentially hire a woman to provide this service (legally).

Real-Life Experience: We went to Chili's for lunch the other day. We were fully ready to meet some day-drinking business men and found exactly what we were looking for: a quasi-nerdy pair of reasonably attractive men with no rings on the left hand. Problem? They barely talked to each other between stuffing their faces with quesadilla and chips and salsa. Much less to us.

Better Theory: 1am at a bar is probably the best place to meet your man. There is rarely food to distract you or your intended future-husband from gratuitous flirtation. Alcohol provides the perfect amount of social lubricant to make you not care that he's wearing copious amounts of Ed Hardy and make him not care that your hair isn't as perfectly Snooki'd as it was at the beginning of the night. Last call's not just for alcohol anymore.

2. Join a Gym.

Theory: Super-sexy health freaks spend relaxation time pumping iron. If they look good at the gym, they must look good in actual clothes!

Conflict: We're comfortably fat and moderately sedentary and we don't want to hold our men to any standards that we don't uphold for ourselves. Plus, it's no secret that MNOPers prefer their men with a little fluff and a healthy comic book habit.

Better Theory: 1am at a bar, but a divey-er one. Again. Best place to meet your future husband. This time, we're at a divey bar with a slightly more eclectic clientele. The guy with the nerdy tshirt will appreciate your appreciation for classic rock. The displaced cubicle dweller will appreciate your appreciation for the slightly pricier vodka...if the bartender has even has anything better than Absolut.


Now, now. Don't think you're not going to have to work for #3-10! You'll have to click that link again next week! We can only string so many words together at a time to create complete thoughts as brilliant as these!



Obligatory Author Bio: Kristen & Aubri are slackers and hopeless cynics. They work mindless jobs at drone factories and write a bitterly sarcastic blog on the side. They have lived in such cultural Meccas as West Virginia, Connecticut, Florida and Pennsylvania. The pair currently call Jersey home and are always bitching about something. They can usually be found in dive bars or diner booths drinking or eating heavily, which is definitely their favorite hobby. The rest of their time is spent rollerskating, pole dancing, driving long distances for food, not working hard on their blog, and shopping for mail-order husbands online. And shoes.

Untitled Making No One Proud Marriage Project (2010) (pre-production)

Kristen has a serious problem. She suffers from what she refers to as "Indiana Jones Syndrome", a disorder that causes major crushes on academic types that spend more time abseiling down mountainous cliffs, fighting Nazis, spelunking through flooded caves, and riding into the sunset on Arabian horses. Josh Gates fits a majority of these categories and probably wishes he could fit into the rest.

Scifi*'s Destination Truth is a full hour of anthropological, cryptozoological, and parapsychological investigative television on par with 60 Minutes and 20/20. Hosted by the charming Mr. Gates and rounded out by a rag-tag bunch of misfit crew members, DT attempts to answer the hard-hitting questions surrounding the world's most mysterious legends. Josh and team travel the globe searching for the bipedal hominids (Yeti, Tokoloshe, etc.) and Jurassic-style beasts (Ropen, Burrunjor, et al.) that terrorize seemingly every small town but your own.

Josh is also (thankfully) a member of the Explorer's Club, which makes him eligible to marry our dear Kristen as this is one of the qualifications on her 68-point list of requirements for a perfect man. Dream big, non-Explorer Club losers! Dream big!

*Note from the authors: We refuse to substitute "y"s where other letters belong.

Ye Olde Snacking Tyme

It's a hangover kind of morning. The same kind of morning you teeter on baby deer legs into the bathroom, and emerge with a pad stuck to you pajama bottoms, only halfway sure you didn't just pee in the linen closet.

The only thing Aubri wanted more than sleep on this morning, was food because:
1. She always wants food. And
B. Nothing is worse than vomiting when the only thing you've consumed in the past 16 hours are vodka and cranberry juice.

Using all her motivation and strength Aubri works her way into the kitchen with dreams of pancakes and potatoes. What she finds is the cold, harsh reality that everything edible requires at least heating if not mixing.

Near tears (seriously), Aubri mentally commits to starting a business with the sole purpose of picking up and delivering McDonald's breakfast for drunks like herself who can't wake up before the entirely too early 10 AM deadline for those incredible greasy hash browns.
Or at least, she'll find someone who she can pay to start and run the company.

As if the fates were guiding her, Aubri happens upon the remnants of the party she hosted just a week before: A bag of potato chips, a tub of pretzels, and dip (insert soundbite of a choir of angels here).

The problem: the chips are just the last bits of crumbles much too small for holding let alone scooping dip.

The solution:



Pour the chip remnants onto a paper plate, stick the pretzel rods into the dip, then using the onion-y adhesive, gather the salty chip goodness for a near perfect snack.

And yes. The picture was taken, and the food consumed, in bed.

Bonus mini Playlist:
(In the tradition of Dork)

Martini's: Right Behind You
Magnetic Fields: The Desperate Things You Make Me Do
Lincoln: Unhappy
Frank Black: Six Legged Man
Julie Doiron: Consolation Prize

The Cold Clammy Hand of Reality

-OR- What's With the Infrequency, Kenneth?

You may have noticed our blog posts don't follow a reliable schedule of installments. Instead of stepping up our game (really not our style) we have decided to give our readership an exclusive behind the scenes look at what goes into the making of Making No One Proud.

MNOP is a collaboration of efforts between Kristen and Aubri; two friends who (luckily) have a similar voice. In order to keep continuity, we will nary use an "I". This means the adventures and opinions will be expressed through the powerful "we". Or the third person use of names. Which also means there are times we write about ourselves in the third person. This seems to be leading to the development of several social and mental dysfunctions.

We also try to write, or "work", together as much as possible. This usually goes down one of two ways:

Scenario 1: In private.

Most frequently we work at Aubri's apartment. This sometimes proves problematic for Kristen since Aubri doesn't believe in wearing pants when at home, regardless of company. Often, Kristen has to text from the next town over to make sure that Aubri has ample time to put on clothes. Kristen also refuses to "just come on in" without knocking several times.

Once set up in her bedroom (where all the magic, and sometimes impromptu photo sessions occur), Kristen will open five pages on the web browser so she can type up the brilliance, "research", and watch youtube videos simultaneously.

Aubri lays on her bed with her feet in the air and says random things until one catches on. She also dissolves into hysterical laughter at her own jokes.

The process is interrupted every fifteen minutes with a trip to the kitchen for a snack, or the suggestion that they go get cake. After which one will say "Ok. We work for twenty minutes. Then take a break. We have a deadline of midnight."

Midnight will come and go. There will be two, possibly three, more sentences added, a few words deleted, and the promise made that next time we will finish and post.

Scenario 2: In Public.

We meet after work at Inkwell, or a diner...it is New Jersey, with our trusty notebooks in hand. First, of course, we order. French fries with Mozzarella cheese and tomato sauce for Aubri, something equally healthy for Kristen.

Note: Inkwell is just about the only place we don't order the exact same thing.

Until the food comes we comment on the other patrons. Loud enough for them to hear, but not so loud they can be sure we're talking about them.

When the food arrives we start to eat, and pull out our notebooks while we discuss buying new laptops. Aubri will then spill something on her notebook, which is okay because all she'll have done is doodled pictures of things, attempted to start a game of MASH, and mapped out genetically why incest is wrong (see: left).



However, we feel more productive at Inkwell because working there we get our name out. In the form of graffiti in the bathroom (totally encouraged).


The more important part of the process is the doing. Which takes time, a lot of time. For instance, we quickly discovered that a single practice or pole dancing class does not equal a post. Or, at least, not an interesting post. And guess what? After awhile all the bruises start to look the same. So it may take a few weeks to have enough to share.

But we are constantly developing ideas, and researching adventure. Once we have our hearts set on something, we share our intentions with our friends and family who always ask the same question:

Don't you have anything better to do?

No. No, we do not.

She's no butterfly. Tony, she's all pelvic thrust.

Everyone recalls the epic dance contest at The Max when Lisa Turtle and Screech birthed the award-winning, era-defining dance move "The Sprain." Also burned into our prepubescent brains was the flawless dance technique of one Jessie "Legs" Spano. Even as early as episode one, we all knew that Ms. Spano was destined for greatness. And, how!

It is hardly a stretch to say that we were "so excited...so excited...(so scared!)" when Elizabeth Berkley landed the lead roll in the 1995 silver screen classic, Showgirls. Jessie certainly did not disappoint as the vagrant hitchhiker - turned stripper...no, dancer - turned Vegas star - turned ex hooker/ex con - turned psycho attempted murderer, Nomi Malone. Once again, her prowess on the stage was beyond inspired.

And inspired were we to take our second leap into the exciting and dangerous world of pole dancing. With moves called terrifying things like "Peter Pan" and "Friar Tuck", we knew we were in for a world of hurt that only Navy Seals and the girl that gets sawed in half during the magic show could know.

As usual, we were correct.

To the right is Kristen's bruise. Just slightly above the knee on the inner thigh, just where the pole hits the leg on many pole spin favorites such as the aforementioned Martini and the newly acquired Pinwheel. No, that is not a trick of the eye or fancy Photoshopping skills. That purpleish-green is 100% natural, pale skin bruised by an hour-long pole dance class.

Not pictured is the bruise on the top of her head from the headstands that she was forced to do as the first step toward inverts. Also not pictured are the bilateral knee bruises. Insert tasteless joke here.

Figure 2.1 is Aubri's bruise.

Inner calf, pummeled time after time as she swung her outer leg across to wrap around the pole. Other favorite bruises: the top inner portions of both thighs where she would squeeze for dear life. She didn't even attempt photos of these, because for some reason she couldn't seem to take pictures of her calf bruise with out panty shots, and we would like to remain family friendly. An additional bruise was found on her back, which we can only assume is either from doing head stands against the pole, or existed before class and she's just using pole dancing as a convenient scapegoat.

I'm aware of my ... pants.

Due to popular demand, we have decided to share with you the infamous list of men we intend to marry. One at a time, and in no particular order. Number one comes from Aubri's list (which is considerably longer than Kristen's).

Congratulations, Ken Marino!

We give you MNOP's highest honor; placement on "the list".

If you spent the early nineties like we did, you were home every night glued to such MTV classics as: Liquid Television, full episodes of Beavis and Butthead, the Jon Stewart Show, and The State. It was on The State that we were first introduced to Ken Marino. It wasn't the gelled hair, or the wife beaters Marino often wore in sketches that drew Aubri's affections. In fact, it was 7 simple words every young girl yearns to hear:

I wanna dip my balls in it.

That one simple catch phrase launched a phase in Aubri's life which peaked at the witnessing of the "Job Service" sketch. Were she that bunny, car part, etc...

Ken has continued to win over her heart by appearing in such shows as: Dawson's Creek, Veronica Mars, Party Down, and the Hallmark Channel made for TV masterpiece Falling in Love With the Girl Next Door.

Our Love Feels Like Being Enveloped in Pudding

About a week ago, at work, Aubri saw the man she "fully intended on marrying".

Don't despair hopeful suitors, the list of men she "fully intends" on marrying is ridiculously long and with no irony includes Brian Posehn. So chances are you still have a shot.

The newest edition to the list was staring at her from the author picture on the back of his newly released memoir Everything Is Wrong With Me.



That's the front, merkin. We aren't pedophiles.

To check out a current photo of Jason Mulgrew, you will have to pick up his book (literally). You could also check out his blog. Bonus: from his blog there's a shameless link to his People Magazine nomination as one of the 50 most eligible bachelors of 2005. So not only is he a hi-larious writer, but he can also stretch the glory of a month on the newsstand into 5 years online.

If you're like us, and use your days off to lay in bed staring out the window thinking, Damn it's a beautiful day, I'm glad I'm off, this is the perfect book to curl up with.

If you're like us in that you read books in 2- 5 minute increments while using the bathroom, this book is also for you.

If you're nothing like us, well, then we feel pretty sorry for you. Because we are awesome.

But this is about Jason. His memoir features stories of growing up Irish Catholic in Philly. Littered with self deprecation, there is no way you could read this book and not finish it feeling better about life. You will find a kinship in the embarrassing childhood club and feel a little less lonely in this big big world. Or you will maliciously laugh at his nerdy misfortunes (dick).

Either way, buy the book. That's an official MNOP(rah) book club recommendation.


*In light of a recent decision to invite Jason Mulgrew to read our blog, we would like to state we would love his book regardless of how he feels about us. We're used to unrequited love. We also have a lot of booze that needs drinkin'. Just Saying.

Coyote Fat & Average Looking

Most of the physical activities we decide upon participating in require little clothing. The average roller derby uniform consists of short shorts, fishnets or some sort of stocking, and a shirt or tank top. Burlesque and sideshow might add a corset, garter belt and ruffled panties into the mix. Our other favorite activities might involve more clothes. Or less. Our current and latest foray into the world of obscure athletics begs for bare legs and arms and for the more advanced student: platform stilettos and bare everything.

We are beginners. We’ll keep to the shorts and t’s. Thanks. Perverts.

After reading about a push for pole dancing to become an Olympic sport, we knew we had to get in on some hot, girl-on-pole action. We started by doing what any pair of straight, classy broads would do: watch dozens upon dozens of YouTube videos of incredible women spinning and climbing their way to victory at various pole dancing national and international championships.

We knew dozens of gyms that boast more sex appeal than physical fitness (we’re looking at you, Equinox!) offer pole dancing classes, but couldn’t believe that it might be near impossible to find a local class for beginners. Preferably where we might not be surrounded by booty shorts and breast implants. Not that we find anything wrong with either of those things, but for two plus-sized, moderately physically fit girls in their late twenties we didn’t think our witty and sarcastic sense of humor would propel us around the pole with the same effect as body oil on bare, perfectly waxed skin.

Wellness on the Green in Morristown, New Jersey, is the closest studio in the area to offer various levels of pole dancing classes. For twenty dollars each we got our one hour introduction to the pole from Kim. She taught us the basics: firemen, martini and cabaret spins. There was climbing, spinning, and sliding. Posing seductively. And, finally, the Freudian slip of, "Roll over. Now play with yourselves!"

Mythbuster Moment: The bruises on strippers are not from their pimps or dealers.

Then there was the pole burn from the friction of metal on bare skin. And the excruciating muscle aches the next morning that made standing and sitting the most difficult part of the day. Aubri put it best:

"I feel it when I use the toilet. Like getting there is a quick plop down. Getting up? Well, let's just say I seriously considered finishing my novel."

Girls on Girls: Unsolicited Advice For Boys (Part I)

For our first installment of Girls On Girls: Unsolicited Advice For Boys, we've been inspired to tackle the time honored tradition of a first date.

Most romantic comedies and sitcoms have given men the impression that first date jitters involve selecting the right lip gloss, the dress that shows enough but not too much skin, and committing to ordering salad for dinner.

Also incorrect is the porn version of a first date wherein we order a pizza, conveniently being short on cash when the mustachioed delivery boy arrives. "There isn't any other way I can pay you?" Although this is an effective way to contract herpes or some other socially debilitating disease.

Really, our pre-date thoughts are consumed with one concern: Getting out alive with the same number of bruises we had going in.

The modern woman has watched enough Lifetime to know: the "normal guy next door" has a sex addiction, the "popular jock" has a proclivity for bashing your head in with a rock or his All-State 2002 Championship trophy, and you can protect animals from their abusers for only $18 a day by donating to the ASPCA. Right now there is an animal that needs you.

It's also been proven time and time again that you don't have to be pretty to be a victim (see: Tori Spelling).

We will assume you have convinced a girl to go out with you. For whatever reason, be it guilt, her ticking biological clock, pity, or honest to goodness attraction she has decided you are tolerable enough to be alone with her. Now you will have to actually take her somewhere. This is where the old real estate adage of "location, location, location" comes in handy. Let's take a look at three traditional date ideas, and why they're all wrong:

The Movies

Most women's interest magazines and self help books will warn against the movies as a first date because it doesn't really give you the chance to open up, talk, and learn about the person whose limp, clammy hand is inching toward yours. This is exactly the reason we here at MNOP love the idea of a date at the movies. No awkward conversation. No uncomfortable eye contact. No pretending you aren't completely turned off by their firearms collection.

However, we have to go with the experts on this one and nix the movies as a first date option. The movies are dark, not guaranteed to be populated, and if you're watching AVP or Terminator type action flicks no one can hear you scream. No self respecting girl would let a relative stranger take her into a dark room where the only other witness to her ever being there is too distracted by his own acne to notice if she ever comes back out. Plus, that "trick" involving a hole in the popcorn bucket? Gross.

The Local Carnival

Sure. Nothing says lovin' like spending thirty dollars for five rides that toss you around in small cars above the asphalt of the fire department's parking lot. Does that thirty dollars include a tetanus shot? Now take away the dizzying bright lights, fried dough, and the opportunity to impress your date by winning a hot pink stuffed monkey with your dart skills and what do you have?

A lot of dark alleys, trailers, and machine rooms. That's what. Next.

Your Swinging "Pad"

We understand times are tough. Money isn't everything, and you don't have to go into debt to impress a girl who is worth your time. But listen, and listen well:

Taking a girl "out" to your place for a first date is the equivalent of inviting her to dinner and bringing her to Arby's.

We hear what you're thinking: "But MNOP girls, I'm going to impress her with my cooking skills. Dazzle her with my film collection. Astound her with my decor. My pad is me."

Let us break it down for you. Your cooking? Just an opportunity to roofie the one chicken dish you can't screw up. The Fast and the Furious Trilogy? Not a film collection. And the Beer! poster along with the MC Escher “print” in a plastic frame will be the first things to hit the dumpster if things work out.



Next GOG: Topics of Conversation, or, why you shouldn't mention how good Jessica Biel looks.

Doing Stuff So You Don't Have To

Disclaimer: The following contains lewd acts of brazenness and brazen acts of lewdness.

For the past three years of our friendship we have been making a list of all the things we "should totally do." Now we are taking all of those "wouldn't it be awesome to" and "we should totally"s and we're running with them. And lucky you. You, dear reader, get all the excitement without the scheduling conflicts, time commitment, financial obligation, or humiliation in front of strangers. Stick with us, and you will witness why Rollergirls wear nylons, how to adopt a seventeen year old boy, and why strippers deserve much more respect than they get.

The "we" refers to Kristen (the hot one) and Aubri (she's got a good personality). We aren't celebrities (yet). We aren't independently wealthy (yet). No one is accompanying us to make us look good or protect our image. The more it hurts Kristen the funnier Aubri will find it. The worse Aubri looks, the more pictures Kristen will take.

This is no jackassery. We won't be pulling stunts and there will be no nudity. Well, not intentionally (yet). It's a journey. An undertaking. It's about finding out what it feels like to shove a flame into your mouth for the first time. It's about self-discovery. Our bodies. Our selves. (no homo) Lessons will be learned, skills acquired, and Aubri or her pants will probably fall down once or twice.

It's inevitable, once you are sucked into our world of going nowhere fast you will say to yourself, how do I become as cool? It's easy, just follow our advice. There's more to Making No One Proud than learning useless things, it's also about making bad decisions. That's why throughout the process we will also offer up such segments as:

• Girls on Girls: Unsolicited advice for boys.
• Great Ideas We're Too Lazy To Implement
• That's What We're Naming Our Next Band
• And Others...

In January, 2011, two girls occupied the corner booth of the REO Speed Diner in Woodbridge, NJ. Over cheese fries and chicken fingers they decided to embark on a mission to frequent (monthly) a nearby "theme" motel advertised on the paper place mats.

Four days later their bodies were found bruised, bloated, and covered in honey mustard. The following has been reconstructed from journals, video, and photographs found at the scene...

The Adventure begins March 30, 2010. Until then, you can find us on Facebook.