Thursday, April 29, 2010

Near to Heart Attack-ack-ack-ack-ack-ack

Welp! I'm all moved out! Have I told you all how great my family is? They are pretty great. Even the ones who didn't help. But really, mostly just the ones who did. Sorry Hannah.

So today is cleaning day. I have a suitcase, some random things, and an air mattress left in my apartment. I am not officially gone yet because frankly, I'm paying for the gas bill and damn me if those pilot lights burn for no one.

Hey, you know what's not awesome? Having a billion tiny Charlie cuts while using cleaning supplies. If I die, someone please tell them it was probably the ratio of Scrubbing Bubbles:blood in my veins.

Sigh... I think I've breathed in too many cleaning supply fumes. But at least this dump shines like the top of the Chrysler building.

Also I've been singing Hard Knock Life while scrubbing.

Okay yep. I'm going to stop typing things now and let my nose breathe in some real air.

also this

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Highlights from St. Louis

INSTABILITY!! (If I yell it, it makes it easier to deal with.) Blech. My idea of an appropriate level of instability is taking a shower at a different time of day. Not uprooting myself, casting my things to the four corners of the globe (aka my parents house in the suburbs) and living out of a suitcase and a few boxes of face wash.

So what is one thing that I CAN do that is stable? Blog. I can blog. I can blog and ignore the fact that I have one box left and it is a shoebox, into which needs to go all pillows, blankets, and a jewelry box. Oh and everything in my kitchen. Hmm.

Where was I? Oh...blogging. SO! How was my weekend in St. Louis, you say? Wow, that is very kind of you to ask. I'm so glad you did. Because I ALMOST DIED. MULTIPLE TIMES.

First, I almost died of awkwardness. On Friday we went to hear the author, Bart Ehrman speak. This was technically the reason for my trip (besides just general visiting with Michelle.) He was great. And before we left, we went up to get Michelle's book signed, which he did. We turned to leave and he looked at me and smiled. I smiled. Did I say anything? PLEASE. What kind of socially acceptable person do you think I am? No, I just kept smiling and staring, as Michelle turned and walked away. Finally, sensing the awkwardness, Bart said, "Hi." I smiled. He said "Great question." (I had managed to spew one out during the Q&A. That part had, miraculously, gone normally.) I smiled. I turned. I walked away. Well, it's good to know that I do so well in front of non-celebrities. If face-to-face with Future Husband John Krasinski, I'm sure I would be able to get out a gurgle or two before passing out/licking his face.

Second, I almost died a real, true death. We went to see Date Night on Saturday afternoon but during the preview for Letters to Juliet (Plot line: Why, this curmudgeony-yet-attractive man is forced to travel through Italy with me! I'm sure this will not end in making out with him.) there was a tornado warning and we all had to hang out in the bathroom and wait it out. As much as I love sitting on the floor of public restrooms while people dry their hands over me, Michelle and I decided to just leave. It was only drizzling on us. OR WAS IT?! In the time it took us to walk from the theater to the car, the rain started coming down in bullets. By the time we got to the first stop light, there was so much water on the street, you could have body surfed through the turn arrow. And Michelle's all, "oh it's just water!" and I'm having flashbacks to my elementary school days when the movie Twister convinced me that I would someday lose my entire family to a tornado ripping past our cellar door. And we didn't even have a cellar door. We had a split level. In the end, we turned into Kohl's and shopped around until the rain slowed. I may have bought an adorable shirt endorsed by Britney Spears for $20. I may not have. You'll never know.

Third, I almost died of alcohol poisoning. Not really at all, but it does sound dramatic that way. After we came home (having not seen Date Night and without even a rental because, between the two of us, we had seen every chick flick in existence. #moviefail) I brought a bottle of wine for us to partake in that night to go with some cheese I wanted Michelle to try. She'd never had goat cheese, brie, or smoked gouda, so I thought we'd make a festival out of it. Well she wasn't into the goat cheese, brie, OR wine. And damn if I'm going to have to lug that bottle all the way home OR let my hard-earned 4 bucks go to waste. So I did what any sensible woman with a state school-trained liver would do. I drank that bottle, so help me God. And I'm not going to lie to you. I took it like a champ. An entire bottle and I made it to church the next day. I-L-L!!

And fourth, I almost died of sheer and utter horror. Sunday morning, Michelle and I traipsed off to church. We started the morning off right, with free donuts and a Sunday School video (only thing missing was a coffee with amaretto creamer. Hey now. I have my vices, you have yours.) But I was ill prepared for what magic I was about to encounter through this video. I guess it's a series of VHSs from the 90s with some interviews of talking heads, explaining about how to read the Bible and pray and stuff like that. WELL. There was one old man who was totally adorable. He soothed me. Not sure what he said, but it felt comforting. Until he said one thing that made me almost shoot straight out of my chair. He informed the lovely viewers that when he read the Bible and came to God, he looked at it as the bride, coming to the "bridegroom," asking how best to please him.

There's so many...I don't even...I can't even...

I'm not sure if anyone saw my face. For those of you who know me (or read this post) you know how terrible I am at concealing facial expressions. I wear my emotions on my sleeves--or rather, on my eyebrows. I think they might have shot up so high this time, they became part of my hairline.

All this to say, this weekend won. It won hard. And at the end, I got to spend an entire train ride eating double-stuffed EL Fudge cookies and reading Harry Potter. So yeah. All potential deaths aside, I quite enjoyed myself.

Monday, April 26, 2010

Sorr about the no posting.

Hey guys,

Sorry, this might be a light week. Moving out, becoming a nomad, etc etc.

I keep walking into rooms, staring at my stuff, smelling a candle, and walking out. This whole "packing" necessary is it, really?

In the meantime, switch on over to 2birds1blog and Hyperbole and a Half (both linked over there on the right.) They will keep you entertained while I work on gathering my life. Just don't forget about me. I've come to love you all.

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Tom Hanks. Prom Hanks. Blarg.

I am so sad at this moment.

So the place that I am a volunteer tutor at? The one through which I did the mustache-a-thon with Adrienne? They are hosting a dance of some sort. A fundraising thingy. And they themed it. The theme? Prom Hanks.



And despite the fact that I want to take that name to the nearest courthouse and have a civil ceremony with it...I can't go. I've known I can't go for a while because I've known about it for a while and known that it was this weekend, where I am going to go see Michelle. Which is still great, and I am totally looking forward to. I was just going to chalk it up as "Huh. Cute name. Oh well. I don't really know any of the other tutors anyway." and I was prepared to move on. Even if my guy-friend crush was going to be there. I had made my peace with it.

But I just found out that the real Tom Hanks found out about the dance and he sent a bunch of signed things for a silent auction, including a signed Wilson volleyball.

(this isn't the ball, but it's the only proof they sent me that it's true)

There are tears welling up in my eyes right now and I wish I was joking.

Pop quiz: When I watched Cast Away and Steel Magnolias in one day, which part did I cry at?
A) Julia Roberts dying, or
B) Wilson floating away?

I will give you one guess. Hint, it's not a.

My Facebook profile lists "Tom Hanks" as one of my favorite movies. Tom Hanks is...he's more than an adopted uncle. He is an adopted stepfather. But the kind of stepfather that you grow to love as a member of your own flesh-and-blood. He is the Liam Neeson to my Creepy Blonde Kid from Love Actually. This is who Tom Hanks is to me. When Tom Hanks is sad, I am sad. When Tom Hanks has a Russian accent, I have a Russian accent. When Tom Hanks wants to write, direct, and star in a movie, I want to give him a bear hug and thank him for bringing Steve Zahn into my world.

Okay, I need to pull myself together. I really am going to have a great weekend with Michelle. And who's to say I could have afforded any of the silent auction things? Plus, you all know how it would have ended. It would have been me rushing over to the table of Tom Hanks memorabilia like a kid who is told they can have anything they want from the candy counter. They would end up dragging me away because I was rubbing my face against all the items, And I would be reaching toward the signed volleyball screaming "WILSOOOOOOOOOON!!! WILL!!!! SONNNNNNNNNN!!! WAAAALT--i mean--WILSONNNNN!!!!!"

It's better this way.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

I Need Packing Advice

I need some advice, and I am serious this time. Not like those other times when I ask for advice and then start daydreaming about cheese.

No. I need packing advice. See, Monica and I are moving out of our lovely apartment by the end of this month. She is moving back with her fah-shah for now and I am going to dump all my stuff with my loving parents and live the life of a nomad for a month until Joe's lease is up. And then I HAVE TO LIVE WITH A BOOOOOOY! (Friends quote, people. Keep up.)

So really, we could pack up and move right now if we wanted to, since parent's houses are not time sensitive. But frankly, we paid good money to squat here for the rest of the month. However, people keep referring to the fact that I should have things in boxes already.

And I don't. I have nary a box. Everything is just as sprawled out as usual. The only thing I've done so far to get myself closer to moving out is to stop cleaning the bathroom, since we just have to clean it before we move out anyway. Baby steps.

The way I usually pack is, unsurprisingly, the way I do everything in life. I start in one corner, forget what I was doing, start something else, realize I need to sweep, do that, come back to the original box, discover old love letters I forgot I had, read those, throw them away, have a sandwich, call it a day. I don't know why I do it this way. I guess when your attention span hinders on the question of Is there, or is there not, something shiny over there? your packing skills are slightly erratic. This may also explain why I haven't started packing yet. Because once I start, there are just forty half-filled boxes in every room, and the pan I need to cook my rice in is currently under my Ninja Turtle figurines.

So what I want from all of you is advice. Packing advice. Things you have learned in your own personal packing journeys. Should I not put all my books in one box because it's too damn heavy? Where should I start? Where should I end? How should I label? And do YOU think I should be packed already, even though I have a week left in this apartment?

Tuesday, April 20, 2010

Vintage Luggage Hunting

So I went luggage hunting today. I only have one suitcase, and it is roughly the size of Portugal. I feel ridiculous taking it somewhere for only a weekend because I am SO not "that girl" who needs a big suitcase to cart around 80 pairs of shoes, and that monstrosity makes it look like I am.

On the other hand, I do tend to fill it up anyway, because I AM "that girl" who has four different face washes and uses them all daily. Excuuuuuuuuuse MEEEEEEEE.

I decided that I want a vintage suitcase. Why? I don't know. Because I like to make things difficult for myself. And because I am slowly turning into a hipster. SO! First I stopped in a vintage store in Wicker Park. Just a heads up: don't ever do that. If you want vintage things, try to go to a store that is not on Vintage Hipsters Avenue, Vintage City, USA (Population: Vintage). They had full sets of luggage (that means like 4 varying sizes) that were adorable, but $150. Which probably isn't even that much for luggage but what can I say? I am cheap. Anyway, what am I going to do with a hat box? Who am I, Fraulein Maria?

So I hiked my ass all the way over to Lakeview, to a store that makes no sense to me whatsoever: It is a normal clothing store on the first floor, shoes on the second floor, Army surplus on the third, and vintage on top. What the hell? Make up your damn mind, building.

So I climbed all the way to the fourth floor because I'm pretty sure there's no elevator and I was too lazy to look for one (but not lazy enough to skip the four flights...this is my life.)

They had two that I thought would suffice, both for under $40. One was red leather, very 70s feeling, and it had a belt to close it. And then there was another one--a hard two-piece set. On the outside, milk chocolate brown. On the inside, chartreuse. There was one big suitcase (what I was looking for) and then a little one which I think used to be a kind of carry-on bag. I imagine it being filled with rouge and handkerchiefs for women to wave out the window of the train as they pulled away. You know what I think it's good for? A kitten bed perhaps?

I stood there for maybe half an hour trying to decide. That is not an exaggeration. This is why I no longer go shopping with other people. It took me so long to decide which suitcase to buy I think I actually started to grow a beard, a la Rip Van Winkle.

I mean, on the one hand, the luggage set was brown. Ew. But on the other hand, it looked like a Hershey bar. Yes please. On the other hand, it was old and worn. On the other hand, chartreuse. Char. Treuse.

I walked around...I looked at jackets. I almost dropped an old ice crusher. I walked back to the luggage. Finally, I made my decision.

Of course I chose the brown luggage. I walked all the way back down to the first floor. And right when I got there, after having carefully selected my luggage, spending possibly hours agonizing over my choice, paying for my non-refundable, chartreuse-lined future kitten bed, and passing a crowd of cute boys I...dropped my luggage. on the cement floor.


God damn me.

Well anyway, I got the luggage home safely otherwise. Here it is!

Charlie was very curious about this luggage. It had a mystery smell. The smell is, as humans call it, decades of cigarette smoke. Whoops. I didn't think it was that bad in the store. But took it home and opened it up and WOW. It's smelly. Hence the Febreeze in the background. This luggage will be getting a good dousing.

Anyway, all this to say, I go and visit Michelle this weekend! And now I have proper luggage to do it! I'm excited to see her, yes, but we have all kinds of food plans that I am also pumped for. There is to be wine and cheese AND guacamole.


Sorry, I just passed out there for a second. But I'm back. Oh, and I am also hoping to make Brussels sprouts because I have discovered that they are NOT disgusting, and you should, too. So here.

Okay this post started from nothing and has really spun out of control from there. So I'm going to stop. Happy Lost Day, everyone!

Monday, April 19, 2010

On The Road To Rich And Famous

Whoah. No post today. I have been recruited to write a pitch for a Nickelodeon-type show. Yeah, let that one sink into your bones right there. This producer I worked with last year recommended me to help write a little synopsis for a show starring a 15-year-old girl.

Who has two thumbs and remembers high school like it was yesterday? This girl. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

So see you guys later...I'm taking my first steps toward acting with Aunt Meryl. (It's a process.)(God, I love her.)(Breathe, Emily.)

Friday, April 16, 2010

My 4 Favorite Dreams

Have you ever noticed that as soon as someone starts telling you their dream, you completely tune them out and start thinking about YOUR latest dream?

Don't do that yet. Because I have four awesome dreams to share with you guys.

This first one is the first dream I ever remembered. And it has stuck with me since then. OH MY GOD it explains a lot. I can't believe I didn't mention it before.

It's pretty simple: I was at the beach with my family when suddenly everyone started running out of the water and telling everyone to get back. Because--YOU GUESSED IT--there was a whale. This is how deep-seated this fear was. I don't think I was even 3 yet when this dream happened. The best part, though, is that once everyone was safely out of the water, the whale came floating out from behind some shrubbery. And it looked like this.


That's it. That's that dream. Analyze amongst yourselves.

The second dream comes to you from when I was in Kindergarten. I had a dream that New Kids on The Block came to my house. Now, I had a HUGE crush on Jordan when I was little. But I also didn't really understand the concept of romance yet. I was five. So in my dream, NKOTB came to my house, I led them to our playroom, and we played "Guys" all afternoon. "Guys," I should explain, were these:

There you have it. In my richest, fullest dreams, I would have my celebrity heroes come over...and basically play dolls with me. I love this dream to no end and I am so glad that I've held onto it for twenty years. WORTH IT.

My third dream actually happened within the past few months, and I am actually pretty creeped out by it. I don't remember the details anymore, but the one thing I do remember was that I had traveled back in time to my house when I was only 4 or 5 (aka, NKOTB-playing-Playmobil-with-me age.) I walked into our old room. It still had the old wallpaper on it and everything. Katie and Little Me were sleeping in the room, and when I walked in, we both woke up and just calmly looked at Big Me, still sucking our thumbs and everything. I think I talked for a little bit, but I can't remember what I said anymore. And that's it.

This is the closest I have ever been to a sci-fi experience. Honestly I wish that when I woke up, I could suddenly remember having been woken up in that room by Big Me and finally understanding what that was. Damn it! Why can't fantasy things happen in real life?? Well, anyway, it still was pretty strange, pretend going back in time and pretend seeing old me.

And my final dream is this: I was being chased by a sloth. That's right. A SLOTH.

And I just remember thinking, "Wow. This is seriously the fastest sloth EVER." Which just makes me want to go back into that dream and hug Dream Me.

Those are my four favorite dreams, I think. I have had other dreams of course, and a few nightmares that will sadly never leave me...and one particularly saucy one involving Future Husband John Krasinski...but I think those four are my favorites. And now that you've been so patient and read mine, how about you? Favorite dream?

Oh, and if you don't want to share a dream, share your love! In the form of voting for me here! Have a great weekend, all!

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Once again, Lorelai says it best.

Guys, I found the perfect way to explain why I hate practical jokes. If you will please allow me to quote one miss Lorelai Gilmore:

"I hate when I’m an idiot and I don’t know it. I like to be aware of my idiocy; to really revel in it, take pictures...I feel we missed a prime Christmas card opportunity.”

I don't think I can explain it any better than that. *Bows and walks out*

As I Recall: In Which Every King Learns The Same Damn Lesson

Hey kids! It's time for another "As I Recall"! After my last post about the Easter Story, I think it's time I got back to my comfort zone: the Old Testament. Ahh, good ol' OT. You are like the girl at the bar wearing a gold tube top for a skirt: no matter how messed up I expect you are, you always seem to have a level of crazy hiding that I never would have guessed.

And, not one to disappoint, the book of Daniel pulls through again!

Okay, here's the story as I remember it:
Daniel doesn't want to pray to the king. He wants to pray to God. So the king throws Daniel in with a bunch of lions. God protects Daniel from being killed, and when the king comes back to retrieve the bones, he finds Daniel alive and well. Hurrah! Done.

But I checked Ol' Soggy, and there all kinds of shenanigans here, you guys. Read on:

First we start with how Daniel got there in the first place. There's this king named Nebuchadnezzar. Best named king EVER. But since it is a bitch to spell out, we're going to just refer to him as the King. Sorry, guys. So the King takes over some spot of land, and commands that the smartest, strongest Israelites be brought to him so he can convert them to his...sect or whatever. Oh, and they've got to be easy on the eyes. BY THE BY, have we all noticed that Old Testament characters tend to be acknowledged as hot? Don't even start with me on Hollywood giving everyone a complex. God started it.

So they send over Daniel. Oh and they send over three other guys who I thought were from a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT STORY: Hsomething, Msomething and Asomething. Who were renamed Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. WHAT?! Okay, awesome. Apparently you guys are getting a double whammy story. How fun for you. If anyone needs me, I will be blogging into the late evening, apparently.

The first story here is a little lesson in healthy eating. Let me just brush off the powdered sugar from my hands...*wipe, wipe*...that's better. So Daniel, Shad, Meesh, and Bed are living with royalty now. But Daniel doesn't want to defile himself with all that evil, delicious King food and wine. Because God forbid someone take pleasure in anything they ever do in the Bible. So Daniel demands that they be fed only vegetables and water. Awesome. Our Bible heroes are a bunch of vegans. Well, I'm sure this will turn out well for them.

BUT IT DOES. After ten days of nothing but celery, these men are fatter and healthier than the people given the royal food. WHAT? In what world are we living here? Were these chocolate-coated carrot sticks? Lard-infused zucchini? I guess we've gotta chalk it up to God and move on. But come on now. Can I move to this magical land where wine and King food knocks off this little mid-section I've got going on?

WHATEVER. Next the Bible goes LOST on us and explains how huge things happen in four seconds. ("This is what the whispers are?" "Yup." *Emily punches JJ Abrams in the eye*) At this point we learn in one sentence that God gives the four men knowledge "in every aspect of literature and wisdom, even SEO" and gives Daniel special dream-interpreting skills. Also nunchuck skills.

Next the King has a dream. And he says he'll kill anyone who can't interpret it for him. So Daniel of course steps up, does the job, and is praised by the King. YAWN, heard it before. Come up with some new plot lines, The Bible.

Okay, here's a new twist. The King creates a statue out of gold. And he demands that everyone worship the statue. Some people point out that Shad, Meesh, and Bed are Jews and won't worship the statue. The King goes crazy and demands that they worship the statue or face the fiery furnace. The three of them get all kinds of attitude, doing z-snaps and they're all, "We don't have to prove NOTHING to you. Our God might save us, he might not, but HELL NO we will not worship your shitty statue."

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand *furnace*. The King was SO angry that--get this--HIS FACE WAS DISTORTED. Good God, not that! ANYTHING BUT THAT!! So, with steam pouring out of his ears, the King demands that the furnace be turned up 7 times it's normal heat and had the men thrown in, clothes and all. Turns out, I guess 7 times the normal amount is a bit rash. The flames were so insane that they immediately killed the men who threw in Shad, Meesh, and Bed.

And guess what? Suddenly the king looks into the fire and sees four men (one "having the appearance of a god", because we all know what that looks like), unbound and strolling around in the middle of the fire. Having some crumpets, tipping their hats at one another...that kind of thing. So the King calls to them to come out, and they do. Completely unsinged. Damn it, if I put my hair dryer too close to my face, I singe an eyebrow. Where's God when I need him, hmm?

So the King decrees that anyone who talks shit about God from now on will be torn limb from limb! Hooray!! Nothing like peaceful protest to inspire love and understanding in others.

Now, are we done? Of course we aren't. The book of Daniel has only BEGUN to get crazy. So here we go. One day, the King is walking around his Kingdom, being all "wow, isn't my kingdom awesome?" when a voice from heaven calls down to him and says, "Nope. You will be thrown out and you'll have to eat grass until you learn that God does whatever the hell he wants." And then that exact thing immediately happened. No one kicked him out, no reason given for the change. Just all of a sudden, the king finds himself living alone, eating grass, until "his nails became like bird's claws." W. T. F.

WAIT, THERE'S MORE. Because then we go FIRST PERSON on your ass. And suddenly we get, "Yes, I, Nebuchadnezzar praised God for being so awesome and making me eat grass. And then my 'reason' returned to me and I went back to my kingdom and was reinstated and I praised God." I can't even...there's not many....*sigh*...moving on.

OH MY GOD. Okay, so you know how I started writing this so that people who don't know the Bible can understand common allusions? Well consider my mind blown.

Ever heard the phrase, "He couldn't read the writing on the wall"? As in, he ignored the obvious doom coming? IT'S FROM THE BIBLE. Is this an ends meat situation all over again?? Please tell me that you all did not know that this was a biblical issue.

Okay so here's the story: The King (who is now Nebuchadnezzar's son) is having dinner with a bunch of people and suddenly Thing from the Adams Family starts writing in the plaster wall. Which ARGH that must have sounded terrible. But it wrote in some other language that the King couldn't read. So he called in everyone to interpret it for him, and of course no one but Daniel could do it. Part of the interpretation was "your days are numbered, Kingy." And the King's like, Yay! Thanks for telling me what it says! Here is purple clothing and a gold chain (very Run-DMC if you ask me.) That night, the King was killed. WHOOPSIE! Probably should have read the writing on the wall. And that is where the phrase comes from. World: upside-down.

Now finally, FINALLY we come to the Lion's Den Plotline. And, frankly, I am worn out. I have been interpreting the hell out of this book. To be honest, there's not much more to the plotline than what I told you.

Here's my beef: what is the point of teaching every king the exact same lesson? How many kings do we need to teach here? Why does no one EVER figure out that God is the best BEFORE terrible things befall him? I'm not even done with this book and so far we have 3 kings learning the exact same thing. We get it.

Can we all move on now?

Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Talking REAL Derby

Okay. HERE'S the deal.

I know I'm breaking the 4th wall here or whatever, but I got more hits for this blog yesterday than I have gotten in the past 30 days. And possibly more. I don't know, stupid blogtrackerthing won't go back further than that.

I nearly had an aneurysm when I saw the number of hits. Until I realized where they were all coming from--you Derby girls! CHRIST there are a lot of you. It's like I say the word Derby and Windy City Rollers and Hell's Belles and Sargentina and Genniferal and Riley Coyote and Beth Amphetamine and you guys just start clicking all over the place.

And that is awesome. Just awesome. And what I realized is--if I got as many people to vote for my blog as who just LOOKED at it yesterday, I would be kicking some serious Blogger's Choice ass.

So I have concocted a plan. And this one goes out to everyone: Derby girls, non-Derby girls, boys who like spit-fire girls with tattoos...

If you guys click here and vote for my blog (yeah, you have to sign up but it is seriously harmless. I did it so I could vote for 2birds1blog and there is no spam or email blasts involved.) I will do something in return.

If my blog reaches the number 3 spot (which would currently require 37 more votes) I WILL buy roller skates. I WILL go to practice. And I WILL do what I can to become a Derby girl. And of course I will blog about it each step of the way.

The incentive here is really in watching me attempt to learn how to skate.
Question: did I almost fall down when I tried to get out of bed today?
Answer: QUIET, YOU.

Can you imagine the shenanigans?? WELL? CAN YOU???

I'm sorry, I know I'm self-promoting all over everyone's biz and it is probably a huge turn off. I'm just really pumped about the idea of doing well--AND of buying really awesome roller skates if I do.

And since you've all been so nice, I promise a good Bible post next. See? I write things.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Making Ends Meat

I'm going to give you guys some free advice: Do not spend the day listening to old songs that remind you of your exes and then spend the evening reading people's wedding stories. Your dreams will be all kinds of crazy.

Now, as promised, I need to explain to you a little something. It is called "Making ends meat."

When you don't have a lot of money, you still need to buy food. So you go to the butcher with your pennies and you say, "What can I get with this?" The butcher chops off the ends of the salami, maybe gives you the gristly sides of some chicken. The green edges of the beef. Because that's all you can afford. You are making ends meat. We all know this saying. It makes perfect sense.

Imagine, then, me. Circa college. COLLEGE. I am in someone's office, discussing this and that. I look down and notice a book sitting on a pile on the floor. It is blue. There is a man in a suit with his arms crossed. And the title: "Making ends meet."


I go on as usual, pretending that the wheels in my head are not slowly cranking. "Mmm-hmm. Mmm-hmm. Yes, I see." But in my head, I'm going "WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS GOING ON?! MEET?! MAKING ENDS MEET?! WHAT ENDS? WHERE? HOW?"

I rushed home to my parents.

"Mother. Tell me right now. How. Do you spell. "Making ends meat"?

"M-a-k-i-n-g (space) e-n-d-s (space) m-e-e-t." She told me calmly. My face dropped. "Oh, Emily. It hasn't happened again, has it?

Yes, that's right. This situation is not uncommon to my life. It happens so often, in fact, that Michelle and I have dubbed it "having our world turned upside down." (It happens to her a lot, too.) The most traumatizing example of this was during my freshman year of high school when I got in a very heated discussion with Kim about the meaning of "having your work cut out for you."

I argued: well, it's been cut out for you. It's simple. It's almost done. It'll be easy, a breeze.

She argued...frankly, she argued the correct usage of the phrase. I had gone 15 years of my life misunderstanding a common English idiom. Oh, and not JUST misunderstanding it, but thinking it meant THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF WHAT IT ACTUALLY MEANS. Then there were of course the countless songs I have had explained to me over the years. Bopper Ann? It's not BOPPER ANN. Niether is it "She's my little two scoop, you know what I got."

And now in college, it happened again. But this time, I would not be pushed into a corner of idiocy. I went around to everyone I knew and I asked them how to spell the phrase. And what I discovered was this: I was not alone.

My friend, Kevin M, had the best reaction. When I told him it was "meet", his jaw dropped. He spent some time trying to convince the rest of our friends that it was "meat" and then ended it by backing out the door while pointing at everyone, yelling, "SCREW YOU! SCREW ALLLLLL OF YOUUUUUUU!"

There are a lot of people in the world who believe the phrase is "Making ends meat." In fact, I even started a DJ radio argument a few years later about it. They were asking for people to call or write in if they had "just discovered something." (The DJ had just found out you don't have to write www. before you search something. Child's play.) So I emailed in about my situation, and it turns out, the traffic girl also thought it was "meat." Then they asked people to call and weigh in on the subject and guess what? LOTS of people think that it's "meat." Adults. Grown, smart, useful adults.

Here is the thing: both phrases, in my mind, make just as much/just as little sense.

On the one hand, you have no money to make the ends of cloths meet to sew clothing.
On the other hand, you have no money to afford the good cuts of beef.

Therefore, I will concede and spell it "meet" from now on, as long as you recognize that it wasn't THAT stupid for me to have believed it to be "meat" for two decades. And to all those who scoff me and my meat/meet fiasco, I simply say good day to you.

I also have a few other phrases I want to throw out there for discussion, and perhaps to turn your world upside down like mine has been:

Did you know the word is "ulterior"? Ulterior motives. Not alterior, as I thought. You know how I leaned this? From a Sunday comic strip. THAT was a new low.

And two that I actually DID get right growing up:
1) The phrase is "all of a sudden." It is NOT "all the sudden." Neither make sense, I know. However, one is wrong.
2) Flesh it out. Flush it out. These are two different phrases. To flush something out means to reveal something that is concealed, like flushing something from its hiding place. But if you've gotta develop a plan. An outline. A genius idea. You flesh it out. FLESH.

So what else is out there? What have you learned slightly too late? I'm sure everyone's got one. Don't make me feel like a huge, lonely loser. Let's hear them in the comments!

Monday, April 12, 2010

I'll have a Wrigleyville, extra Derby, with a side of Latkes please.

Well I sure had a good weekend. How about all y'all? Maybe it was losing the stabbing stress that comes with having a job (although that was replaced by the dull, slow-burning stress of unemployment.) Maybe it was this thing people have been talking about lately called "sunshine." Whatever it was, this weekend felt good. It felt REAL good.

Let me tell you about my adventures. They were threefold.

First of all, we have MysteryDate. I came up with an idea for a 1-year date with Joe that would be fun and save us some bucks, but I was keeping it a secret from him for the past 3 weeks or so. We've been referring to it as MysteryDate since its inception in my head.

Do I know what inception means? No I do not. It sounded right, though. Is it right? Searching...searching... WOO HOO! Once again, Emily's guessing abilities prevail! Take THAT, "making ends meat." TAKE THAT. Oh my God, I've never told you guys about making ends meat. How is that possible?? Okay. Another time. Save it. SAVE IT.

ANYWAY, MYSTERYDATE. So what was the mystery date? Well, I had researched to the best of my ability (aka, googled once) all the locations of photo booths around Chicago. I thought it would be fun to travel around the city, taking pictures and commemorating just who we were 1 year in. I also brought props including ninja turtles and cardboard mustaches. I'm not going to lie, I am not the best gift giver. But this one was good. Walking around with the b on a beautiful day, stopping occasionally to take some pictures and drink a beer? Pretty much my heaven. Slap some cheese on that situation and you've got an Emily Party.

The only problem was when we hit Wrigleyville. Here's the deal, to all you not from Chicago: Wrigleyville is the area surrounding the Cub's stadium, Wrigley Field. While in this area, you can't throw an aluminum bottle of Bud Light without hitting a dude bro. Joe and I accidentally happened upon Wrigleyville while on MysteryDate. We weren't really paying attention, just passing from one photo booth to the next, when all of a sudden I was filled with a feeling of inadequacy. We sniffed the air and looked at each other. I turned to Joe. "Why does it smell like Victoria's Secret perfume, beer-soaked bean bags and regret?" Joe looked around. "Oh...oh no. Are we on Clark?" "*GASP!* Wait...I think I hear...yes. OAR. We'll never make it out alive! RUUUUUUUN!!"

Luckily we did get out alive, and made it back to Wicker Park, aka Hipster Town USA. We put on our skinniest jeans, our biggest headphones, and drank our PBRiest PBRs and acted as pretentious as possible for the rest of the night.

Ohhhhhhhh stereotypes FTW.

Actually, no. We didn't do that. Because what we DID do for the rest of the night was way more awesome: ROLLER DERBY! I got to relive all my previous emotions about the subject, and we even went out to the bar that all the roller girls were at. And if you are wondering, no. I did not get up the gumption to talk to a-one of them. Not even Jackie Daniels. Although I'm pretty sure Joe is in love with her/starstruck by her, MysteryDate be damned. But Jessica and I (the only two girls in our group) decided that we WOULD become star roller derby girls. I would be the hip-checking badass, and she would be the tiny zipping flash of light you see whizzing past your face. I have to say, she and I would put the "cute" in "Roller Derby Girls Are Cute." It's a fact.

Last on my weekend adventure was going to an amazing, amazing restaurant/diner: Eleven City Diner. It's a large Jewish deli in the South Loop. Oh, shit. Am I not allowed to call it "Jewish"? Is that racist? Er, religionist? Okay, it's a "delicatessen" that serves insane amounts of pastrami on rye, matzoh ball soup, and "guilt" (for $0. Seriously it's on the menu.) So...that's all I'm saying. I mean, they also have a million other things that are all totally delicious. But what was AMAZING about this place is that Jessica (of flash-of-light-whizzing-past-your-face-while-roller-derbying fame) is the mayor of the place on Four Square.

(QUICK EXPLANATION OF FOUR SQUARE: It's a smartphone app where you "check in" to whatever place you're at, just to announce to the internet that you are actually out and have a life and do things beside sitting on your computer looking at weird things. Just another way to overshare your life via social media, really. But when you are the person to most frequenly check in to a place, you become the mayor. EXPLANATION OVER.)

SO Jess and Taylor (her bf) go there about once a week and are also Four Square crazy; ergo, Jess is the mayor. Well, the owner got in touch with her and told her to let him know next time she came in so he could introduce himself. WOW, pronouns. I hope that last sentence makes sense. Sorry if it doesn't.

As I'm sure you deduced, the next time Jess went was with us, yesterday morning. We got the VIP booth, we got a whole lecture from the owner's mother (who was wearing amazing glasses shaped like flowers) about how we all need to appreciate life to the fullest. I KNOW. And when he found out none of us had ordered the french toast, he may or may not have made sure our table was well-stocked. It was awesome. The best part, says Taylor, is that they really are pretty much that friendly to anyone, even if you aren't the Four Square mayor. But I'm not going to lie, I felt a little like a celebrity's posse. They kept bringing over new people and introducing them to Jessica, bringing complimentary items, coming by to talk or say hi...yeah. It was superb. And the fact that the food was awesome didn't hurt neither. High fives all around. I'm glad Joe and I are probably going to move down there. I think it might have to be an often-frequented place for us, too.

Okay, this is officially a very lengthy, rambling kind of post with next to no point and definitely no theme. Sorry, this really should just have gone in my livejournal now that I look back on it. Too late. You're stuck with this one. Anyway, happy Monday everyone. Let's hope this one goes better than the last two, eh?

Friday, April 9, 2010




No but seriously. I'll be back next week with real posts. In the mean time, why don't you check out my archives? I mean, unless you are Teena, in which case you just read them all. Ooh, especially read this one about the roller derby, because I think I'm going to another one tomorrow night, and you know I'll be all hopped up on the idea of chopping off my hair to look like this:

ALSO there is a slight possibility of me hanging out with the roller derby girls afterward, in which case there is no hope left for any of you. It'll be all roller derby, all the time. Enjoy your weekend!

Thursday, April 8, 2010

10 Reasons Why Unemployment Rocks My Pants Off (Literally.)

Well, my freelancing gig is over for now. It was pretty awesome, though. I made connections, I got to write for money, and I think I proved that I actually deserve to be employed. Yippee!

But for now (and through until at least Monday), I am technically unemployed again. And, frankly, I'm pumped.

To explain this, let me take y'all on back to Emily circa February 2009. I spent the morning hopped up on Firing Day adrenaline, wringing my hands and being assured by everyone that there was no way I would be let go. I'm young, I'm hip, and they essentially pay me in shiny rocks.

Cut to that afternoon. Bloodbath. I am holding a neon yellow folder that holds a bunch of papers I've signed promising God-knows-what and a pamphlet with FAQs about Cobra.

Good times.

Our group packed up essentials (for me, that was four Ninja Turtles, my collection of flip flops and a stapler that was not stolen and definitely belonged to me.) We headed home to drink. AND DRINK WE DID. By dinnertime, I was feeling good. I was feeling REAL good. My parents called me once they heard my message and assured me I'd be back on my feet in no time. Jane's mother told her to get fat.

What I remember very distinctly, though, was the realization that I didn't have to go to work that Monday. And that led to the realization that I didn't have to go to work all WEEK. That project I was working on? Done. I am physically not ALLOWED to work on it anymore. And that led me to realize one very specific thing: I could READ. I could pick up a book and I could curl up on the couch, and I could read it. Any book I wanted. Just me, Mr. Darcy, and Charlie.

Since then, I have had a large amount of time to be funemployed. I have also had some good spurts of time to be regular ol' employed. And I have to say, as much as I do love being a copywriter, I am always pretty psyched for unemployment again. Let me break it down for you.

1. Pants.

Do I have to wear them? No I don't.
Do I wear them? Oh you, with your questions.

2. Sleep.

Do I get some? Yes I do.

3. Grocery shopping.

When I'm employed, I'm like the rest of society: I make a list, run in, get only the things I need, go home, realize I've forgotten three essential things, give up, and make myself a peanut butter & turkey sandwich in between two pancakes.

When I'm unemployed, going to the grocery store is an all-day event. I saunter down the aisles. I'm comparing prices, I'm picking out new brands of cheese, I'm taking the time to ponder how many flavors there are of Cheerios, I'm coming up with recipe ideas on the fly...basically, I'm an in-store marketer's dream. Why, what's this? A coupon for 5 cents off Jimmy Dean with any four dozen eggs? What a steal! Let me mosey on back to the meat section and...wait, not this meat section. It must be in another one. Hold on, why aren't the sausages with the bacon? Oh, they're over with the pre-cooked chicken. No, I was just over there. The DAIRY section? Why would they be in the dairy section? Weird.

4. The gym

Not only do I have time to go to the gym when I'm unemployed, I get to choose to go whenever the hell I want to. I don't wake up early, I don't have to plot out a spare hour or so when I can go. I just look at the clock, go "well about that time, eh mate?" pull on my Nikes and walk out the door. And do you know who else is there? No one. No one except a few other poor unemployed schmoes like myself. There are not scary muscle guys on my machines, I even get to choose which elliptical I want (near the front so I can stare out the window, but not too far front where I think people are watching me wiping my bra sweat. And when I realize that I just laughed out loud at something Wilson said to Al, it's okay. Because no one is around me to notice.

5. Charlie time

Question: Is Charlie currently spooning with me and also licking my chin for some reason?
Answer: Not anymore. He has now switched positions so that I am forced to smell his butt.

6 Joe time

This one is pretty key, of course. I figure when Joe and I move in together, I'll inherently see him more. Maybe work will even become a welcome break from seeing his mug. But for now, when I'm employed, I don't get as much face time with the man, which has therefore also equaled less back massages. Because I am dating a boy who gives back massages without asking. Yeah. He's pretty much amazing. You're jealous.

7. Me + TBS = BFFs 4 life

8. Me + internets x Adrienne = constant entertainment

9. Volunteering

I get to volunteer during the day when I am unemployed. Which is sometimes a pain in my ass, but really it's great getting to work with kids and feel like I'm helping things. Again, love copywriting, but am I really helping society in any way by convincing you to buy more shampoo?

10. Bloggery

And finally, I have all the time in the world to blog. Which is really quite nice, considering some of these posts have taken me hours to concoct. And you know what would be a great way to show your appreciation? Why, by clicking over there on the right and voting for this blog on the Blogger's Choice Awards! You can vote for as many as you want in each category--and seriously, you should also vote for 2birds1blog and Hyperbole and a Half. And read them religiously. But also vote for mine! Because, come on. I'm funnier than half those dumb blogs up there right now. Plus, all the cool kids are doing it.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

I'm having a day.


That, in case you are wondering, is the sound of someone who has been trying to write two things:


2) A description for cottage cheese that does not make you want to throw up in your mouth.

I keep trying to write a post about the pets I used to own, but I just don't think my heart is into it today. Sometimes I can force myself to start writing and magically, something funny comes out. Sometimes I just write the phrase "I sold my turtle to buy a doll" and all I can hear is the Debbie Downer WAH WAAAAAAAAAH after it.

Also, my hair looks like the Berries And Cream guy today.

It is NOT attractive. The more bad hair days I have, the closer I am to chopping it off. FOR REALZ.

I'm sorry. This is just one of those post-less days. But HEY!! If you USUALLY like what I've got going on (but maybe not today specifically) you can vote for this blog over there on the right, which would make me feel inspired, and make me want to write, and then coming to this blog would stop being a waste of time! A cycle where everyone wins. Consider it.

EDIT: Awesome. After I published this, I looked down and saw THIS:

Today is dangerously close to needing its own comic strip.

EDIT TO THE EDIT: Found out in a meeting that the pen was also on my face. fml

Monday, April 5, 2010

Man Thighs: And Don't Mind If I Do.

Reading over my posts last week, I realized they were all very negatively charged. I'd like to say it's because it was the last week of Lent and I was going through some kind of withdrawal, but the only thing I'd given up was cooking my own meals and doing crunches at the gym.

I don't want you all to think I am some kind of constantly negative, angry person. I'm really quite optimistic. So today I'd like to tell you about my single greatest love in the whole world:

Man thighs.

Can you feel the love? Can you feel it emanating from my heart, into my keyboard, through the series of tubes, and straight to your soul?

I was introduced to the power of man thighs through Sara. We were watching Arrested Development together and she pointed out that the hilarity of Gob dangling from a crane in a banana suit rests in the fact that his man thighs are so funny to look at.

For some reason, Adrienne has been trying to explain why man thighs are so great to some friends, and has asked me to help. The problem is, describing why man thighs are amazing is kind of like describing why chocolate is amazing. "Um...because it's amazing?" But since some people don't really understand the majesty, let me try to break it down for you.

Reasons Why Man Thighs Are Hilarious

1. The simple fact that they are rarely seen.

They're such an anomaly! I mean, come on. When was the last time you saw some full man thigh action? Any time you have, I'm sure it was 90-100% hilarious. That's just a fact. I mean, we're not going to get into specifics around here about how exactly you came to be face-to-face with man thighs, but I'm going to assume that, whatever the situation, and whether real or through some sort of tv or computer screen, it was an awkward/amazing encounter. Purely because it's something you aren't used to seeing. There was probably some gawking, maybe a little giggling.

I'm not sure how people felt about man thighs in the 70s when men were walking around with short shorts all the time. Maybe then it was normal and fine. But Joe and I just watched the Muppet Movie, and this miraculous thing happened:

That is Steve Martin in his heyday, looking fantastic, and sporting some very nice-looking man thighs. And since I was not used to seeing 70s Steve Martin or his man thighs, I found myself in a fit of giggles about them.

Side note, because you know how much I love the Muppets, especially 70's Gonzo-- Look at how adorable Gonzo used to be in his little vest and belt.

Okay back to man thigh love.

2. Lack of exposure to sun, or: Milkiness.

This one is directly correlated to #1. Since man thighs stay so sadly hidden beneath layers of clothes, they don't get much sunlight. Hence, man thighs stay a natural, lighter tone. For the white man (for whom man thighs are the most hilarious due to creaminess [it's science]) this puts their man thighs at a nice ivory. Eggshell. Mother of pearl.

3. They're so sturdy.

Even though the word "sturdy" makes me uncomfortable, I can't help but use it to describe man thighs. Women have this lovely gift from God called "cellulite." But men's muscles are designed a different way. I don't really know how it works. Alls I know is: man thighs are biologically more solid. Thick. They were built for round-housing mastodons. AND BOY, COULD THEY. It is my opinion that the more tree trunk-like your man thighs, the better.

4. The hairiness factor.

Nothing is more disappointing than a man with either no hair on his man thighs, or super hairy man thighs. Because the best way to go, truly, is the splotchy-hairy. Really, is anything funnier than splotchy-hairiness?

Quick answer: no.

I hope that clears things up for you nay-sayers. Does anyone have any other thoughts? Any better reason why man thighs are so majestic?

Friday, April 2, 2010

The Greatest As I Recall Ever Told

In honor of this Lenten season, I am going to attempt something that I was unsure I’d do: tell the Easter Story as I remember it.

Reasons why this terrifies me
1) Making jokes about the time surrounding the crucifixion of Jesus
2) Lightning striking me dead because of #1.
3) You all deciding I’ve gone too far and leaving me for bloggers who don’t mock your Lord and Savior.

I’m not sure which I’m more scared of, 2 or 3.

No, that’s a lie. It’s 3. I go anyway. We open on Palm Sunday (That would be this last Sunday) By this time, everyone knows who Jesus is. He's been performing miracles all up in everyone's biz (but we'll save those stories for other posts). So people are pretty happy with the guy, what with the healing and the raising from the dead, and the turning water into alcoholic beverages. He's got his posse and he rides into town (Which town? Don't remember. Nazareth. Bethlehem. Judea. Pick one.) on a donkey, and everyone waves palm branches and lays them in front of the donkey. I guess it's softer on the hooves. And they're all shouting "Huzzah! Hooray! Callooh Callay! Hosanna!" and yelling how he is the King of Kings.

Well, apparently when some dude in sandals is riding a donkey and not a horse or camel or saber tooth tiger or something majestic like that, he looks kind of like a crazy person who wants to overthrow the government. Might have something to do with people calling him a king, and it probably didn't help earlier when he yelled at all the priests that they're a bunch of assholes.

So basically everyone in a position of power hates this Jesus fellow. Especially the head priests, because Jesus is trying to knock them off their pedestals. So they start plotting. They manage to grab the attention of Judas, one of Jesus' twelve disciples, with their shiny clinky moneys. They offer him a bunch of money in exchange for the betrayal of Jesus.


Now we're at Thursday, ie yesterday in our celebratory timeline. Jesus is overseeing the traditional Passover meal with his disciples, which celebrates Moses bringing the Hebrews out of slavery. And he gets all emo and is like "Guys...I have bad news. I am going to die soon. And one of you will betray me." and then he takes a picture of himself at a dramatic angle for his MySpace profile. There is a whole uproar which is what DaVinci's Last Supper tries to capture. They try to get Jesus to spill the beans about who it's going to be, but Jesus won't tell them, he just gives meaningful darting glances toward Judas, who sits there shuffling his gold coins.

So Jesus puts a spin on the Passover meal, which is where the tradition of Communion comes from. Jesus gets all metaphorical (or is it simile-ical?) And breaks some matzah and he's like "this is my body. When you eat it, remember me." which is a little *ew* if you think about it, but he's not even done yet. He pours wine for everyone and he says "this is my blood. When you drink it, remember me." COME ON, MAN. First you make wine awesome by making it appear from basically nowhere, and then you have to wreck it with your blood-speak. Switching to white. Switching to white.

Now after the meal, Jesus brings a couple of his fav disciples with him to go pray on Mount Olive, the most delicious of the Mounts. But it's like the middle of the night, and these guys are probably a little tipsy from all the Jesus blood, so when Jesus goes to pray to God and beg him to change his mind about the whole dying thing, the disciples fall asleep. Jesus comes back and is like, "Double-u tee eff, guys?! You're supposed to stand guard! Now, because you were asleep, God didn't hear my prayer or something that makes more sense than that! DO OVER!!"

Jesus tries again to pray. Everyone falls asleep. So he's gotta go back and pray AGAIN. Finally the prayer makes it all the way to God's ears, but when Jesus comes back, there's all these guards and pharisees (priests) hanging around. Peter yells, "JESUS, RUUUUUUNNNN!!" So Jesus jumps in the nearest taxi and just yells, "HIT IT" and of course the taxi takes off without question, running into fruit vendors and women with strollers, through alleys and around construction's crazy, man. Crazy.

No? Not buying it? *Sigh* Fiiiiine. It actually goes that Judas comes up to Jesus and kisses him on the cheek, which is like, so gay. It's also the secret code for "this is the dude you want" and they arrest him and take him to Bible prison.

Now it's Friday, aka today. Good Friday. aka BAD Friday. Jesus is being interrogated by all kinds of people. It's very Law & Order (Ooh, can you imagine Elliot interrogating Jesus?? He'd be all "It's cool man, I know how it is to want to walk on water. It's not your fault, man." And then Jesus would be like "Bring the little children to me." And Elliot would be all, "WHAT DID YOU SAY ABOUT MY DAUGHTER?! I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN MYSELF DURING MY FREE TIME!!!!!")

Anyway...what the hell was I talking about? Oh right so they're asking Jesus if he really thinks he's the Messiah and he's giving these non-committal answers like "If you say so, man..." and they're getting seriously frustrated by it.

Somehow it goes from simple interrogating to accusations and eventually the Head Guy (I don't know his technical title. We'll call him the Chief of Police,) Pontius Pilote gets involed. Pilote's a nice guy. He sees that Jesus is harmless. BUT, like any good politician, he is much more concerned about what other people think and decides to just do what people tell him. Because remember all those people praising Jesus a week before? Well, they've totally turned on him and are outside the window yelling, "BOO! JESUS SUCKS! HE CURED ME OF MY AWESOME LEPROSY!!"

Finally Pilate walks out to the balcony and he's like, "Do you SERIOUSLY want this guy dead?"
And everyone's yelling "TOTALLY!! HE TURNED ME INTO A NEWT! (A newt?!) (I got better.)"
So Pilate comes up with a genius way to keep Jesus alive. He responds, "We don't have enough whips for all the bad guys in our dungeons. So if we kill Jesus, we have to let another guy go. Looks like next on the list is Barabbas, the known murderer and overall terrible person."
So Pilate has no choice. EXCEPT HE DOES, but whatever. Apparently, he has no choice. And he condemns Jesus to his death. During all this, Jesus is just sighing and listening and being peaceful. It would be weird if he turned into the guy from Hook that's like "The what?! The Boo Box! NOOOOOO!" But he's not like that at all. He is very calm.

SPECIAL SIDE NOTE: Did you know that the Boo Box guy is actually Glenn Close?

Yep, that just happened to your brain.

Here's where things get extremely not funny and graphic, just to warn you. They force Jesus to carry his cross from some place to where they're going to hang him. (Hence the phrase, "that's my cross to bear"...just making sure you're keeping up with me, here.) They also put a crown of thorns on his head to mock him for thinking he was the king of anything. No thorn scepter, though. They also whip him the whole time he's walking. Which is like holy crap, how could anyone handle all these horrible things at once? Well, he can't. So they give the cross to some poor schmo who just thought he was coming out to watch a good ol' fashioned crucifixion. So eventually they get to the hill, and Jesus is nailed to the cross with two other criminals. There's also an incident with a sword in his side, and when he asks for water, they give him a sponge of vinegar. And that's why we dye eggs using vinegar!! JK, that's a lie. We use vinegar because that's what Paas tells us to do.

Jesus is up there and it blows and women are wailing and it's horrible and eventually he dies. So they take him down and embalm him (whatever that is...I'm too scared to wikipedia it) and they bury him in the traditional way: in a tomb. I don't know how many tombs there are in historic middle eastern times, but you'd think there's just a bajillion of them. So that ends the scene on Good Friday. Bleak.

Saturday is the buffer day. People are mourning. Disciples are in hiding because they're scared they're next.

Then Sunday comes along, and Mary (not Jesus' mom, but one of the other ones...they were all named Mary so who the hell knows which one it was?) goes to Jesus' tomb to like...I don't know, put perfume on him or something. But when she gets there, the door to the tomb has been rolled away and there's an angel or two standing there. Mary starts shaking and kneeling and being terrified (I guess angels are the scariest thing ever. They are not sassy black women and lovable Irish beauties.) But the angel tells her that Jesus has risen, and to start spreading the news. So she sprints over to the disciples, who come a-running. And when they get there, Jesus has replaced the angel(s) and is standing with all kinds of majesty and wonder.

The disciples are overjoyed and high fiving all over the place. Eventually Jesus peaces out and floats up to heaven a la Olivia Newton John and John Travolta at the end of Grease, and voila. Christianity was born. And thank God it was, because once Jesus came to spread his message of peace and love, there was no more greed or lies or hatred or judging or using religion to your own personal advantage.


He is risen indeed.

(Thanks for reading, guys. I love you all. And if you love me back, consider voting this blog for Best Religion and Humor Blog over there on the right. I swear they do not spam you or send you emails after you sign up. Have a good Passover/Easter/Weekend everyone!)

Thursday, April 1, 2010


Happy Matzah Day, everyone! And why is tonight unlike all other nights? Because it is April Fool’s Day. And I better not have to cut a bitch.

April Fool’s day is the most horrid, most putrid day of the year. And not just because of the collective smell from Saran Wrapped toilet seats.

I hate practical jokes. Hate them. And if you play one on me, I WILL get angry. There is no “Ha ha ha ha…oh YOU” with me. There is only “WHAT THE F--K IS WRONG WITH YOU I WILL PUNCH YOU IN THE FACE AND I WILL BREAK YOUR FAVORITE STUFF AND WHEN YOU HAVE CHILDREN I WILL TELL THEM THAT SANTA CLAUS IS YOU.”

That is how seriously I take practical jokes. I just don’t understand them. Why would you purposely trick someone unless you hate them? Why would you ruin someone’s day…on purpose? My entire goal each day is ALREADY to a) not do something stupid and look like an asshole
b) not be repulsive to be around.

Basically, April Fool’s Day is the opposite of everything I stand for.

It’s not just the fact that practical jokes are inherently mean. It’s also the idea that people are conspiring against me. I hate when everyone else knows something I don’t, and I find out they’ve been lying to me. That’s why I have made very specific rules against surprise birthday parties. I have never been thrown one, and I like it that way. My parents learned their lesson early, when I was probably…oh…four? My family gathered in some room in our house on my birthday. And when I walked in, they started singing “Happy Birthday.” I ran out of the room crying and threw myself face-first onto my bed and bawled my eyes out. It was probably adorable. I hope it was heartbreaking. Serves them right for talking about me behind my back.

I realize that this post is so anger-ridden, especially on a day that is all about jokes. But that’s what April Fool’s Day is to me: a day of anger and spite. And if I can do one thing for you today, it is to make you hurt a little, too, so that you remember the hardships of your past: the tears of the slaves, the unleavened bread, and that time your brother put a rubber band around the nozzle of the water sprayer in the kitchen.

EDIT: It's my work partner's birthday today, and they're forcing me to lure him to a surprise party with lies! I've become everything I hate! This is for referencing Judaism inappropriately, isn't it? ...I knew it.