ejs is me.

Broadway Nerding Out in 3...2...

2012-01-27T09:30:00.000-08:00

Look. I love Hugh Jackman with the rest of them. He is the wholesomest wholesome this side of Wholesomeville. I tend to support his decisions without question, and I lament with the rest of them that 3 of his 4 IMDb "Known Fors" are Wolverine-related. Really? No Kate & Leopold? No Someone Like You? IMDb, I thought you were better than that.

But Hugh Jackman is slated to be Jean Valjean in the upcoming MUSICAL feature film of Les Miserables. (Liam Neeson, God bless you. I think you and I and Future Husband Colin Firth should drink early morning tea and silently read the newspaper together. But I assume you can't sing your way out of a paper bag. So you weren't about to reprise the role.)

I'm suspicious. I'm suspicious of Hugh.

Sure. The man can sing. We all know. We've all watched the Oklahoma! clips on YouTube. But THIS is what he is up against. THIS is what he has to aspire to. THIS is the likes of which he needs to be fitting in with:

And I have my doubts. Despite the abilities to remix, cut, and start over a billion times if need be, I have my doubts about Hugh's chops. Well, his falsetto chops anyway. Not his mutton chops, of course. Because you, me and IMDb knows how well he pulls those off.

What do you guys think? Do you believe in Hugh? What do you think about the rest of the cast?

Fantastic.

2012-01-24T09:30:00.000-08:00

It has been well-documented that I haven't seen many movies, I've just seen a FEW movies MANY times. Can I repeat every word to Titanic? Of course. But only tape #1. (Tape #2 was the sinking. That would be awkward to have memorized. And yes, I'm old enough to have watched Titanic on VHS. DEAL.)

But there are tons of movies that I've just never seen. It took me 5 years to finally watch The Matrix. And if you remember the leather-shrouded feelings people had about The Matrix when it came out, five years is an INTENSE amount of time to not know the difference between the red and blue pills.

A lot of movies I missed were 80's and 90's classics that I avoided because I was either too young to see them, or too scared--let's be honest. I never saw Braveheart because I heard they ripped his guts out while he was still alive (Finally saw it, closed my eyes.) I still haven't seen Fargo because of the wood chipper scene. I KNOW, IT'S FARCE. I'll see it! I'll see it! GOD.

So when Joe and I started dating, he went through his mental rolodex of movies I haven't seen (And no, I'm NOT old enough to have owned a rolodex, DEAL.) Then we added those movies into Netflix, and dubbed them "boy movies". Because sometimes apparently I'm not very feministic. In the past few years, I've been slowly knocking them down one by one. Field of Dreams. The Godfather. Top Gun. The kinds of movies that, when I admit I haven't seen them, cause people to clutch their pearls in horror. Even boys. ESPECIALLY boys, frankly.

When we started our Netflix Crusade, I took notes on the thoughts I had while I watched. But the notes weren't really calling out to me. So I lazily never blogged about them and let them float away from my mind. Now I find it hard to remember which explosions happened in Mission: Impossible and which happened in Speed.

But yesterday I was made aware of an amazing, amazing little movie review of You've Got Mail by Anne T. Donahue. You can find it on Hello Giggles. And yes, there are two more reviews. And yes, I believe it will be an ongoing series. YOU'RE WELCOME.

What I'm trying to say here is: bitch stole my idea. And what I'm trying to say by that is: this hilarious woman did what I could not. And I'm jealous. And I want to awkwardly hold her hand.

Mostly because she made this:

I MAY have reposted that image onto every media outlet I could get a hold of, including taping it inside printed newspapers.

But also, her Pinterest (OH YES MY STALKER LEVEL HAS GONE THERE) has this:

Not only is Tom Hanks the only image in her "Babes" board, but it's the T.Hanks image that I hold so dearly to my heart.

I mean, it's not like the girl has a monopoly on humorous movie reviews. I think we all know Gene Siskel still holds the title for those. (I kid. None of us knows who Gene Siskel is. Except my dad, who was DEVASTATED by the loss. ANYWAY.) So I could still write some. But now I feel like they would just be a sad, weepy version of this masterful You've Got Mail one. I feel like a toddler who throws a temper tantrum for having a toy taken away that was never actually hers.

Wow. I started writing this to tell you about my original plan of reviewing "boy movies" and it's really just devolved into a love letter to Anne. I'm fine with it. But I'm also going to go (So I can stalk her more, perhaps?? No no no no. .....yes.)

The New Job

2012-01-19T09:30:00.000-08:00

Facts about what I'm doing here:

1. I am very superstitious about jinxing things, so I need to clarify that this is technically contract-to-hire, so I don't have a full time job YET. Also, time goes slowly when you are living paycheck to paycheck. Regina's cat's breath is out of control, and I really need to make enough money to get her to the vet.

2. It's a start up company that makes a very cool mobile app. That's all I'll say about it, but also you probably have not heard of it--YET. It was started last summer and I am the 11th employee, I think.

3. We get free lunch every day. And free snacks. And free beverages. So...basically it's the best place ever. Also, I think I may be addicted to sparkling water now. You guys may need to form an intervention soon.

4. OH! I haven't actually told you what I'm doing here! So I'm their writer. Like, their only writer. So I'm in charge of the brand voice, wherever they need it. And hopefully soon, I'll be writing a blog for them, and taking charge of their Facebook and Twitter posts. Which will be fun while it's happening, and when it's over (hopefully not for a long time) I'll have something really concrete on my resume that will make me stand out.

5. The company doesn't have a front desk or anyone in an administrative role. My desk is kind of the closest thing to being that front desk, because it faces people walking in. So now I have also become the person who signs for packages and greets people who look scared. I absolutely don't mind it, because distractions are my lifeblood. When I write, I am absolutely the dog from "Up". Except instead of "SQUIRREL!" it's: "FACEBOOK!"

6. The hours are a little different here. No one comes in until 10:30, but they stay later. Which means I probably will have to start working out in the morning. I was really excited about the idea until this morning when I actually attempted to do it. And by "attempted" I mean, I turned off the alarm and spent 45 minutes making excuses about why I couldn't POSSIBLY get out of bed, by which time it was too late to go work out. PROBLEM SOLVED.

7. SPEAKING of early mornings! This has nothing to do with the job, but last night Joe and I were woken up because a parked pick up truck outside our window was blaring its horn non-stop with no one in it. The fire department showed up after about 4 seconds (They're just down the street. Good to know.) Apparently there was a fire under the truck. They put that out with the hose, then broke into the car, popped the hood, and stopped the horn. Joe and I watched this from our 4th story apartment with intrique and annoyance. Mostly, I was relieved that we didn't die, because we SO COULD HAVE. The way I see it: fire under the car, fire travels to the engine, fire + gasoline= EXPLOSION!!, the pieces fly into our window and smash into us. Piece de resistance: Regina escapes out the smashed window.

So, I don't know. Does that cover it? Are there more questions about the job that I haven't answered, or have I told you everything and more?

We'll Have A Brain Fart Time

2012-01-16T08:19:00.000-08:00

So I know I promised I'd still be blogging, and I totally am, but I'm having a bit of a brain fart time of it right now. I keep trying to say something insightful about how things are starting to look up, but it gets RULL boring, RULL quick. Either that, or I become one of the people that I hated only a week ago--the people who are too damn happy for their own good and need to quit making the rest of us Normies feel bad.

Side note: I'm SUPER into the non-word "Normies" right now. I'm considering using it until it catches on. It'll be so fetch, just you watch.

So anyway...brain farts and all that. I'm not sure what else to write about at the moment, but I promise I'll be around.

Also, since the Golden Globes were last night, can we talk about Aunt Meryl for a moment? Well, less of talking about her and more just...let's just acknowledge her existence with a moment of silence.

....

Also, Colin Firth. As I tweeted, that man is a dapper son of a bitch. We all know he is on the short list of men I would marry, but despite his growing age and/or jowls, I think he might be climbing to the top of the list, even past Future Husband John Krasinski, who, despite my best efforts, is still married to that damn British chippy.

But let's consider both of these things:

I mean...that's just...come on, now.

Anyway, this is really all I have for now. Quotes from Colin Firth. Sorry. Maybe an update this week about the job and how it's going? OH! Also, Joe and I just bought tickets to see a screening of The Dark Crystal in February and WHO is going to be there? Oh that's right, Dave Goelz--NO BIG DEAL, HANNAH.

Twitter: The Results Show

2012-01-10T14:04:00.000-08:00

Fail Whale? More like WIN Whale, am I right? Ohhhhhhhh, ME.

So the Twitter Poll results are in! Of those who answered, most are at least ON Twitter. And of those people, it was one part "Yes, let's party it up on the Twitters," one part "I can't keep up with the confounded thing so you do whatever the hell you want and I'll occasionally tweet when I'm stuck in line at the grocery store," and one part "shhh...if I don't answer the poll I can still pretend like I don't read this blog."

Word to your mother.

Well okay then, how about this? My twitter handle is (unsurprisingly) @iheartejs. Follow me and I'll follow you back. I pretty much follow anyone back, which is how I've gotten into the predicament I'm in. See, I've been on Twitter since early 2009 and have pretty much been following people willy nilly. Which means I follow a bunch of people who I don't really care about (but then also Tom Hanks, as well as nearly the entire cast of Parks and Rec--again, unsurprisingly. Best tweets? Jerry, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.) So, okay, here we go. I'm going to unfollow a whole bunch of people. Watch me.

....

There we go. I'll call it The Great Purg---nope! Nope, not calling it that. Regardless, I have room now to follow people I actually want to hear from, aka: YOU. So if Tweeting is your thang, let's be Twitter budz. If for no other reason, to make it so Adrienne is not the ONLY person I interact with over there. I mean, I love her like Leslie loves Ann, but I want more. And I promise to cultivate my Tweets and actually read and respond to others, not use it as a dumping ground for my poorly-crafted one liners. Usually. Sometimes. A little.

Back To It

2012-01-09T10:51:00.000-08:00

GAH, sorry I've been so absent. I'm the worst blogger ever. I don't even deserve to get paid to write this thing. Which I don't, so that's fitting.

But guess what, Y'ALL?! (Oh that's right, I said y'all so you know something big is coming.) I actually AM going to be paid to blog! Because I just got a contract-to-hire job offer for a small start-up, and among other things I would blog for them! I wouldn't get to be as nonsensical there as I am here, which, let's face it, is better for all of us. But I do still get to write in a fun voice that has some 'tude. Oh god, I just said 'tude like some kind of teen magazine quiz. I'M A LITTLE OVEREXCITED; NOTHING MAKES SENSE ANYMORE!

So. What does this mean for you? I will tell you. It means that I'll still blog around here, and hopefully still semi-regularly as long as my new work gets done and doesn't drain me of wanting to write anything ever again. Doubtful. I have too many opinions about exfoliating face wash left to share. It also means that I'll have some money to go on adventures, which of course means blogging about awkward interactions with strangers and falling down a lot! The possibilities are ENDLESS!

In conclusion, things are looking up for you and me both. Stay tuned about the face wash. Am I serious? Only time will tell.

Let's Do This.

2012-01-03T09:10:00.000-08:00

First things first: the ankle is doing much better. There was a Quasimodo limp going on for a bit, but I'm walking normally now. There's pretty xtreme bruising (no E, that's how bruised it is) but I'll be fine. My first day home, Hannah kept calling me Beth, so I wrapped myself in a blanket and told her that the only gift I wanted for Christmas was for the war to end and father to come home.

But I'm healing. My time in Chicago has been another great vacation from my problems. I needed some time to just be with people I know, in a place I know, without stressing about working. And now I'm ready to get back to it.

It feels like every sentence I utter anymore is: "Once I have a job, I can..." and I'm tired of it. It's been a year since I felt safe enough to spend money and it's wearing me out. I mean, it's not like I want to toss my mink pelt over my shoulder and start ordering people around with my scepter, I just want to buy pure maple syrup without feeling "extravagant".

But it's more than money, too. I don't feel like a productive member of society without a job. Sure, I feel better when I get stuff done. I can exercise and write and clean and basically do ANYTHING besides scroll through Pinterest and Tumblr (Oh, Tumblr...your Parks and Rec gifs are so hard to turn away from). And I'll feel like at least there was something to define my day, to prove that I was here and I helped.

So I'm ready to go back. I'm actually still in Chicago right now, back in SF late on Wednesday night. At first I imagined myself leaving Chicago kicking and screaming (or at least slightly tearfully) just because I was so happy to be back with everyone and didn't want to leave them again. But now I'm ready. I'm ready to actually get this thing started FOR REALZ. The last few months laid the groundwork. I've made connections, I've interviewed, I've figured out a lot about where I want my next steps to fall. I just need that final leap to an offer. That way I can start the rest--the adventures, the extracurricular classes, the pure maple syrup--that will complete the circle of why I went in the first place.

The Ankle Saga: A Story In Pictures

2011-12-27T12:28:00.000-08:00

So. Okay. OH MY GOD, I have started this blog post 80 times and deleted it and started it over, because I have no idea what to talk about right now.

Do I talk about how I rolled my ankle on the way back to Chicago? Yes, let's go there, shall we? In fact, let's go there with visual aids. Because everyone likes visual aids.

On my way to the airport, I walk out the door, down two blocks...

...and then as I'm lifting my suitcase over a curb I also step in a small pothole. There was a crunching noise. It was not awesome.

After about 5 straight minutes of whispered profanity, the girl at the bus stop asked me if I was okay. I told her yes.

When the bus came, I hobbled to the back where I thought I could stretch out. I put my foot up on my suitcase for...blood flow...or whatever reason it is that you elevate a twisted ankle. But then the bus actually filled up, and I kept getting dirty looks from people who assumed I was spreading out on public transportation. I wanted to shout, "NO! I usually mock those people! I am just like you! I AM NOT AN ANIMAL! I AM A HUMAN BEING!" But I couldn't say any of that because I was concentrating so hard on keeping myself from making wounded moaning noises. I refused to be the person at the back of the bus and MOANING.

Eventually I got to the airport...

And then THIS happened.

I had to sit down on the ground like a 3 year old to take off my shoes at security.

Of COURSE I was at the furthest gate. OF COURSE I was.

In Economy with limited space and an ankle hurting like holy hell, every time I crossed my legs I kept hitting the girl next to me. She was not amused. But for some reason, "Sorry, I twisted my ankle" didn't seem like a valid excuse for why I couldn't stick to my own assigned spot.

In the end, I made it and hobbled into the arms of my parents who came to pick me up.

Luckily my family has twisted their ankles so often that we were stocked with fancy Ace bandages and ice packs. Apparently my clumsiness is genetic. And at least I had an excuse to sit on the couch and demand other people feed me cookies and milk. Nothing like being surrounded by the people you love in a warm house with plenty of food (and no joke, 5 kinds of butter) to nurse you back to health.

And hey! On a separate note--check out that survey over on the upper right. Let me know what you think. Totally anonymous even to me, so you can answer even if you think you're a stalker for being here. (By the way, you are not. OR ARE YOU?...No, you aren't.) So give it to me straight. Twitter: Y/N/Meh?

Twitter

2011-12-26T13:58:00.000-08:00

I'm curious about something, and I'd like your opinion. So I've set up a little anonymous poll over there on the right to get some answers. What do you think??

My Penultimate Birthday

2011-12-22T08:39:00.000-08:00

Welp! Yesterday was my birthday. I'm 27 now. And this year...I'm actually fine with it. I haven't been okay with my new age since I turned 22. But this year? Totally taking it in stride. This is for three reasons:
1. I've come to grips with the fact that I'm in my "late twenties", and as far as that goes, 27 seems young and spritely.
2. From what everyone says (and what I've seen firsthand), your thirties are when you come into your own and really figure out who you are and what you're doing. And I would like to know both of those things. So I don't mind getting closer to that.
3. It's the final year of my, and everyone's lives. Because the world will end on my birthday next year, and there are crappy Web 1.0 websites to prove it.

This year has been interesting. It started out mind-numbingly dull. This caused me to hitch up my bootstraps (or whatever) and start adventuring. I took improv classes, comedy writing classes, and then moved across the country. Which, considering my awkward neuroses, basically means it's been a year of self-doubt.

Curious about how I felt this time last year, I checked out my birthday blog entry for 2010. What I found was a list of goals. Since I wrote that list, I've expanded the goals to a Life List, which has grown to 75 since I posted it. But the first list of goals were things I was hoping to do within 2 years. I'm now halfway through those two years, so I thought I'd revisit the list. New comments are in italics.

Emily's List Of Young People Goals:

Self-Betterment
-Learn how to knit (Hmm. I started to crochet again but never counted my stitches and things went downhill from there. But there's a ball of yarn on my dresser, ever reminding me to pick it up again. Verdict: probable.)
-Take beginner photography classes, then take good photos with a good camera (I'm partway to completing this goal. I bought a Groupon for a class that doesn't expire until May. Problem is: still don't have a camera.)
-Improv classes (I did this one! I did this one! And I want to keep doing it!)
-Sculpting classes (I haven't done this one but I'd still like to. Problem is, I'd rather keep doing improv/comedy related classes. My Ghost fantasies may have to wait a while.)
-Dance classes (BAH ha ha ha ha ha....oh, ME.)

Travel
-Go to Scotland, find your ancestor's castle. (See, the problem with a lot of stuff on this list is that I didn't know what a precarious position my job was in at the time. I was running on the assumption that I had JUST been hired and there was no way we would lose the account and I would be laid off. Silly Emily. So trusting.)
-Go to Italy, eat a lot of pasta and cream. (I mean, these things are definitely on the list. But they probably won't be happening as quickly as my adorable little hopeful heart had wanted.)
-Go to San Francisco--Francisco! That's fun to say. (Well I can certainly check this one off the list with great aplomb.)

Work
-Go on a production shoot outside of Chicago
-Get promoted, earn what I think I deserve
-Write an ad that everyone loves
(................................................sigh.)

Other
-Pay off a big student loan chunk (OR defer your loans because you're unemployed. SIMILAR.)
-Buy a car (kcchhh...pfff...shah....)
-Become a roller skater (The more I think about this one, the more I fear falling and breaking my arms and knees. Also, now that I'm in San Francisco, the amount of hills makes this one a lot less likely. Sorry, 26-year-old me, I think this one is done-zo.)
-Be more stylish (I'm still determined that this will happen for me one day. I'll have money and I'll buy clothes from SUPER fancy places, like the Gap and Nordstrom. I'll have an infinity scarf that'll look really cute on me and I'll wear skirts and just generally look more like Zooey Deschanel.)
-Make more Julia Child recipes (Hmm. I STILL haven't done this yet. I just need to face my fears and channel my inner Julie/Julia.)
-Find an apartment with a reading nook for weekends--and then read on the weekends. (Well, I wouldn't say I have a "nook" but I do have bay windows? Which is closer? I don't read on the weekends but that is changing TODAY my friends. TODAY. Or tomorrow, or sometime soon.)

So all in all, I think I'm generally still on the right track. An actual income will help me accomplish a lot more of these. The question is: what will I accomplish in the next year? You know, before the world ends?

I Want A Tattoo

2011-12-20T10:45:00.000-08:00

Tattoos and I have an interesting relationship. It's like skydiving: it sounds cool in concept, it seems like the kind of thing that everyone should try once, but if I realistically think about it, there's no way I'm doing that crap.

One time in college while I was working at a sandwich shop, a grizzly old man came in. He had a fuzzy, wibbly achor tattoo on his forearm which I thought was possibly the most badass thing I'd ever seen, because you know that thing was hand-chiseled by a fellow navy man.

The first time I ever considered that I might get a tattoo myself was after seeing the episode where Rachel gets a heart on her lower back/hip:

Because I'm pretty sure that's the first time I realized tattoos could be for non-sailors/women in the circus.

So of course at first I wanted a heart tatoo on my lower back. Because I was a very original teenager, and because the word "tramp stamp" hadn't been invented yet. Or if it had, I hadn't heard of it. But eventually this idea turned into me wanting a heart that was made out of the letters of my middle name: Joy. I told Teenage Boyfriend about this, and he designed one for me. Which of course ruined it for life. I've made some relationship mistakes in my day, but at least one of them has NOT been to get a tattoo that reminds me of a boy, no matter how convinced I was that we would be married and have billions of children.

So that was out. And for seven years or so, I hadn't come up with another tattoo I would want. There was nothing that I cared about enough to emblazon it on my body and know I would still care about it at forty.

Until recently.

I hold in my possession (ie my brain) one giant, awesome idea...and I don't know how to make it: I want a tattoo that says "Keep going" if you look at it from one way and "slow down" if you look at it from the other way. Like how this Princess Bride cover mind-blowingly reads upside down and right side up.

I think it would be rad. And I NEVER say rad, so you know I'm serious about it. I also like the idea of just the words "keep going" written on my hand so it looks best while you're writing, like in this position.

I also don't really know what that would look like either.

And before you get all "yikes that sounds like a terrible idea" because I know you and that is what you are saying, consider the idea of white or light ink, and consider that it could be small and classy.

I'm not going to get a tattoo now because I am in a fragile state and I'm pretty sure 99% of my ideas right now are ill-informed. So I'm holding off. Especially because I kinda just want to say EFF THIS and go with a connect-the-dots tattoo.

But again, small and classy. Like a little connect-the-dots kermit on my inner arm. COME ON, IT COULD BE GOOD, YOU DON'T KNOW.

What tattoo ideas do you have? What do you wish you had the guts to do but never will? What have you already had done? Regrets? No regrets? Comments!

Homesick

2011-12-19T09:00:00.001-08:00

Okay, I'm going to have to level with you guys. I just spent all weekend trying to write a normal post. I mean, as normal as it gets around these parts.

But the truth is that I'm homesick. And I want to talk about it. Because I blame Jesus.

Yeah, I said it. I mean really if you think about it, Christmas makes EVERYONE homesick, by its very nature. Even people who are currently home start to ache for the home they once had.

So now I find myself in a city I don't know with weather I don't know, with people I don't know. I even find myself getting mad at crazy people on the SF buses for not being the same as the crazy people on the Chicago buses. It's a deep homesickness.

Then add in the fact that it's Christmastime, a time when I should be surrounded by family and friends and instead find myself feeling incredibly alone. I knew this time would come, that there would be a point where the newness would wear off and I'd still be without all the familiar faces. I was aware it would happen--but I forgot to factor in Christmas, so now the homesickness goes to eleven.

I'm struck by how often I don't feel like myself, but like some really boring version of myself who spends all day watching every Stefon Weekend Update sketch and forgets to brush her teeth. Sometimes I think that just forcing myself to get up and shower and walk out the door will help. And then I'm surprised when it doesn't. Then I'm just sad...and outside. Then I get annoyed at slow walkers and people who don't leash their dogs (because WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE--shhh, breathe, Emily. They aren't here anymore. They can't hurt you.) I guess going outside only helped when my problem was laziness, not actual emotional distress.

Anyone have advice on how to climb back out? Is "time" the only solution? I hate when "time" is the only solution.

Pinterest, Hot Chocolate, Stitching, And A Whale For Good Measure

2011-12-14T21:20:00.000-08:00

I have a few things to tell you, none of which have anything to do with anything else. So I'm just going to go ahead and lay them on the table.

1.) I just joined Pinterest, so naturally my life is over. Pinterest combines two of my favorite things: sharing stupid things, and categorizing stuff. When I was young, my mom set me free in a department store, and I spent my time organizing a bunch of rings by color. Over a decade later, I realized the rings were organized by size and I just ruined some poor store clerk's night.

So yeah, I like to organize. But now it's organizing pictures into "crafts I'll never do" and "food I'll never make" and "wedding stuff" because despite my rampant feminism, I'm ONE OF THOSE. Sue me--sometimes I see cool wedding stuff by accident (cough when I'm surfing wedding blogs cough) and I don't want to forget those ideas. Like this one!

Flowers made of paper?! Paper made of flowers?! COME ON!

2.) Joe and I just walked across the street and payed $2 each for hot chocolate powder in steamed milk. I just wanted to share with you how stupid it was that we just paid for something we own, and I also want to share that it's sad how much spending $2 is affecting me emotionally. That's what my life has become now.

3) I've decided on a new hobby and I am EXTREMELY interested in it, mainly because I haven't yet learned anything about it. I am still the 3rd grade kid who decides she wants to take drum lessons until she finds out you have to practice and it isn't immediately easy. This is why I am a writer by trade. It's the only thing that didn't cause much exertion on my part.

Oh my God, I didn't even tell you what the new hobby is. ATTENTION SPAN! Sorry. The new hobby is going to be cross-stitching--HEAR ME OUT!--funny things. Like stupid quotes and swear words next to adorable embroidered squirrels. Kind of like this one:

It's what makes the sauce so awesome. They will sell like HOTCAKES on Etsy. Except I assume hotcakes do not actually sell that well on Etsy since that would be a disaster, packaging-wise. But can't you imagine a cross-stitch pattern that says:

"A real man makes his own luck. -Billy Zane, Titanic" -Dwight Schrute

RIGHT?? I WOULD BUY THAT! I know I'm not the first person to do this. There is great, funny embroidery all over the internet. I'm not suggesting that I'm original, just that I want to be part of this amazingness. I mean, if millions of people can put a bird on it, then a couple of us can cross-stitch the f-bomb onto pillows and sell them on the interweb.

4) And finally, if this picture does not instill the fear of God into you, then you have no soul.

*shudder* The only reason those people are not being drowned is because that whale has CHOSEN TO SPARE THEM.

The Internet: Encouraging and Depressing At The Same Time

2011-12-12T16:34:00.000-08:00

The internet is the reason why I am both sane and insane at the moment.

Sane, because it's my connection to people I know. Otherwise, I spend most of my time conversing with Clinton Kelly and my cat. The former never talks back and the latter is just plain cold. The internet gives me old episodes of 30 Rock (really, the only thing I'm paying Netflix for if we're all being honest with each other and I think we are) and lets me share links of stupid stuff with my family despite our distance.

It's also why I am insane as well, however. Because there are too many things I'm not seeing. Or making. Or becoming, or visiting, or buying. It reminds me of all the ways that I am not as good as other people, who are all out doing all the things. And it continues to remind me that other people have jobs and get money for doing those jobs and then spend that money on things they want to own. Seriously, how is it that LUTZ has a job, and I don't? Where did I go wrong?

It reminds me that there are all kinds of crafts that other people thought of which I never thought of and that makes me jealous and angry. It reminds me that delicious food can be made in my own home, which inevitably involves at least one ingredient I refuse to buy. (Oh, two tablespoons of buttermilk? Well I'll just run to the Tablespoons Of Stuff That Go Bad Quickly store and pick that right on up, sir.) The internet gives me all kinds of awesome hosting ideas, which reminds me that I have no one to host in a city where I know very few. It reminds me that other people are going out and exercising and I didn't. It reminds me that still other people are happily gorging on delicious things instead of exercising and I didn't do that either. It reminds me that other people are getting married and having babies and adopting dogs and finding jobs and traveling and I'm not doing any of that stuff. It reminds me that people who are famous started off when they were younger than me, and that makes me question whether or not I'll ever have any hope of being successful.

All I'm really doing, I guess, is complaining. I'm not looking for help. I know the answer--get up and go do things and quit whining about it. I know. And most days I do. But some days I get sucked in. Today is one of those days.

Why Do Girls Like Diamonds?: A Legitimate Question To Which I Demand Answers

2011-12-09T13:04:00.000-08:00

I just don't get it.

Why am I supposed to like diamonds? What is the deep, underlying need I'm supposed to have for shiny bangles? Is it connected to the part of me that should want to wear puffy pink ball gowns all day? That would make sense, since I have never wanted either.

Maybe it's the stingy part of me that scoffs at diamonds. The part that doesn't like to overpay for things. The part that makes me not buy celery because I know it was 50 cents cheaper last week. But isn't it a known fact that diamonds are a whole...messed up Africa trade thing and they aren't actually worth that much?

So why do people keep buying them? And why do they make perfectly sensible women go crazy? For example, here are some scenes I would like explained to me:

30 Rock, 3.12
Elisa (Selma Hayak): "Okay, but I want a ring so big that it gives me back problems."
What?! You are a woman with TWO jobs. You work with your hands, caring for the elderly. In what world would that ring make sense for your life? Also, aren't you a devout Catholic? Doesn't Jesus preach all kinds of things about giving your worldly possessions to the poor and a rich man can't get into heaven and all that?

The Office, 7.11
Pam: "Is it pebbles from that beach in Jamaica? *Opens box* *Silence* Oh my God. *Tears* I love it."
Jim: "Yep, I do make great Christmas gifts. But I couldn't make that."
COULDN'T YOU? Well then, what if you just stuffed a teapot with all kinds of things that remind you of each other to secretly show her that you love her? Oh, you already did that. Okay fine. Then just spend all your money on a trinket for your wife when you have a family to feed. No need to put any thought into the gift--just toss money at her. Because that's the kind of person Pam is. The kind of girl who appreciates expensive gifts over thoughtful ones and LITERALLY CRIES over a diamond bracelet. That's the person we've all come to love for seven years, sure.

Up All Night, 1.11
Reagan: "The fact that you went through whatever you went through is enough for me. It's the thought that counts."
Chris: "Well then I got you two gifts. The thoughtful thing and, well, and also this."
Reagan: *GASP!* Oh my God! Oh my God! *GASP!* Look at this! Look at it! Look at this!...Look how hot my wrist looks! Oh, f*ck you, everybody! My husband ROCKS!"
Okay first of all, you need to breathe, Christina Applegate, although those last two sentences were hilarious. Secondly, you are the one technically making money. So you just bought yourself that bracelet. And again, with the family to feed. And REALLY does your wrist look that hot? Because I'm pretty sure your FACE looks hot and you are an awesome, powerful, smart woman who is better than that reaction. And what happened to the thought that counts then? Is this some funny way for us to all see that it really isn't?

Sex And The City, 3.9
Trey: "I think we should stop here for a minute. Maybe we should go in and find you the most beautiful ring they have."
Charlotte, I know that you are image-obsessed. And I know it took Harry to knock out the crazy. And I know this ring came from a proposal from a guy who says "alrighty." But you have an amazing sense of style, and THIS is how you show it? Trey lets you choose the ring, and you go with just a silver band with a rock on top of it? I guess I just had higher hopes for you, that's all. There's no more thought to this ring than there was to the "alrighty." He just sent you in to pick out something you can wear that proves how rich you're going to be. Where's the love? Why is this scene supposed to make the "alrighty" better?

I wish I could say that these shows are all just men writing what they think women want. But all four of these shows are either written, helmed, or overseen by women. So either we're letting these stereotypes happen, or they're actually true: it doesn't matter the circumstances, throw an expensive bunch of diamonds at it and it'll purr like a kitten.

Why? What is it? Are we distracted by shiny things? Do we just like to show off how much money our partner has?

Maybe I have such apathy because I don't have super nice clothes and I'm not a particularly elegant person. I don't like diamonds because I know how insane they would look next to my $10 Old Navy dress (DON'T HATE, I bought it in three colors). It's like when I was little and I had short hair so I hated wearing girly things because I thought it made me look silly, not fancy.

My thing is, I would just rather have something more sentimental or at least more useful, like a plane ticket to Italy, or some of that anti-wrinkle cream that actually works. Diamonds? You never get any use out of them unless you attend galas often (which I clearly don't--my god, the shattered champagne glasses...) or unless your engagement or wedding ring has them. And if you have a big rock like all the girls apparently want, you have to worry about snagging it on stuff or getting yourself hijacked when you go to Guam or blinding yourself from the glare reflecting off the sun.

So has my ranting terrified everyone from fighting for the other side? Anyone want to argue for diamonds in all their pretty, sparkly glory? Or does anyone want to join me in my confusion?

When I Believed In Santa Claus

2011-12-07T10:32:00.010-08:00

I remember exactly where I stood in my kitchen as I told my friend, Courtney, "Well I don't believe in the Tooth Fairy or the Easter Bunny, but I'm not sure about Santa Claus."

My parents are notorious for forgetting that our teeth were hiding anxiously under our pillows. I had taken to writing notes on scraps of paper and taping them--facing out--onto the window. You know, just in case she just happened to fly by. Then there was the fact that all the richer kids in my school bragged about getting twenty dollar bills under their pillows. I hadn't even SEEN a twenty dollar bill, let alone owned one. Suddenly my excitement over having my very own silver dollar seemed silly. I couldn't even buy a Ninja Turtle with it. It didn't take long to put two and two together: a real fairy would be more scrupulous.

The Easter Bunny took a little longer. Easter had been my favorite holiday. It had the early morning excitement of gifts and surprises, with the creativity of dying your own eggs just the way you want them and not sharing them with your siblings, with the shrewdness-showboating of finding things someone had meant to hide from you. Also, there were Cadbury eggs. Santa and his plain ol' walnuts just couldn't compare. But slowly, the excitement began to erode. A bunny? Carrying all this heavy stuff? And how could he get an egg on top of the clock? And how does he get in, anyway? Problem was, there weren't a jillion movies, books, and old-timey newspaper articles to reassure me, give me insider knowledge, or promise that the non-believers can't hear the sleigh bell. That's all saved for Christmas. So Easter was a slow dwindling. I don't remember going from believing to not. Reason just kind of seeped its way in.

But Christmas was different. Each knock-down of Santa Claus was like a little slap to the brain, strong enough that I remember those little moments even now. Like the conversation with Courtney. Or the time I pulled my older sister, Katie, into the bathroom, closed the door, and demanded to know if she believed in Santa Claus. "No," she said. "Phew. Okay. Neither do I," I exhaled. Finally, the truth from someone reputable. I had been lied to for so long by all the people I thought I could trust, I didn't know where to turn. Yet I also knew to keep my mouth shut about it. This was private conversation, not meant for the impressionable ears of John or Hannah who still had a chance at believing. While still unsure myself of the truth, I understood that this was an okay lie, a fun lie, a lie meant for the smallest among us. It never upset me to find out that I'd been lied to. Maybe because I was happy to be on the other side with the adults. The Truth-Knowers.

It feels like a decade later, although it was probably just the following year, my mom came into my room and asked to borrow my green pen "for signing Santa's presents" she said. "You're old enough to know by now," she said, smiling. I smiled back. Of course. Of course I knew. Duh. Pff. Silly. And even though I thought I did, even though I'd already gotten the confirmation from Katie, it was that moment that made it reality. There was no chance now that, like the movies said, I had simply stopped believing. Tim Allen would never give me the weenie whistle to make be believe again. It was a fact: there is no Santa Claus, and my mother was responsible for the swirly green handwriting on all my favorite presents.

There is a magic lost that you never get back when you stop believing. Waking up that morning with proof--tangible proof--that magic exists (and it ate your cookies) is an amazing feeling. It might even be the first strong emotion I ever remember having. The four of us would sit at the top of the stairs of our split-level, surveying the gifts now overflowing from under the tree. Trying to guess whose gifts were whose, and who was the lucky duck to get the one enormous, wrapped present inevitably laying there. Finally, after 25 days of my eyes playing tricks on me, my stocking was definitely full this time. And look! He gave Rudolph the carrot we left, and he even left a note! I'm not sure what kept us from running down immediately. It might have just been our parents demanding we stay there until the coffee had brewed. Whatever it was, I never minded sitting there for a few minutes. After all, we'd been waiting for this moment all year; why let it pass by so quickly?

Of course, it's always nice to get presents, even when you know who really gave them to you. But those first few years have something special to them. It's the only time when you know--for a fact, with proof--that someone is out there who knows you intimately, and is watching over you. It's an innocence you never get back, and a feeling that many people spend their whole lives striving to find again.

Happy Fall Or Whatever

2011-12-05T13:54:00.003-08:00

The weather in San Francisco is in the upper 50s. Always. Europeans reading this right now are like "SWEET JESUS, ARE YOU OKAY?!" so let me clarify I'm talking Fahrenheit here.

It's awesome, the weather. You can go outside in jeans and a moderate jacket and be comfortable. In Chicago, we have days like that. They are always days where you are cooped up at work or school. On the weekends, it rains. Like whiskey for the Irish, it is God's way of keeping Chicagoans from ruling the world.

But in San Francisco, every day is in the upper 50s. (BLAH BLAH sometimes it gets hot and sometimes there's fog but WORK WITH ME HERE, it's call hyperbole) I'm really--and I mean REALLY--excited for it to be 58° in late January. I might put on my swimsuit and run around outside just for kicks. But it's December. And as I've said before, it's the only month where cold is acceptable because you get to do all these Christmassy things (if you celebrate Christmas) that make the cold kinda nice.

I'm doing what I can to make the place feel like Christmas around here. Paper snowflakes on the window, pine scents coming at you from every room in every method of fragrance possible, and an alarm system set in my phone for Christmas movies on TV. T-Minus 5.5 hours until Charlie Brown Christmas, BTW.

But there really is no replacement for snow to make it feel like the season is upon us. And yet I'm about to go running in knee-length stretch pants. It is extremely bizarre for me.

I don't really have a conclusion for you. Just wanted to inform you that California is weirding me out this month. Luckily I come back to Chicago in time for Christmas and snow and all that jazz. So Chicago--YA'LL better deliver on this snow stuff, OR ELSE. Except not enough to ruin my flight or put me in peril. Just enough to make it pretty.

Always.

5 College Courses I Wish I'd Taken

2011-12-01T13:59:00.008-08:00

In college there are a certain number of prerequisite classes you have to take to graduate. Colleges realize that they only offer you about 6 classes at most (for me, it was 3) that pertain to your hopeful occupation, and they really want to squeeze as much money out of you/your parents/Richard & Emily Gilmore as they can. So they pile on all these classes you supposedly MUST take to graduate, claiming they'll make you well-rounded. Then, depending on your major, they add and subtract to these prerequisites at whim. For example, as an Advertising major, I fulfilled my math requirements with "Intro To Statistics" and "Teaching Elementary School Math." I doubt my Engineering compadres got away so easily.

The thing is, I'm not entirely convinced that these classes actually helped us in life. Some did, sure. Without Sociology, I would have no idea how racist I am. And Psych 100 was the only reason I understood the Office episode where Jim trains Dwight with Altoids. But do I really need to know how shale is created? And yet I took Geology. Do I really need to know about the many forms of the Venus? And yet I took "Women In Prehistory". *Sigh*...I has almost forgotten. So close.

So here are a few classes that I didn't take in college, but wish I had.

Cinema Studies
I actually did take a few of these classes. We didn't have any filmmaking courses, so I thought these might be useful for a future ad producer. I even considered it as a minor until I realized that I didn't need a minor. Then I decided not to bust my hump all the way to graduation. But looking back on those classes, they were 90% movie watching. Most of my movie knowledge comes from either these classes, or Joe forcing me to watch the Godfather. I wish I'd kept with these classes, because this still happens way too often-
Friend: "Have you seen _______ ?"
Emily: "No, sorry."
Friend: "WHAT?!?!?!?!??!?!!" *Fire*
Emily: "But it's been in my Netflix queue for two years...does that help?"

Mental Math
I've said it before and I'll say it again. There is absolutely no reason I should have taken pre-calculus in high school, except for the fact that it helped me and Kim become better friends again. The class I wish I'd taken in college to compensate is one that I'm not sure exists. Anywhere. But that class is called "Mental Math" and you come in every day and learn how to pay restaurant bills with a large group and how to tip cab drivers after they press that button and the number goes up and you had already planned out how much you owe with tip but wait now the price is back down to its original number and you can't think on your feet like that and GAAAAH just give me two back.

Political Science
Oh, you better believe I avoided this plague like the class--I mean--this class like the plague. OR DO I. Why in the holy hell mother of house minority leaders would I have subjected myself to discussing politics....and then being TESTED on it? What kind of ruthless, Godless world would I have to live in? Well the answer is: this one. And it sucks. But as an adult, I've realized that I can't run from politics. They find you. They hunt you down. And they make you SO. ANGRY. And a class about Political Science or Government (I mean besides the one I took in high school where my teacher showed us related films every day, including The American President and NO, I am not joking) might have turned out to be good for me.

Photography
I never took these classes because they required you to buy all the equipment yourself. Art majors took some pretty awesome classes, but JEEZ do they have to pay for it. Literally. Well anyway, I wish that I did take a class in photography for the obvious reason that I wish I took awesome photos on purpose. Anyone can point, shoot, and accidentally catch their cat in a hilarious position. But I want to be able to do that a LOT. I want to know how photographers can make their images so sharp and poignant and I'm stuck with a bunch of washed out photos of my friends in bars. This is the one class that I'm actually working toward taking. I bought a Groupon the other day for a single Digital Photography For Beginners class. Problem: I don't have a digital camera yet. I'm waiting until I have a job, and the Groupon doesn't expire until May.

Wine Tasting
This was actually an offered class at Illinois. Given the name, of course it was filled up by 5th year seniors with early-early-early-insanely-early registration and I never bothered. I hear it was actually a very hard class. I believe it, considering how little I know about wine: a) Does it cost under $5? b) Mmm, this tastes like wine--more please. Obviously there are also plenty of Groupons for this, too. Joe and I got one once, but never used it because it turned out to be vaguely shady. We're pretty sure the guy comes to your home and gives you a private tasting. Which is SUPER WEIRD. We didn't know that when we bought it because they didn't specify that. It just said "Wine Tasting for Two" which we assumed meant "The coupon pays for two people to come to our class" not "For Two and ONLY two." So that one is moot. We'll have to get on that one eventually.

Those are my classes. How about you? Any classes you regret not taking, real or imaginary?

A Light Is Waiting To Carry You Home, Everywhere You Look

2011-11-28T16:12:00.006-08:00

I just got back from Washington DC this week. We spent the Thanksgiving holiday there thanks to Carey and Niles, Joe's sister and brother-in-law. They moved to DC about 2 years ago. Neither of us had been there since our respective 8th Grade field trips. I'd like to say I remember a lot from that trip...and I do remember some things. I remember seeing the Lincoln Memorial at night, I remember being disappointed by how far away the White House was from the gate. I remember seeing the original ruby slippers at the Smithsonian. But I also remember listening to Backstreet Boys on my discman while pining for Kevin W, the boy I liked who wasn't on the trip. And I remember Emily H and I spending all our parent's money on Beanie Babies, which we named after our 8th grade science teacher. MONEY WELL SPENT.

So this time around was really interesting, having personal tour guides in Carey and Niles, and without all the pining because the boy I liked was sitting right next to me (Sigh, being an adult is awesome sometimes.) One of the biggest highlights of the trip was going into the White House. OH YES WE DID.

QUESTION AND ANSWER TIME!

Question: Did you meet the President?
Answer: No. Despite all my dreams of shaking his hand and making him laugh with an uproarious joke I would make up on the fly, I did not see him. I guess he was there somewhere, though, because it was the day he pardoned the turkey.

Question: Well did you at least meet anyone famous and/or important?
Answer: DID WE EVER! We met Bo!

Question: ...Jackson?
Answer: No.

Question: ...Do you mean Boo, the poofy pomeranian?
Answer: No.

Question: Wait, who's Bo?
Answer: Bo! Bo! The President's dog, Bo! The First Woof! Bo!

Question: Ohhhhhh.
Answer. Yeah.

Question: Go on.
Answer: Well, right when we got inside the East Wing, about 4 amiable security guards pulled our group aside and wouldn't tell us why. Of course we're all racking our brains for what in our murky pasts has caused the hold up, while some guy walks around with a device that tests the amount of radiation coming off you (weird). Finally they took some old lady away. I wanted it to be a whole thing where it turns out she's got a criminal record, but I guess it was just because she had a pacemaker. BUT! While we were being detained, in strolled Bo and his dog walker! Carey nearly fainted. He bounded up the stairs and out of sight, and we weren't allowed to take photos in the White House, so there is no proof. But I swear it happened.

Question: What else did you see in the White House?
Answer: You don't really get to see too much of the place. Definitely none of the private residence of course, none of the West Wing or the Oval Office or any kinds of offices. You really just see the rooms where they host guests. You can peek your head into the China room (dishes, not the country) and walk up to the red, green, and blue room. And you see the East Room, which is the biggest room in the White House, and which looks down the hall that the President walks when he makes big announcements.

Question: That's pretty cool.
Answer: I know, right?

OVERALL THOUGHTS ABOUT THE CITY OF WASHINGTON DC

1. No building can be taller than the Washington Monument, so the tallest "skyscrapers" are only about 12 stories. But since they still need the space, companies just build out. Meaning DC is filled with these stone and brick buildings that take up the entire city block. It all makes the city look so...so...sturdy.

2. The city has all these rules you would never know unless someone told you. For example, the statue on top of the Capitol Building represents freedom, and she faces east so the sun never sets on the face of freedom. That kind of thing. Why are lawmakers/historians/architects/artists so into this? I don't know. It makes for good tours, though.

3. DC has laws about never changing the colonial facade of buildings. But since you can do whatever you want behind the facade, these enormous buildings just use the front to look like colonial houses, and behind the entire row is just one giant, cement building.

HANGING OUT

We didn't really tour very much, at Joe's and my request. We spent the time doing more low-key, family things, like eating at fun restaurants, making Thanksgiving dinner (I contributed a few things including our candied yams which were all eaten ATHANKYOU), watching football games, drinking. Carey does a great job of decorating their apartment, and DC gets into Christmas pretty quickly, so it all felt very festive. And good god, the smells. THE SMELLS.

OH! And we also saw the Muppet movie. My non-spoiler thoughts: It was fun. I loved the callbacks to classic Muppets instead of current iterations. But they tried to pack in too much--too many story lines, which never gave any of them justice and made most of them fall flat. Also, Future Husband John Krasinski only made a fleeting appearance and I don't understand what would have been so wrong with giving him a leading role. BUT! The cameo by this guy was....*kisses fingertips* molto bene.

FINAL THOUGHT

This was my first time coming "home" to San Francisco. Which was a bit strange. It wasn't really coming home, it was more like coming back to my stuff. My pillow, my TV. And I guess my stuff is part of what makes a place feel like home. But I've come to learn that the saying is true: home is where the heart is. What's funny about that is, my heart is in a few places. I feel at home when I'm with the people I love. And those people are in a lot of places. So yes, San Francisco is home. And so is Chicago. And so is DC....and on and on.

I imagine home is a little bit of everywhere, as long as someone you love is there.

When You're Lost Out There And You're All Alone

2011-11-23T07:09:00.000-08:00

Happy Blogaversary, everyone!

Two years. Two Ron F*ing Swanson Years. Can you believe it? I can.......'t! And since it's tradition (ie, I did it last year) I am going to give you A Story In Pictures: Year Two.

A lot has gone on this year in my life. Considering where I started. About a month after I wrote the LAST blogaversary post, I found out our account was up for review and I might lose my job. So, just to give you some context, THAT has been in my life this entire blog year. Let's see where we've gone, yes?

First, on New Year's, Joe and I went to a small town, where disaster ensued, and we all had a good laugh.

Joe and I took a short vacation to LA, and I finally saw California. We were amazed at how different it feels when there's no winter.

Later, we put our stuff in storage so Joe could test out a contract-to-hire job in San Francisco. I moved to a studio on the north side of Chicago.

I started taking improv classes. I met some amazing people and had a blast, but my first time in a real scene...did NOT go well.

As predicted, I was laid off in late summer. I MAY have been there to open the bar that day.

Turns out, being unemployed while living next to the beach was pretty awesome for a little while.

But eventually things started going south after reality came back. I decided to move to San Francisco, and job hunting became overwhelming.

I got on a plane with Regina, who was not so happy to be caged and staged a coup. Twice.

Finally, I made it. When our stuff arrived, Joe and I ushered it in with the pomp and circumstance appropriate for such an occasion.

And that, my friends, has been the blog year! A lot of frustration and loneliness, and one really major change that I think will lead to bunch more minor (good) changes. Thanks, everyone, for following along as I tumble through this thing. Who knows what the next blog year will bring?!

There's A Face Of Somebody Who Needs You

2011-11-22T13:24:00.002-08:00

Alternate Title: Save Community, Save The World.

(From Vulture)

If you love inside jokes and hope to be a part of one someday, you need to be watching Community.

Recently, it was announced that Community would not be part of NBC's spring lineup. It isn't cancelled, it's just on hiatus I guess. I am in freak-out mode over it, even though NBC probably did it to get some buzz going for a show that isn't getting the ratings it deserves. But I'm involved regardless. Involved in the same way a grad student and professor are involved. I am neck-deep, cutting my own hair and doing an interpretive dance to show my love involved. Please, NBC! Don't take my show! My precious, precious show! It's still in the early, lovely, beautiful phase (aka 3rd season) where nothing is overdone, characters aren't played out, and Chandler hasn't started his weight fluctuations. Or was that another show?

Here's the first reason you may not watch the show: It started off MEH. And I'm with you. Community and Parks and Rec started at the same time, and my opinion of both shows was exactly the same: MEH. I could take them or leave them, and I had other shows to worry about. I GET IT. I get why you left. But you need to turn that boat around, people. Come watch this show.

Obviously I am back on the Parks and Rec train, but I was still skeptical of Community until Adrienne sat me directly in front of her television, Carl-on-LOST-style. That's when I saw it had risen to epic proportions. When it started, it was just a bunch of goofy characters who didn't mesh, and The Soup guy hitting on some blonde chick.

Now?

If you can't tell from that video, Community is superb at parody. They have done zombie movies, apocalyptic battle movies, documentaries, Christmas claymation, AND MORE!! They have these epic, absurd premises that somehow still work and feel down-to-earth. It's like they throw you into the possibilities of, say, Supernatural, but then bring it back to a group of people at a community college by the end of the half hour.

There are plenty of places you can read about Community for general overviews of characters and plot lines. But what I haven't seen is anyone talk about my theory on why the show isn't gaining more viewers:

It's filled with inside jokes. Which I love. And which might be slowly killing the show.

Sure, the main storylines live by themselves in each episode, so it is possible for you to miss one or go in random order and get the basic gist. But there are nuances that you might not catch unless you pay attention. Which means the best way to watch is from start to finish. Problem is, getting your hands on the whole series is hard (they need to get some Instant Netflix action up in here, up in here) and even if it wasn't, I don't think people know to bother with every episode anyway. That's how you miss the inside jokes, and why you might find the show confusing and too meta. And that is a TRAVESTY.

So until Community gets in on the Instant Netflix wagon, maybe it would help to have a place where people can find basic inside jokes. So I want to try--nothing seriously involved, just the basics so you could start watching. Problem is, I'm not sure I can make it all on my own, so I need some help from others who watch the show. I wanted to enlist Adrienne to help, since she is the biggest Community fan in existence, but I didn't give her enough time--bah! But anyone and everyone, please add more in the comments. Let's get Community to the viewership it deserves!

To start us off, here is my measly contribution:

Troy and Abed in the MOOOORNING:
Troy and Abed have the best friendship that has ever been. They are adorably childish in an non-naive way. They make epic forts, watch bad movies and make fun of them, and dress up as the main characters from Inspector Spacetime (ie the show's Dr. Who parody). Their biggest running gag is this:

You'll see hints of it all over. It is ALWAYS worth it.

Señor Chang:

He used to teach the group Spanish, but they've since moved on to other classes and Chang has lost his job yet somehow still worms his way onto the show constantly. He and Sherry once had sex and they all thought her baby might be his, but it turned out to be her re-married husband's.

Annie's Boobs:

The name of a monkey who now lives in the vents of Greendale.

Pierce Has Money

This isn't really an inside joke, but I've noticed it comes up often and I wanted to make sure you're with us. Pierce (aka Chevy Chase) inherited the money, and the moist towelette company that made it, from his father.

Side Characters:
The Human Being- When the Dean created a school mascot, he didn't want it to exclude any sex or race, and the monstrosity that came out of the project was the Human Being.

Starburns- He's a man with starburns. He sometimes wears a top hat and vest. He's lame.

Magnitude- Magnitude is the life of the party, but never says anything but "POP POP!"

And that's all I've got so far! Help me out, other Community Fans! And to those who don't watch? WATCH. Especially if you have one of those magic boxes that tells people that you're watching. That helps.

Everywhere You Look (Everywhere)

2011-11-20T20:12:00.010-08:00

Joe and I finally made a video of the new apartment! It's as finished as we could make it right now, although it still needs a few homey touches, like curtains and a new comforter and rug.

We figured the best way for all parties to see it would be here on the blog--but please feel free to pass it over if you're not into an 8 minute tour of my closets. If you do watch it, you may notice Joe talking in the second person. That's for his parents. Everyone else should NOT, in fact, recognize our coffee table. In case you thought you might be forgetting something.

And to anyone who doesn't know me personally, welcome to my voice! And to Joe. And to my home, you snoopy weirdos. And to my awkward Sunday garb. Also, I was unaware of how often I sing to fill awkward pauses, but am WHOLLY unsurprised.

Without further ado, the apartment!

A Hand To Hold Onto

2011-11-18T18:00:00.001-08:00

Or: "What I Remember From Indian Princesses."

When I was little, I was in something called Indian Princesses. It was a program put on through the YMCA to help build father/daughter relationships, and the glue that tied it together was a Native American theme.

I decided to write this post because I can't seem to find anything online about Indian Princesses, except a few remedial articles arguing the racial issues behind it. So I've written what I remember. Partly for posterity and partly so that people can tell me what the hell was going on. I was six, afterall.

QUICK OVERVIEW:

The program was something like this: fathers and daughters got together once a month in a small group. They were assigned a specific tribe name--ours was the Winnebago. There were also the Sioux, Cree, Blackfoot...you get the picture. Each tribe had their own costume. They were totally authentic...by which I mean they were not at all authentic. Our costume had jeans with bright red fringe running up the sides, a white turtleneck, and a rectangular red poncho. With more fringe.

The tribes gathered to discuss their lives, made simple crafts, that kind of thing. Then a few times a year, all the tribes would get together for a weekend retreat and do father/daughter activities together, all to varying degrees of Native American themes (which I'll get into later.)

A little history: Indian Princess actually started with Indian Guides, a father/son program formed in 1926. For your point of reference, the Indian Guides were featured in the 1995 JTT classic film, "Man of The House".

So to make sure we're all on the same page:
Father/son: Indian Guides.
Father/daughter: Indian Princesses.
Mother/daughter: Indian Maidens (which I learned about while researching.)

We won't get into the gender implications of these names, but suffice it to say...this was not a PC program. And I apologize for my liberal use of "Indian" over "Native American", but that was its name. Apparently the program is still running, but in a new form called "Adventure Guides" and "Adventure Princesses" and without the Native American themes. But this was how things were, as late as the 1990s when I was involved. In fact, according to the interwebs, the "Indian" theme didn't end until 2003. Was it racist? Absolutely. Did I know that? Absolutely not. Should our fathers have known better? Probably. But these were also men raised on Cowboys-and-Indians movies. Personally, I give them credit for going from shooting Native Americans to trying to honor them. I'm glad it's been changed, but I think of Indian Princesses like a Michael Scott lecture: good intentions...but somehow Tom Hanks ends up on the wall twice and everyone feels awkward.

So those are the straight facts about Indian Princesses, but it doesn't get at what this program was all about. So I'm here to give you Indian Princesses as I remember it...as a 6-year-old.

THE MEETINGS:

• Once a month, our tribe of about 8 pairs of fathers and daughters got together to...I don't remember. Talk? Draw? Eat cookies? What I'm saying is: I don't really remember what we did. I was just glad to have time with my dad and Katie. It made me feel grown up.

• We all had Native American names. I didn't like the pressure of coming up with one on my own, so I think Katie and my parents came up with it for me. My dad's name had to do with Horse, so Katie's and mine were Pony-related. Running Pony maybe? Something like that. I remember feeling like it wasn't quite the right fit for me, but was too shy to ask to change it.

• I do remember singing in a circle at the end of the meeting. We sang Taps--like the actual lyrics of Taps. We lifted our arms into the air and then back down when we sang it. It ended with the words "God is night" so I assumed it was a bedtime song. (Later, I learned the words were actually "God is nigh" and my mind was totally blown.)

• There were also sew-on badges. I think you earned them for going on retreats, unlike Boy and Girl Scouts, where you have to do stuff to earn them. So clearly this was way more awesome.

THE RETREATS:

As I explained, once (or twice?) a year, all the tribes traveled to a retreat center for added bonding and fun and friendly competition (which I even hated back then). I wish I could explain these retreats better as an adult, but all I have are my memories as seen through a small child. So here is what I've got:

• Like I said, our tribe was the Winnebago. Whenever all the tribes got together during the retreats, the other girls would make fun of the name. But they didn't mock "Winnebago" because of its associations to motor homes. No, they made fun of it because it sounded like "win a bagel." I was annoyed by their mocking. Not that I was embarrassed of the name, but I didn't think it really warranted the mockery. Sure, if our tribe name was Poop or Butt or Stupid, then you can make fun of us. But bagels are delicious. What's so wrong with sounding like one? Anyway, we got them back by saying that "Cree" sounded like "pee" so...game, set, match.

• There was one big night with games...like...games...okay clearly I don't remember what that was about. Was there a bouncy castle, or am I dreaming up memories now? Someone help me out with this.

• There was a bonfire one night where we'd do faux-Native American chants and songs. At one point, the designated "chief" for the weekend would wear a big chief headdress and call up to the spirits. He'd ask the spirits to send us a sign Then he'd secretly throw something into the fire to make sparks fly. I was in total awe of this, though a little confused about what it meant for my Sunday School lessons. I am now mildly horrified by the whole thing, especially after having gone to a college whose mascot, "Chief Illiniwek", was ousted my senior year. He was criticized for his inauthenticities, such as using chicken instead of eagle feathers in his headdress. I'm pretty sure the Indian Princess chief's feathers were made of polyester and dyed fluorescent blue.

• There was a Native American-looking doll called Puddin' Face...or Puddin' Cup...Puddin' Head? I think it was Puddin' Head. I assume it was also racist. But the doll was part of a game, where you sneak into other tribe's cabins and whoever ended up with her at the end of the retreat lost. The suspense of the Puddin' Doll gave me stomach ulcers. I was terrified of her.

• One retreat had an outdoor climbing wall. The guy in charge of the wall was TOTALLY old and mature. He was in college AND he had long hair. He was studying to be an engineer. I thought that sounded fun, but I wasn't sure why all the dads thought he had to be really good at science and math just to drive a train. True facts.

• Each tribe slept in one cabin, which meant all the dads got the bottom bunks and all the girls slept in the top bunks. This. Was. Awesome. Top bunks rule and they're really exciting. The poor dads never got the top bunks. I'm sure they were very disappointed by this.

• One retreat had a rickety old toboggan that was at least 3 stories high. It was terrifying.

• During dinner, when all the tribes were in one place, the daughters would BEG their fathers to bellow out into the cafeteria, "WHO'S THE BEST TRIBE IN THE NATIOOOOONNNN?!?!?!" And then all the daughters would yell--nay--SCREAM their own tribe name. This was another very historically accurate aspect of the retreat.

• One retreat had archery. I was terrible at archery. It hurt my fingers and the string was too hard to pull. This was NOT a father/daughter bonding experience. This was a father/daughter getting increasingly frustrated experience.

• On the very last day, there was some kind of prize giveaway. There was a table with all kinds of prizes at the front that the dads would buy or make, and the girls were called up to choose a prize. I have no idea how they decided the order. One of our dads made handmade puzzles once. And one time I think we spray-painted buckets and told everyone they were chairs. One year, I took too long deciding what I wanted, panicked, and picked a bedazzled mirror. I cried the whole ride home.

And that's all I've got. I'm worried none of this made sense to anyone, or was just really boring to people who were not in the program. But hopefully there are some ladies out there whose memories are jogged. Really what I want to get across was that, despite the stereotypes of Native Americans I had to unlearn later, I'm glad it was part of my childhood. I had fun. In a family of 6, it was a time that I got to spend with just my sister and my dad. And those are the kinds of memories you learn to cherish later, even if they come with horror-inducing dolls appearing in your cabin as if from nowhere.

So?! Comment please! Tell me there were other people in Princesses or Guides who have a better memory than I do and can fill in the gaps. Specifically: Puddin' Head, The Game Night, and the Prize Table. These are my great mysteries right now.

Everywhere You Look (Everywhere) There's A Heart (There's A Heart)

2011-11-17T15:32:00.003-08:00

I don't really write about Joe. I mean, I do in a "Joe and I went to the store and I knocked down a display" kind of way. (Speaking of which, today at the grocery store I knocked over MY OWN cart. I can't even...I don't even...)

I don't know, maybe it's to keep you from throwing up. Maybe it's because being shmoopy about the ol' BF isn't usually what this blog is about. Maybe it's because this isn't a blog about relationships since I am likely the last person to give advice about boys. ("I don't know, did you try making out with him?...Well then I'm out of ideas.") Or maybe it's to protect Joe's privacy. HA HA HA HA...that last one was just for us.

Whatever my reason for the general vow of silence, it must be stopped. Because now that I'm so far away, I want everyone to remember that I'm in good company out here. I've got a partner in crime, and he's just as weird as I am. So here are some unknown facts about Joe that I think you should know:

-He cannot say "indubitably". He pronounces it "windmeel". And when I jokingly made a "rrrrrow!" sound at him, his attempted response came out, "purr-ler-ler-ler."

-We have the same pet peeves. Seriously, how hard is it to move out of the way when people are stepping off the elevator? Who were your parents?

-Sometimes he'll order my second choice meal so I can trade if I want to. He understands my buyer's remorse.

-He rubs my back when we're just standing there. (YEAH. I can hear you say "lock that down" all the way from here.)

-We love to get each other little surprises, like fancy desserts or little toys.

-When we started dating, we felt weird about all those lovey-dovey nicknames like Honey and Baby, so we called each other "Babers babings babes babes babes". That got difficult so it turned into just "Babers" and I can't tell if it's the MOST lovey-dovey option, or just the weirdest.

-I explained to him that women just want someone to listen, not someone to solve their problems. So he starts sentences with "I'm not trying to solve your problem, BUT..." which is cute in a slightly annoying way.

-The smallest things make him happy. Like, he gets really excited about holidays and new seasons, and it's turned me into someone who gets really excited about holidays and new seasons.

-He has the perfect set of Man Thighs you will ever see. Better than He-Man.

I mean, I could clearly go on, but I think you get where I'm going. In the end, he's just a sweet, genuine, funny person and I get to see him every day again and tell him all the boring stuff that doesn't make it onto here. It's pretty great, because Regina was getting pretty fed up with my stories.

But Waiting Just Around The Bend

2011-11-14T17:16:00.009-08:00

I know! I know! I'm sorry! I have left you all on the edge of your seat, vis-a-vis The Great Move-In Of 2011. You don't know, maybe I was going for a season finale-esque cliffhanger. Or maybe I got caught up in reprogramming the TV.

Either way, consider my couch Ross and me Rachel because after months of "will they/won't they" we are finally reunited! JK, I'm totally the Ross in that relationship, let's not kid ourselves. Regardless, it didn't cost the nominal egg we thought it would. (TIME OUT to explain a Family Inside Joke: my mom knew a woman from Boston who thought the phrase was "a nominal egg" instead of "an arm and a leg" I would laugh but it hits a little close to home.)

Wow, I am WAY off topic right now. BACK TO THE MOVE IN. So we didn't have to pay for a shuttle because the truck made it to our apartment just fine, AS I TOLD THEM IT WOULD. And right before the truck was due, Joe and I stood guard over five parking spaces out front so the truck could take over all of them. We turned away the elderly and infirm and forced them to park far away and I'm not ashamed to stand here and say it right to your face.

The movers arrived, our stuff was moved in, Joe left for work and I spent the day agonizing over the extreme amount of mugs we brought along with us. Were we planning some kind of herbal tea party? Apparently yes. Regardless, everything is almost finished at this point. We have pictures to hang and rugs to lay out and boxes to toss, but we're mostly there. We have places to sit and a bed to sleep on and Regina is enjoying her options of places to hide in/lay on top of.

The question is: Now what? I've been aiming myself toward this move for so long, now that it's done, I can finally focus on what lies ahead. And what lies ahead is looking pretty good.

I've been on a professional roller coaster this year, including one very large dip. That happened a few months ago, when I was already questioning my abilities as a copywriter (I mean, come on. Laid off twice in two years? Everyone said it wasn't my fault but...it's hard to keep telling yourself that.) I went to a gathering with ex-coworkers who told me the agency was actually hiring already. That stung. When I got home, I had an email from someone I'd sent my work to. He told me that my book wasn't good enough to get a job in San Francisco.

So...it wasn't a GOOD day.

First, I did EXACTLY what Steve Carrell did in 40 Year-Old Version and walked through my apartment yelling. Then I tried looking for work in fields other than copywriting, like everyone had been telling me to do. Turns out, those jobs all require specialized knowledge in the writing topic, like parenting or healthcare or technology. The only thing it seems I can write for is How To Be Awkward and I think I already run that blog for free. That, or you need journalism experience. Which I don't have. So the only thing I was qualified for was a job that I was apparently bad at.

I don't know the right way to handle dark times. My way involved staring into space, getting back into Grey's Anatomy, and my cat laying on my neck. Now that I think about it, it is remarkably similar to the way I handled getting dumped in Paris. Except this time I had a boy who believed in me and supported me, who told me that I should do what felt right. Including staying in Chicago.

I had a lot of reasons to stay. And I weighed all of those reasons. But my gut still told me San Francisco. This was my next step. This was my new beginning.

Now that I'm here, I feel enormously good about it. Was it definitely the right decision? Hell if I know. Hell if I'll ever know. But the city is growing on me every day: the small shops, the crazy hills, the serious amount of Asian food. I like it a lot. And I've gotten more positive feedback about my portfolio, which makes me think that I may actually get a job at some point. And with a job comes more stuff that will make everything even better, including taking improv classes again, going on road trips, and buying a bike. Plus, it's mid-November and I went jogging in short sleeves today. Hard to complain about that.

So is everything perfect now? No. But it has potential to be. And for now I have a couch, my boy, and hope.

You Miss Your Old Familiar Friends

2011-11-09T18:05:00.005-08:00

You guys all appreciate stories about my ever-approaching demise, right? Yes? Good? On we go.

All my dreams have come true: our stuff arrives tomorrow. "But, Emily! I thought you said you'd get 2 days notice before your stuff arrived!"

...
.....
.........
............
.................DIDN'T I?!

Well, in true "all moving companies are a bunch of assholes and there's nothing you can do about it" fashion, my driver called to inform me that I had less than 24 hours to get my affairs in order, and that he would be needing a shuttle truck (an additional $350 minimum charge) since he was sure he wouldn't be able to drive his 18-wheeler through the streets of San Francisco.

................WOULDN'T YOU?!

I started calling around to all the official city numbers I could muster. I was assured that the man could drive his truck down the necessary roads. I called him back to tell him this. He told me to call the moving company because he's done it before and gotten ticketed. FINE. I called the company. Are you grasping the number of phone calls I made today yet?

Once I assured the manager that I had all the maps and the phone numbers the driver needed to ensure a good route, he started giving stuff like "well aren't there a lot of hills?" and "you're really close to the ocean" (Side note: WHAT now?!) and "he needs a place to park" and SOOOOO many excuses, it makes me wonder if these semi trucks ever get to their destinations. Like, unless you actually live ON the highway--like, ON IT--how does a 70' truck EVER deliver your stuff to your home? How? I have no idea. None.

I called 311 about bagging a few meters so the man and his beloved truck could park. They told me I needed over 24 hours notice. "YES," I told them. "That would have been LOVELY, wouldn't it?" The officer told me that what I COULD do was just get a bunch of friends to park in the metered spots until the truck came, and then have them move. I wanted to sob to the woman, "But I HAVEN'T any friends anymore!" (When you get really overdramatic, you have to talk like Amy March from Little Women, by the way.) "I've deserted them in their wintry time of need!" I'll tell you, if absence makes the heart grow fonder, my lady friends have become superheroes in my mind. They'll do anything for me now that we're apart. Adrienne would have parked there all night for me! Laura would have parked sideways and DARED anyone to complain about it. Michelle probably would have just laid across the parking spots! And Jane would...well, she would have come with hummus to keep everyone's cars company at the very least!

Oh my god, I just had a genius idea for a comic book and it may or may not involve my friends deflecting lasers with their chest plates.

So no, Officer. I do not have anyone to help me with my ketchup/catsup problem.

All of these issues, plus a few calls made by Joe and between me and Joe in which I sobbed more or less uncontrollably into the phone, took all freakin' day. With little conclusion. We will likely be paying an amount of money (in cash) the likes of which I always thought I would pay someone someday, just while adjusting my monocle and top hat.

Oh but wait. Cash. Right. And how I need to have that by tomorrow. Hmm, that's interesting. And how my bank isn't in California. Yes yes, I see the issue now.

Well I've been needing to switch my money to a bank out here. And considering all the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad banks out there, I thought I'd do the hippie thing and join a Credit Union. I'm still unsure of exactly how Credit Unions function. But all I know is: they aren't mean banks that do mean things with your money. Okay, cool. I'll take a hundred. A hundred Credit Unions.

After all this dealing with people who are hell-bent on taking every penny they can squeeze from me, I headed over to switch my account and take out some money.

To understand my emotions upon entering the building, please watch the following:

There were actually a couple people applying to open new accounts at the same time, so a man took all of us and explained the basis of what a Credit Union is and how it works and where to find ATMs and all this.

He was...the most wonderful, adorable 30-something gay man I have ever met. He was just so freakin' cheerful. And I say again, not fake cheerful in order to get something. He was legitimately happy. Like he hadn't just spent the last 6 hours on the phone, fretting about how to park a semi on a six-lane residential street. He took out his own debit card to show us how he'd customized it with a picture of his dog. And he said things like "Let's be frank. My name's actually Carl but...sorry, stupid joke." And when he told us there was a $5 fee to sign up, he actually APOLOGIZED about it. It took every ouce of will power in my loins not to jump wholly, trustingly, into his arms, Dance Of Joy style.

Later, I went one-on-one with another guy to actually open an account. Still untrusting about hidden fees, I ripped open a fun-size M&Ms bag on his desk and started popping them like House pops Vicodin, only with slightly less scruff and to a calmer effect. Yes, I am a stress eater. I don't need your judgement, I only need your chocolate. But the guy assured me that there were no hidden fees. He also assured me that he couldn't give me the cash I needed to pay my movers. And he sent me on my way. I took an extra bag of chocolate Vicodin for the road.

So ONCE AGAIN, here I am, stuck without a bank and with maximum withdrawal limits. I'm going to try with a real bank tomorrow, and Joe can take out a bit, too. So it's not the end of the world, but it was just one of those icing on the cake moments you really love.

It was one of those days that, despite the calming affects of the Credit Union, when I got home and saw a note by the elevator that our new washer/dryers now only use h.e. soap, I threw myself face-first against the wall and pounded on it, screaming, "WHY, GOD, WHHHHHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!" I wish it was a day ending with an ANTM potluck or a wine and cheese gathering or an Office marathon. It would have been nice to end the day laying on the floor with you guys around me, swearing to the high heavens about my woes and telling me how correct (and how pretty) I am.

And finally, I leave you with The Oatmeal, who put my day's emotional spiral into perfect words.

See you guys on the other side of Stuff-Having and Money-Haven'ting.

Evening TV

2011-11-08T17:41:00.007-08:00

We still don't have our furniture yet. Technically it could be here as late as the 21st. THE TWENTY FIRST, PEOPLE. That's twenty-one days without a microwave or baking sheet (they are all packed and hell if I'm going to buy a new one when we have like seven perfectly good ones in a box somewhere within the continental United States) which means all our hot food is cooked in A single pot I packed. By the way, that's a short "A" as in "A gun, let alone many guns which would necessitate an entire rack."

I really do miss all my kitchen stuff, though. All my non-perishables are also lost in the abyss somewhere: my spices...my flour...that one box of Pasta-roni that I keep telling myself I'll eat someday but I haven't and now it's been 3 years and I feel bad giving it away to a food pantry because come on it's like 3 years old but why am I never in the mood for fetuccini alfredo anyway?

I wish I had all my cooking stuff because the area I live in (and possibly all of San Francisco but I don't have proof to back this up) is LITTERED with small markets. I guess my neighborhood is also considered Little Russia, so there's all this crazy Russian and eastern European food I've never tried, including a serious amount of feta. And it's California, so of course they basically throw produce at you when you walk by. "You want an avocado? Catch! *THWACK!* I said catch!"

Maybe it's good that I can't cook all the new meals I'm envisioning, because without a job I probably shouldn't be buying expensive baklava ingredients anyway. But there's one thing I miss more than anything in the whole world. And it surprised me way more than it should: my couch.

*quietly sobs into her hand*

I don't know if this is a thing, but I am a Couch Person. Not Couch Potato, because that implies that I am lazy and don't go on adventures. But what I mean is, if I'm home and it's not dark out, I'm on the couch. I nap there. I watch TV there. I look at internet there (take a look at internet, Michael!). I blog there. I work from home there. In my studio, I only had an armchair. NOT GOOD ENOUGH. You can't stretch out on an armchair. I mean, you can sit sideways, but my rickety late-twenty-something body can't handle that position all day anyway (that's what she said--HEYO). And you can't lay in bed/air mattress all day because, besides feeling insanely lazy, you will never be able to fall asleep later. I don't even understand that phenomenon. How is your brain THAT stupid? "What? You were here all day! This can't POSSIBLY also be the place you want to sleep."

But I miss the weekdays spent on that couch. Me, sprawled out; Joe, huddled in the corner of the couch, thwarting my attempts at putting my cold feet under his butt. We'd make dinner and sit down in front of the TV to watch BSG or West Wing or something else nerdy. Then eventually we'd get up and walk to a totally separate room (imagine!) and go to bed.

That's what I miss most. That's what I want my stuff here for. Not the cookware, not the chilly-weather clothes, not the cat toothpaste because, oof, that is some CAT'S BRAAAAATH. But the couch and the simple, do-nothing, relaxing times.

The Milkman, The Paperboy...

2011-11-07T13:05:00.004-08:00

There's this book I read where a British family visits America for the first time. They're in Tennessee and everyone at the hotel keeps smiling at them and telling them to "have a nice day." The daughter leans in to her friend and whispers, "What do they WANT?"

I always laughed at this. Oh, BRITISH PEOPLE. They just don't understand. Har har, hoo hee ha hem.

And now I am one of them.

I don't know if it's too early to be making sweeping generalizations about the people of a city, but I'm going to do it anyway: people in San Francisco are disconcertingly nice.

The lady at the fruit market struck up a whole conversation with me about how gorgeous the pomegranates were. The girl checking my I.D. at the grocery store asked me how Chicago was because she wanted to see snow. The waiter at the highly-praised, Southern comfort, deserves-to-be-snotty restaurant wasn't snotty.

But these weren't people who were gunning for tips. You ever had one of those waiters or waitresses that is SO nice and smiley and eye contact-y that you consider tipping them LESS for it? Those are not the people of San Francisco. They are legitimately nice. Either that, or they are just infinitely better actors than Chicagoans.

Is it something in the water? Maybe. It is pretty good water. Is it the weather? I mean, it doesn't get too cold in the winter, but you'd think the fog and constant need for layers would make people a little more surly.

Or maybe it's because it's a city of transplants. Everyone is here because they CHOSE to be here, and you just can't be too crabby when you've chosen to live in a pink stucco apartment on a hill overlooking the ocean.

OR! Maybe it's just that Chicago is a lot more hardened of a city than I thought. I always claimed that we were the city with Midwestern kindness and sensibilities. But we're kinda just another city that ignores you on the elevator and doesn't make eye contact when you hand over your credit card. We're a city that doesn't care much for pedestrians and forces them to play real-life Frogger.

All I know is, I've been surprised daily by people being a lot more kind and helpful than I've been prepared for. I'm going to get auditory whiplash for all the times my ears have done double-takes.

What Ever Happened To Predictability?

2011-11-04T13:50:00.014-07:00

Okay, I thought I'd share with everyone what I've been up to since arriving in San Francisco. But since we are a visual people, let's do it in PICTURES! YEAH! PICTURES! LESS! READING! MORE! SEEING! LESS! READING! MORE! SEEING! WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP!

I don't know...I'm in a weird place right now. A weeeeird place.

So just a bit of overview: I haven't been doing anything extremely touristy. One, because I did those things when I was here the first time. Two, because I'm unemployed and have to conserve my money. And three, because I have a life to live and internet to catch up on, and I can't spend my days riding a trolley all day.

But if you are curious about what my life is currently looking like, here it is:

First and most importantly, I discovered that I live about half a mile from Robin Williams during my run this morning.

....

I'm just giving you all a little moment to let the majesty of that sentence grip your hearts.

I made a nifty little map for you. The orange star is where I live. The kooky neon green star is where Robin Williams lives.

And yes, you heard right. I am running again. I have to run now. I'm a runner. Way far away from the dock, with the, with the wind and the sky and everything. Ahoy. I am not amused. There are no gyms near me because APPARENTLY it's nice weather all year and there is a giant park nearby and SOME people think that is reason enough to forego my precious, precious ellipticals for "fresh air" and "free exercise" and "scenery." WHATEVER.

So anyway, yesterday I ran south to Golden Gate park. There were hills involved. It was not awesome (The hills, I mean. The park is, in fact, quite awesome.) Today I decided to run north to the ocean and see what that was all about. Now, I knew Sir Williams lived in San Francisco, but I didn't know where. Once I got into the neighborhood I started thinking about it, though. Every house was gorgeous, and if you were in the right place you got a view that looked something like this:

I wasn't actually looking for his house or anything...but then I saw this one.

Bigger than the others, with actual space around it (rare in this city), an enclosed basketball hoop, and the best view of the Golden Gate Bridge. THEN, across the street from the house was a bench with this on it:

Whoa. When I got home, I googled it to be sure and YEP. That is the one!

Question: Do you now play out different scenarios in which you run into Robin Williams to varying degrees of interaction, from hand wave to “You’ve got a lot of spunk! Why don’t you play my daughter in my upcoming feature film?”
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question: Do you realize how silly that is?
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question:…But you can’t stop, can you?
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question: Also, that's not how Robin Williams talks.
Answer: Quiet, you.

So that happened. Anyway, here are a few more things about where I live.

This is my apartment building.

Here is what is directly next to it.

Here is the sole piece of furniture in our apartment right now. It is a borrowed air mattress.

Here is Regina sitting awkwardly in the sunshine. She will be even happier when our furniture arrives than I will be.

OH! Speaking of Regina, here she is in her carrier (BEFORE she wriggled out.)

These are the two canned meals I had bought in preparation for easy, cheap dinners. Then I remembered we don't have a can opener yet.

Here is how we eat our meals. On the floor. Next to a cat toy because...of course.

Once we get furniture I will take you all on a virtual tour of our apartment. Until then, there's not much to see, obviously. Although there are a lot of windows and closets, which is pretty awesome.

Anyway. San Francisco composts. Like, as a thing. Hippies.

My first day I went on a grocery store hunt. I found one, which sold these. I obviously thought of Michelle.

Then I went past this. I obviously thought of Adrienne.

Then I walked past this church. I obviously thought of Jane. JUST KIDDING. I thought of Monica. Who is St. Monica? The patron saint of being a badass? I’m pretty sure.

This is an authentic Irish bakery that I think Joe will enjoy, next to a pub. I'm excited to bring his family there when they visit. (Oh, and I forgot to take a picture of the burger joint called Bill's Place which I will OBVIOUSLY take my father to when they visit. Because it is absolutely "Bill's place".)

And finally, apparently San Francisco is littered with Whomping Willows.

So that about sums it up. Everything I haven't pictured is me sitting in various coffee shops looking for a job or watching Hulu+ on my phone (Mother Necessity, where would we be?) or Joe and I running through our endless To Do lists. We spend the majority of our relationship compiling lists and schedules. It's our way.

Cats On A Plane

2011-11-02T13:41:00.011-07:00

Well the biggest hurtles of the move are over. Yes, it was a little touch and go for a few days. Kinda Charlie Brown Christmas feeling, in the "CAN'T ANYTHING GO RIGHT IN MY LIFE?!" milieu. There might as well have been a little droopy tree with a red ornament. There was definitely walking like this:

But I'm in San Francisco! And Regina is in San Francisco! And all of the trees are green...it's very weird. It feels like the Land That Time Forgot. How do you mark the passage of time here? Wrinkles? I mean, would anyone ever know it was fall if they didn't change the coffee and beer flavors?

Anyway, I want to tell you about the trip over. I'm not sure I've mentioned on the blog about transporting Regina. Or maybe I have a million times. I don't know, moving is all I've talked about with anyone for a month, so I can't remember what transpired where and I'm too lazy to read my old posts. Although you are welcome to. Read and share. Read and share. (Not to be confused with "LIIIIFT! And SLIIIIIDE." God, I really need to lay off the Friends references. OR DO I. Shut up, shut up.)

So the way they recommend traveling with cats is to take them on the plane with you as a carry-on. You buy an airport-approved soft case with mesh sides for breathing and just take her on board with you. And yes, that also means taking her through security. I had to leave the case on the conveyor belt, and take out Regina, putting a cat leash on her just in case. She didn't try to escape because she was in such shock, but I felt better knowing she couldn't get far. So no problems there. It was slightly embarrassing feeling like a cat lady holding tightly to my cat while walking through a metal detector like I couldn't make it through on my own. John suggested dressing her up. I think a pilot's hat really would have sealed the deal, actually. It cracks me up to no end thinking about my cat, already donning her natural mustache, also in a pilot's hat. Awesome. In faaaact...

But anyway, the security part was fine. It was the plane ride where things got harried. Or should I say: HAIRIED!!!!!!1 (Oh my God, what is wrong with me.)

So here's the thing. The case I bought Regina was not TECHNICALLY airplane-sanctioned, in that nothing on the store tag indicated that it was. And it also only specified that it was for dogs. Dogs shmogs, I thought. What's good enough for Fifi is good enough for Regina.

IS IT?!

Well this particular pet case had the parallel zipper on top. You know, like on a duffle bag. And where the zippers closed was a little latch. I forgot to take a picture of it and I'm at a coffee shop right now so you have to use your imagination, SORRY. What I'm saying here is: there was a gap. There was a gap in the top of the bag. Now, your typical traveling Yorkshire Terrier is probably too stupid to realize the consequences of a gap in a bag. Your typical cat is NOT. Hence the case's dog specification.

So here we were, taking off. I'm looking out the window as all of Chicago starts to come into view. Tears begin to well up in my eyes, when I hear a distinctly louder "MEOW??" than the muted ones I had heard coming from her case earlier. I look down at my feet, and there is Regina's head, sticking up out of the bag.

We had a bit of a conversation. It went like this.

"WHAT?!?!?! NO!!! No! Get back! Get in there! Stop it. GAH! Get back in there! Ow! Stop squirming!"
"Meow! Meow? Meow. Meow! Meow. Meow?"

So out pops Regina like an alien out of a dude's stomach and I'm powerless to stop it from happening. Luckily, I had chosen the right place to sit on the plane: the very back, with no one in the middle seat and a cat-loving guy sleeping in the aisle seat. Since even the flight attendants were safely buckled in during takeoff, no one saw as I sat with Regina on my lap for a good 5 minutes, her pupils so big they were taking over her face. I calmed her down and then gently, geeennnnnnnnntly shoved her back into the case. I made sure all zippers were closed and secure and started reading.

A few minutes later, "MEOW?!"

Yeah. She got out again. She had tasted freedom and she wanted more. There was swearing as I tried to get her back in. Silent swearing in my head, which turned to whispers, which then became fully vocal f-bombs. Don't worry, everyone nearby had their headphones on. At least I think they did. ("Hmm. Where ARE they?")

So finally I gave up on getting her back in and held her again. Convinced that this was my new life for the next 5 hours, I put Regina in the case once she had settled. I pulled the zippers as closed as they would go, and prayed for a few minutes respite before she tried again. But by this point, Regina had been awake for at least 6 hours straight, and I think the adventures of the day finally got to her. She calmed down and fell asleep.

Of course, this terrified me. Here was a cat who had been meowing for about 3 hours nonstop, now totally silent. Had I broken her? Did the cabin pressure make her brain explode? I got worried. I picked up the case to check.

"MEOW? MEOW? MEOW? MEOW?"

I couldn't tell if I was annoyed or relieved to hear her meowing again. But meow she did. For most of the flight. And through the airport. People kept turning around to make sure they weren't going crazy, hearing phantom meowing. "Yes, it's coming from me." I would say. But eventually, we got her (and me) to the new apartment. Joe had the air mattress and litter box all set up, so we let her out to explore. She seems fine with her new home, and I'm VERY happy. I'm back with Joe, back in a real apartment, back to living my real life, not a temporary one.

Now I just need to find a job so I can start actually doing real things in this real life, and I'll be set. That's next.

At The Heart of Women's Issues

2011-11-02T09:19:00.002-07:00

I'll tell you guys about my move to San Francisco in a bit, but I want to address something first.

Last night I had two dreams:

1. I was in the 60's, where a group on men were plotting something sinister. I, a hardcore feminist, pretended to be a bimbo so I could spy on their plans and thawrt them.

2. I stood in front of a mirror, considering whether or not to trim my bangs.

There is SO much to analyze, so much to read into, so much irony to point out, but I hope you get where I'm going with this. In the end, women are multi-faceted, awesome people. Sometimes they are spies, and sometimes they get their hair cut. And sometimes their dreams are REALLY boring.

Is That All You Get For Your Money?

2011-10-31T06:05:00.006-07:00

Okay! Time for a quick catch-up. I moved everything out of my studio on Saturday and into a storage unit. Then Sunday the movers came and took it all away. (And I fly out on Tuesday, just to make sure we're all following along here.)

As you would expect, a million things went wrong (well, or like a few but work with me) because it is me and this is my life. All of these things could be detailed but you would likely die of either boredom or panic attack. Maybe both. So here's the summary:

1. My family was 3 hours late.
2. My mom couldn't come so we were down a car.
3. Construction workers were in the way of us moving.
4. The freight elevator stopped working.
5. I lost the key to the storage unit and had to have the lock cut off.
6. I GROSSLY underestimated the amount of stuff we owned, to the tune of 100 cubic square feet. (Whoopsie!)
7. I have to go back to the studio for the run-through because the landlords were gone by the time I was moved out.

In the end, it all worked out and my family pulled through without an ounce of complaining--AGAIN. Seriously, you are jealous of my awesome family (especially my parents) and their car-packing abilities.

But there was one thing that went wrong that you need to hear about.

We had to pay the movers about a grand yesterday (DO NOT TALK TO ME ABOUT THE COST OF THE MOVE IT IS ALREADY MAKING MY HEART DO THIS) and in cash or money order. I had the cash in my wallet. My mother assumed I would pull a Monica and stashed $500 in her coat "just in case." Thanks, mom. Your vote of confidence is overwhelming.

Yeah...I left my wallet at home. So we had half the money. On a Sunday.

I know every stand-up comedian in the world has talked about this, but HOW ARE BANKS NEVER OPEN WHEN THE PEOPLE NEED THE MONEYS. Also while we're speaking of worn-out subjects that never change no matter how often Louis CK discusses them, what's with dentists being like, "See? When I slice open your gums they bleed! You need to floss!"

BAH. Where was I? Oh, right. The bank. It was closed. So we went to the ATM and took out $400 more, the max the ATM would allow. This was still not enough money to cover all the charges we would incur. So we did the next logical thing: we scammed my mother's own debit card.

We took that debit card to the grocery store self-check out aisle. We bought a pack of Altoids. $102. We walked to a different self-check out. We bought some water. $103. We bought some heavenly sandwich pinwheels. $104 dollars. Voila! We had the money we needed, and the bank was none the wiser! SUCKERS!!

I just need you to imagine my mom and I in the store, looking around all shifty-eyed like we had figured out how to beat the system and someone was going to come and arrest us at any moment. There was nervous giggling. Of course, this was the South Loop and there is so much more shifty activity happening that absolutely no one paid attention to the two pasty white ladies and their pinwheels. But there we were, cackling in the morning sun over our sweaty wad of money.

That is, until we got in the car, closed the door, and my mom said, "Wait. Why hasn't the bank called me by now?" "Huh."

So that's all. My mom and I will be entering a life of crime any day now. If any of you lose your debit card and then see purchases on your account for a wheel of cheese: $107...you likely have me to thank.

Urrrrrrgggggbbbllleeeeh

2011-10-26T17:06:00.002-07:00

(Now THERE is a blog title that is SEO-optimized)

Whose idea was it to move?! HMM!?!?! Why am I putting Saran Wrap around my spice rack?? How many lists CAN I possibly make? THESE ARE QUESTIONS I WANT ANSWERS TO, PEOPLE.

Fears and Pet Peeves

2011-10-24T17:10:00.007-07:00

"....Ancient History, Literature, and IT'S ALL RELATIVE." I'm sorry, but I'm a lady who likes to complete her Friends references. DEAL WITH IT.

Ahem. Well, hello. And how are YOU today? You're well? That's marvelous. Come, follow me into my chateau. Have a seat on this velvet armchair.

Sorry, I don't even know where I'm going with this, suddenly I just felt like pretending to talk like a Mrs. Robinson-type for no reason whatsoever. Also, a preemptive warning--if this post seems incomplete and has a lot of non-English words, it is either a) a typical post and you should be used to such things by now or b) prematurely posted by my cat who has decided that laptops are for walking across, and wrists are for wiping your nose on.

So as you are all aware by now, I am moving to San Francisco in a week. And as of today, I have an actual flight reservation, as does Regina (My god, she is going to hate flying SO HARD) and a moving company picked out. I'm nervous about the movers. These ones totally check out--they have an A rating with the BBB and everything. So it's not that they're sketchy, it's that I just assume everyone taking my money is trying to take MORE of my money. And let's be honest, that's probably a good assumption.

But they ask you for an itemized list of stuff, and damn me if I can remember what we jammed into that storage unit 4 months ago before Joe left. I had to guess the number of boxes. I said 30. It could be 100 and I wouldn't be surprised...we had an unnerving amount of things. And when you tell them it's a 1-bedroom, how do you explain that it's a 1-bedroom, but for two people, and one of those people may or may not own multiple sets of Star Wars figurines and a barrel? (A BARREL.) (.............A BARREL.) So I'm pretty freaked out that the movers will get there and be like "We won't move this barrel! It's not in a box!" or "We won't move these Star Wars figurines! You said there are 30 boxes total and there are 32 boxes of JUST Star Wars figurines!" or "We couldn't fit the mattress in the elevator so you owe us $4000 dollars." I don't know...I'm scared. I'm scared because I am not making money right now, and this move is going to be a son. of. a. bitch. And Joe already spent the money his work gave him to move on moving himself out there earlier.

Truth be told, I'm scared of a lot of things about this move. I'm finding that this fear is like the head on a pint of Guinness: It covers all the good stuff underneath, it's the only thing you can taste at first, and it follows you down through all that good stuff, too.

I don't know...I'm still working on my metaphors. Michelle is helping me, she is the Metaphor Master.

My biggest fear is in going bankrupt. I'm going to be paying a lot more for rent in SF than in Chicago, and unemployment isn't going to get me through for very long; neither is temp work or Starbucks. I'm going to need a real person job. And I'm scared I won't be able to find one. San Francisco is filled with tons of great places to work. But it seems like they're all just 10 people per company, and I'm filled with fears that tiny companies won't take a chance on an unknown kid.

I'm also afraid of homesickness. I haven't felt really homesick since college, and even then my emotions were more about pining for dreamy Teenage Boyfriend. I'm moving far away from my family for the first time, so even though we have the internet, I can't go visit them for a weekend whenever I want. A lot of my friends have scattered (Again. I was hoping post-college would have been the last of it but NAY.) but those who are still nearby won't be able to visit and we can't go out for drinks. Even if I haven't seen some friends for a while, just knowing they're in Chicago or even in the Midwest feels comforting, knowing we can hang out if we WANTED.

I'm afraid San Francisco won't feel right. Y'all know me, I move ALL the time. What if I start feeling the need to move cities every year? I don't have that kind of money. Despite people's assertions that it's the best city ever, that you can make of it what you want, and that I personally am going to love it...I'm blindly afraid that I won't. What if I start resenting the hills? or the less-than awesome transportation system? Or the smaller-than-Chicago feel of it all?

I can tell myself a million times that the pros WILL outweigh the cons. I can tell myself about all the reasons SF is going to be awesome. And I do. And I even tell OTHER people why SF is going to be awesome. I hear it. I think about it. But no matter what I do, the foam still stays on top of the Guinness, keeping me from really enjoying the good stuff under it. So while, yes, I know everything will be okay and things will work out and I'm going to love it, I wouldn't be honest if I said I'm totally fine about it all. I'm not--I'm scared.

I guess I shouldn't be afraid for one reason and one reason only. And that one reason is lkookloddddddfffbbbbbbbbbbbhhh

REAL UPDATE!

2011-10-20T12:57:00.005-07:00

GUYS!! THINGS HAVE HAPPENED!!!

Q: Gasp! Do you have a job?
A: Well...no.
Q: Gasp! Did you buy your ticket out there?!
A: Errrrrr.....
Q: Do you even have movers picked out?!
A: CAN I PLEASE JUST TELL YOU MY NEWS WITHOUT A BARAGE OF QUESTIONS. COME ON, Shelly.

No but I actually do have real news! Joe got the job officially! (Quick catch up: Joe has been in San Francisco for 4 months on contract-to-hire, and while we've been planning this move for a loooong time, he only just found out that he got the job a few days ago.) So this means we won't have TWO unemployed people living in an overpriced apartment, we'll only have ONE! HUZZAH!

And speaking of apartments--we have one of those, too! And check THIS action out!!

Windows that look out into things! Drawers that hold silverware! It's all I've ever wanted and more! And it's ours for the low low price of the top of our price range!

Now the next piece in the puzzle is getting our stuff over there. I've been talking to moving companies (almost got scammed by one. Let me tell you, there is no stress quite like the few hours you spend believing you just got scammed out of $500. Luckily Me+Ledge÷Joe+Megaphone=everything was okay.)

But I didn't realize movers give you such a wide timeframe with which to move. I thought you told them "pick it up on Saturday." And they said "It'll be there Tuesday." Then you'd do one of those single-pump handshakes, spin 180 degrees and walk away. Turns out, moving companies follow the John Locke school of stubbornness: DON'T TELL THEM WHAT THEY CAN AND CANNOT DO. So there's no way I'll be able to just fly to San Francisco the day the movers get there. Our new plan is this: Joe gets us an air mattress, shower curtain liner, kitty litter, and plastic silverware, and we camp out in our empty apartment for an unknown number of days until our stuff arrives. It actually sounds very romantic in a "middle part of Benjamin Button" kind of way. Which means inevitably everything will go wrong and it will be the worst, because that is how things go.

So in conclusion, our to-do list is coming together pretty well....even if it might not look like it from an ACTUAL to-do list perspective.

X Joe gets job
_ Emily gets job
X Find an apartment
_ Hire movers
_ Buy plane ticket
_ Gently stuff Regina into a case and fly out there
_ Move stuff in

Oh well. We're still on our way!

Word-Of-Mouth

2011-10-19T13:45:00.007-07:00

Everyone has their brands. Things they will fight to the death over. I had a professor in college who WOULD NOT SHUT UP about Viva paper towels. Christ, lady.

Do I care about paper towels? No. In fact, I don't care about most brands. You know why? Because I majored in Advertising. And I took class after class telling me that all products are essentially the same. The only difference is what you, the advertiser, has to say about it. I've made myself feel not-evil about this fact by blaming the products themselves. Look, is it MY fault that Crest and Colgate both exist and have each created roughly 4 million kinds of toothpaste? No. It's not my fault. It is their fault. It is just my job to help them sell all their ridiculously similar products.

But I have some brands. In fact, during one of these all-products-are-the-same lectures I actually raised my hand to defend a brand. It was an enormous lecture hall. 300 kids all wanting to go home and nurse their hangovers. And I raised my hand because sometimes I'm THAT GIRL. "Yeah, but not ALL products are exactly the same. I bought the Meijer-brand Wheat Thins once and they were CRAP."

And 300 kids turned toward me and threw things.

No, not really. But there was SERIOUS groaning. WHAT?! YEAH, I SAID IT. BRAND-NAME WHEAT THINS ARE IMPORTANT TO ME, DUDES.

So I agree and disagree with Marketing professionals on this one. Yeah, some products are the same. My Pharmacist/mother never buys a brand-name pill if she can help it. So many times I've uttered the phrase "Aleve? Which one is Aleve? Do you mean ibuprofen?" And then again, sometimes a sista HAS TO HAVE HER WHEAT. THINS.

So I've created a list of the products I stand behind. Not all of them, just a nice sampling. But after you see mine, I'd love to know: what brand names do you get behind?

Fiber Plus: Cinnamon Oat Crunch

Love cinnamon toast crunch but feel like a pre-diabetic child when you buy it? Love Cheerios but wish they had a little somethin' somethin'? THIS. Don't let the healthy-sounding name or terrible packaging fool you. This product is cinnamon deliciousness for adults. Less sugar, more fiber, all the special feelings in your belly.

Special K: Protein Plus

So I'm starting off here with two cereals, yes, but they are so clearly aMAHzing. This one is absolutely the best cereal for keeping you full. It's a little bran-y so drop a few raisins in there to kick it up a notch. And then don't expect to need anything until lunch.

Laughing Cow wedges

If you are a cream cheese lover as I am, this is where you need to aim your priorities. Such a great healthy alternative, and delicious with pretzels. Also, surprisingly, carrots.

L'Oreal Collagen Filler/Eye Illuminator

I have genetic dark circles under my eyes. This stuff is great because it brightens your eyes and makes wrinkles go away (when it's on, not permanently [wah wahh].) And I don't want to hear, "Oh, Emily. You're too young to worry about wrinkles." Because I will say this to you in my best Ross impression: "AM I?!"

Johnsonville chicken sausage

If you like spiced meats filled with cheese, please go and buy these immediately. They are DELICIOUS. And probably slightly healthier for you than something made of pork. Personally, I like them by themselves on a bun with some ketchup and/or mustard. Also, everyone be proud of me for not saying "that's what she said" a SINGLE time for this one.

Clean & Clear Advantage Spot Treatment

I've been using this stuff for a very long time. Is it fair that I now use a wrinkle cream AND zit cream? No. But it is a fact of life. I've learned to deal with it, SO SHOULD YOU. Because if there's ever a time when I don't need to use this stuff, I will probably be forcing my children to use it, and then they will force their children use it. Here's why it's awesome: it's salicylic acid, which doesn't dry out your skin, leave white marks, or bleach your clothes like benzol peroxide (coughPROACTIVcough) does. Also, it works better anyway.

Tupperware FridgeSmart Containers

These things are containers sent by the Lord Himself. Also Allah. Possibly Zeus. Maybe all the gods got together and were like, "You know, we've been kinda hard on them lately. Maybe we can give them a little something nice." And they sent these Tupperware containers. An oversell? Absolutely. But czech it out: They're made especially to keep fruits and vegetables longer, and I can personally vouch that they work wonders, especially for peppers. In a regular container, peppers last for maybe 3 days tops? In these containers, you can keep peppers perfectly fresh and crisp for at least a week, probably 2. Also, I had a lemon in one once. Found it in the back of the fridge so y'all KNOW that can't be good. Opened it up expecting it to look like Mel Gibson's mugshot, but it was perfectly good! Had it with a beer. (Sidenote, probably don't try this at home, kids. I might have died.)

So like I said before, lay it on me. What products do you stand behind? Share the love!

Devolving

2011-10-17T07:14:00.002-07:00

I feel like I'm really bad at blogging lately.

The problem is, my mind is filled 100% with finding a job in--and moving to--San Francisco. There just isn't room for anything else. I want to give you awesome anecdotes about the crazy stories of my life (and what crazy stories they are, my stars), but as soon as I sit down to write about something it quickly devolves into a breakdown. Something like:

This weekend I went to a party called "Spuds 'N Suds" where everyone had to bring a potato dish and beer. I brought sweet potatoes because I wanted practice for when I make them in DC for Thanksgiving with Joe's family. I'll be flying there from San Francisco. I'm moving to San Francisco. I don't have a job in San Francisco yet. I'M NEVER GOING TO FIND A JOB BECAUSE I'M USELESS AND LAME AND EVERYONE HATES ME AND I'M NOT CREATIVE AND I NEVER HAVE GOOD IDEAS AND I MIGHT AS WELL JUST GET A JOB STUFFING ENVELOPES AND LIVING IN JOLIET BECAUSE NOTHING WILL EVER BE GOOD AGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN.

See what I mean? It's pretty bad.

I'd like to think I'm getting a little better each day, though. Surrounding myself with positive thinking and helpful lists and fun-sounding back-up plans. Seriously, here's what I'm thinking: if no advertising agency wants to hire me (BREATHE, EMILY. STAY WITH US. WE LOVE YOU.) I'm going to give it a few months(?) and then get a job as a secretary so I can (just barely) pay for rent and food, then I'm going to take stand-up classes and improv classes and spend my free time writing sketches and spec scripts.

I think it's a stellar back-up, in my opinion. Besides the fact that is still leads to me never saving up money, maybe one day I will be rolling in it after working on TREAT YO SELF: The Donna/Tom spin-off show and THEN I'll finally be able to buy luxurious things like a car and socks and dental insurance. One can dream.

A Bit Of Weekend Nonsense

2011-10-15T10:59:00.003-07:00

So, Adrienne has showed me the wonder of Tumblr. Specifically, the wonder of reblogging funny pictures/gifs into one place so you eventually have a collection of ridiculous things.

I don't know. Apparently there are other uses for Tumblr but so far this is my favorite.

So I started one. I'm still pretty remedial at it. Because, seriously, there are only so many things on the internet you can be good at. It makes for good boredom scrolling. It's iheartejs.tumblr.com. So if you're into Tumblr, or if you need yet another medium for me to tell you how much I love Parks & Rec, feel free to follow.

50 People I'm Envious Of

2011-10-14T13:25:00.006-07:00

(Warning: this isn't a celebrity post. That would just be me writing "Zooey Deschanel" 50 times and calling it a day.)

I have a problem with jealousy. One of the 7 Deadly Sins. (Wait, is it? I don't know. Let me look it up.......Envy! Boom-shacka-lacka. In your face, ME.) Okay, so envy. That's the one that I have a serious problem with. Not so much jealousy because Joe is all miney mine and when girls hit on him it just makes me feel proud. And also a little makey-outey.

But! I DO have a problem with envy. When I read blogs and Twitter and Facebook posts I become very aware that I'm not doing the exact thing that other people are doing, and then IMMEDIATELY worry that I'm doing it all wrong. My apartment should be more DIY design-y, I should be eating at more highly-rated restaurants, I should cook delicious food that looks so professional I can't help but post pictures of it to Facebook, I should wear more scarves.

I don't think it's wrong to have aspirations. Or to want to have/do/eat cool things. But when it starts to make me feel like the person I am is failing, that's when it becomes an issue. So I started making a list. Because I am INSANELY visual, nothing I ever think about can move forward until it is on a list of some kind. Everything in this list is true--I am envious of all these things. But It's made me realize that there's always something to be envious of, and you literally can't have everything. You can only do the things you love and be the person you want to be. Aaaaand maybe add a few more things to a Bucket/Life List so you make sure you're striving to be your best.

50 People I’m Envious of:

1. People who go out all the time
2. People who stay in and snuggle
3. People who travel the world
4. People who go to the same place every year
5. People who cook
6. People who go out to eat
7. People who drive
8. People who bike
9. People who have dogs
10. People with great nails
11. People with tattoos
12. People with kids
13. People in couples
14. People who are happy just being with themselves
15. People who take naps
16. People who’ve been up since their morning jog
17. People who love their boring, high-paying job
18. People who scrape by doing something exciting
19. People who buy everything from Crate and Barrel
20. People who can make a table with their hands
21. People who craft
22. People who hire someone to craft for them
23. People who live in the woods
24. People who live in the mountains
25. People who live by water
26. People who live in the middle of a city
27. People who know everyone in their town
28. People with straight hair
29. People with curly hair
30. People with really thick eyelashes
31. People who watch black and white movies
32. People who see every movie that comes out
33. People who spend their day playing video games
34. People who accomplish tons of stuff every day
35. People who buy all the latest fashions
36. People with a funky wardrobe from Goodwill
37. People who happily eat vegan
38. People who happily eat cheeseburgers
39. People with an hourglass figure
40. People with a tomboy look
41. People who know their cocktails
42. People who know their beer
43. People that change careers all the time
44. People who are successful by 28
45. People who still play a musical instrument
46. People who can do their own makeup really well
47. People who don't need makeup to look beautiful
48. People eating a cupcake right this second
49. People with more friends than me
50. People who don't get envious

Anyone else? Who are you envious of?

An Update On Moving:

2011-10-13T08:31:00.007-07:00

I have no further updates on moving.

Here's the thing. San Francisco is very small. But it is very awesome. And everyone wants to live there. Which means apartments are really hard to find. Well, unless you are willing to spend $2000 a month on a studio in the shady part of San Francisco called the Tenderloin (and while it sounds delicious, trust me, it is not.) Because THOSE apartments are PLENTIFUL.

So we're doing our best at finding a place that can fit us and our small cat. But we haven't found anything yet. Since we don't know where we're living, we haven't hired movers yet to take all our stuff (although I'm realizing we might need to hire them anyway, even without a specific destination and hope they accept this.)

Since we don't know when our movers will get there, I don't know when I can come out there. Since I don't know when I can come out there, I haven't bought a plane ticket. Also I still don't have a job out there waiting for me.

THEREFORE: My update on the move is that I have no update on the move. But DEAR GOD I would love to know all those things even more than you, believe you me.

So if you're wondering how I feel about moving, I'd say it's close to this:

Time goes by really quickly, nothing seems to be accomplished, no blog posts are written, and my stomach feels like I've been eating nothing but lemons for five days. Usually the day ends with me having a breakdown to Joe on the phone, convinced that no one will hire me, we'll never find an apartment, and Regina will run away. I don't know how, but I imagine a Homeward Bound situation with Regina traveling across the desert with one of those desert hats flowing down her neck.

So in conclusion: I am still a floating Kermit balloon. Working on that.

(Image from Hyperbole and a Half)

Everyone's A Little Bit Famous

2011-10-10T15:10:00.004-07:00

When I was young, I wanted to be a Muppeteer. Then I vaguely wanted to be an actress. Vague because it was the 7th grade and I couldn’t be bothered to really focus on an occupation when no one had even had the decency to kiss me yet. Finally I landed on ad writing and that was the end of that.

The cornerstone of all three professions is my being famous. Copywriting on a much smaller scale, of course. But eventually I’d make an ad that everyone saw. Or that was the goal.

I think this may be a Generation Y complex. Adults told us that we were the best at everything and we deserved to have whatever we wanted. So naturally, if I’m so damn good at...I don’t know, being a human being I guess, then the world should recognize it and make me famous.

I’m ready to admit it, and I think it’s time y’all did, too. It’s why everyone has a blog and a Facebook profile and a Twitter account and a Tumblr and Four Square and on and on and on. We all want to be a little famous. So fine, if it’s 1,000 people on Twitter that see we’re having ketchup for lunch, so be it. It’s still a little famous. You may not be on the cover of InTouch, but at least a few people are listening.

But I always intended on having more listeners than a handful of Twitter followers. I don't need to be a household name, but I do want to make a stadium full of people laugh. I only realized this of myself in the past month or so. And now that I know it, the question is: do I keep going? Do I keep trying to be a little bit famous? Is that the only way for me to be happy?

I've tried to envision a life where I am never famous. Where, outside my family and friends, no one knows a thing about me. I could be a teacher or an editor or a coffee shop owner. I don’t have to write an ad or a book or a screenplay or a TV show or a stand-up routine. I could just be me.

My self-worth would not hinge on the number of original ideas I could come up with. I could just try my best and then be paid for it. No more staring at the ceiling, willing myself to think of something other people will like. It makes so much sense. It seems like such a relaxing life.

And I’m not sure I’ve considered it. Ever.

I think I might be totally happy being anonymous to the world. It’s comforting. For some reason, in that world of anonymity, I drink a lot more tea by the window and cook things with sauces. In the world of trying to be a little bit famous, I chug Maalox and ask people to slap me in the face.

I’m worried that giving up on fame means giving up. It means that I’m officially leaving behind my childhood dream. It’s like when I gave up on being a marine biologist once I realized it involved more than swimming with dolphins. But this time I’m giving up on something I’ve held in my subconscious for 26 years, not the 48 hours when I thought I could get paid to hold onto dorsal fins. What if I turn into one of those people full of regret for not living their dream? I don't want to be the mom who forces her daughter to be a bulimic ballerina because I didn't have the dexterity.

So do I finally let myself ease into a world of relaxed, safe anonymity? Or do I strive, like a Los Angeles barista, to be something more? I don’t know. I do like the idea of not worrying what everyone thinks. What do you think?

Clearing The Air About My Derrière

2011-10-05T07:38:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately about my butt.

I've always had a problem with it, and it's the opposite of what women stereotypically worry about: mine is too small. I have a hard time filling out jeans, and I worry that it makes my bit of muffin top look extra muffiny because it doesn't quite fill out the space under the lovehandles.

So yes, if you are keeping score, two of my biggest physical concerns are that my boobs are too big and my ass is too small. FINE, so my life is not THAT TERRIBLE.

But back to my butt. (FOCUS, people.) When I have complained about it to boyfriends past and present, they say the same thing: "Sure, it's small. But it packs a punch." Which....I don't even know what that means, but I appreciate the sentiment (usually followed by grabbing attempts I have to then ward off--serves me right for mentioning it.)

What I'm saying is: I have a complex about my caboose and the men who've loved me have never done anything to create that complex.

I think it's other women.

Since the moment I realized that the size of my tush could potentially be something to think about, there have been girls--friends--who have had something to say about mine. Specifically how small it is. I don't think anyone has meant to make me feel bad. But I think it's a bit like if you complain about your sister and then your friend is like, "Yeah, your sister is TOTALLY crazy." And your hair lights on fire and you scream, "YOU SHUT YOUR HOLE ABOUT MY SISTER."*

It's kinda like that. I can complain about my imperfections all I want. But you're not allowed to actually AGREE with me, dude. When you complain about your looks, a girl friend's job is to DENY, DENY, DENY. And when they don't? You know you have a problem.

I bring it up because I think it's something to consider--how much blame we may put on media or on the way men react to women for giving us such complexes. But I've realized, more often than not, men don't notice those imperfections we agonize over daily. They basically think we're pretty...and that's as far as they've gone with it. And sure, the media gives us rear ends to aspire to. But ever since Sir Mixalot pulled up quick to retrieve it, they come in all shapes and sizes and (with a few notable exceptions) do not a movie star make.

When we complain about the imperfections that bug us, the only ones who listen are other women. Presumably because they're worried about their own problems. Since it's something I worry about on myself, I notice other girls' butts. Often. It's weird. Not that I'm leering--more like analyzing. Like how a girl who hates her nose notices other girls' noses, I stare at butts. They are fairly hypnotizing. I see why people enjoy them. And what's funny is, when I see someone with a small patoot, I've never thought "that lady has a bad butt." Sure, I've occasionally thought, "She needs better pants," but never a better butt. So why do I think I'm the exception? Why do I worry that everyone is walking around judging my posterior, as though they have nothing better to do with their lives? Do I just need more hobbies?

I don't really have a big point here, at least not yet. But I thought I'd see if anyone had thoughts on the subject. Also, I'm not sure how these issues play out in LGBT duos. I'm not a relationship expert, I'm just a chick with a blog. But I'm really interested to hear how it may differ...or how it's still exactly the same.

Anyone else willing to call their butt to the attention of the court?

*Oh, calm down. No one talked smack about you, it was an example. Quit being totally crazy.

Why I Just Don't Care About Organic (Or Any Of That All-Natural Nonsense)

2011-09-30T06:38:00.006-07:00

While reading last month's Marie Claire magazine (which I took from the box of old magazines at the gym [as one is wont to do]) I came across this little gem of information about a cocoa butter lotion:

"Earth-friendly manufacturing practices-- like rain-watering methods, solar crop drying, and the use of fuel derived from dried coconut shells---make the co-op sustainably sound."

Okay, you know what? That sounds like a bunch of nonsense words to me. More than that, it sounds like something Jack Donaghy would say to make fun of the Carter administration.

I want to come out and say something that I'm not sure anyone has said out loud before:

Meh.

THAT'S RIGHT: MEH. I said it. And what does "meh" mean exactly? It's this: I don't care. I don't care about your vegan, organic, free range, fair trade walnuts. Here's the way I see it:

I actively walk past organic food.
I recognize that non-organic food is probably covered in a thick film of rat poison. I know I'm probably putting growth hormones in my body and THAT'S why my eye starts twitching out of nowhere and no one else can see it. But I just can't bring myself to care. And this goes for all that stuff: cage-free eggs, all-natural soap (aka pachouli and sage. Yum), vegan hemp, whatever.

Am I the only one who will admit it? That, yeah, maybe it does cause cancer but it's forty cents cheaper and that stuff adds up. Besides, everything causes cancer. And also, NOTHING causes cancer. So give me the damn oversized strawberries.

And you know what? I like that my non-organic sliced bread lasts outside a refrigerator for weeks. WEEKS. How does it do it? No idea. How does Cameron Diaz continue to be cast in movies time and again? No one knows why and frankly, I'm tired of caring about both the bread AND the Diaz. At least one of them could cry convincingly and I think we ALL know I'm taking about the bread.

While I'm at it, I also eat meat.
I guess I don't like cows THAT much. Funnily enough, I could easily be a vegetarian. I eat Greek yogurt and black beans like it's my job. And, considering my current state of unemployment, it kind of IS. And Morningstar makes a veggie corndog that'll blow your mind. The only problem I foresee in going veg would be the restaurant ads that show hands pulling apart juicy chicken breast. But otherwise, I could definitely survive as a vegetarian. But I don't, because I don't care.

I hear all that about animal cruelty and it makes me sad...and then eventually I forget what I was thinking about because I'm hungry and I order a steak. I even read the Jungle in college. Sure, I didn't eat sausage for about a month. But eventually I convinced myself that meat packers must have changed their ways, that sausage is now made of rainbows and sunshine and nothing else, and I ordered a pepperoni pizza.

I give up.
Here's the real reason why I don't care: because whether or not I buy organic carrots, I'm sure I'm surrounded by injustice. Where did my shoes come from? Probably Malaysian toddlers. The carpet under my feet is likely peppered with asbestos. And even if the soap I bought is biodegradable, the loofa I put the soap on could be made of baby seals for all I know. So if you want me to care about something, I'm going to have to ACTUALLY care about it. And I don't live in a moss hut where I sew my own clothes and chickens gently hand me their eggs. So why really bother? I mean, I recycle. I'm not a monster. Let's just back off a little with the "all-natural" pride we get from using Aveeno hand cream while we turn our air conditioners a degree cooler because we "like to use blankets at night."

And even that Marie Claire magazine can't pretend to get all "every little bit counts" on me, because 40 pages earlier, in the same magazine that touted COCONUT FUEL, there was an entire page on how to make a statement with fur parkas. Yes, seriously.

So yeah. I buy the cheap stuff. Because that sticker (with horse hoof glue) you just slapped onto that bar of soap? It doesn't say "organic" to me. It says "don't bother".

A Fake Daily Show Piece

2011-09-28T07:00:00.002-07:00

So, as I said last week, I wrote a fake Colbert and Daily Show piece for my writing class, both based on the same news story. I gave you the Colbert one then, but I wanted to keep working on the Daily Show piece. It's not perfect yet, but it's better. So here it is, another Blog Post Of Laziness.

We begin tonight in France, where Apple has recently ousted an iPhone app, called “Jew or Not Jew”. The app is a database of thousands of famous Jews, from Steven Spielberg to Woody Allen’s daughter-slash-wife.

The creator of the app, a Frenchman named Johann Lévy, says the app is all in good fun. But many Parisians have taken offense to the app. Let’s see…when did France once collect the names of Jews, perhaps handing them over to a charismatic young man with a mustache....?

No…not him…

Closer…

Oh, that’s right, that’s right! THAT guy!

Yes, some said the “Jew or Not Jew” app reminded them of World War II! When the French government collaborated with Nazi occupiers to identify and deport Jews to death camps. (FAKE, EMBARRASSED LAUGHTER) Ha…ha…I’m sure the guy who made the app, uh, would immediately disprove such accusations.

CUT AWAY TO NEWS REPORTER: "Levy says, 'It recalls the Second World War, but that was 65 years ago!'"

BACK TO JON: Yes, only 65 years. And if there’s one thing people are over, it’s the Holocaust. (SING-SONG) Boriiiing!

But supporters of the app say all this fuss is for nothing. After all, the names aren’t being used to deport people to death camps, it’s just an aggregate of already-public information put into one, easy-access iphone app. For his take on the story, we turn to our Senior French Correspondent, Wyatt Cenac. Wyatt, do you think the French are right to be so offended by this app?

WYATT: Absolutely, Jon. The French aren’t like us Americans, because they don’t know how to throw around a good Nazi reference for sport. “Obama is Hitler." "Bush is Hitler." "Ghandi was Hitler.”—we’ve been using the Holocaust for our own purposes for so long, one more reference doesn't phase us. But it still works in France because apparently the French don’t cry Nazi every time someone mentions a tax hike. Gah, that Hitler and his senseless, brutal tax hikes.

But the French aren't like that, so when something ACTUALLY reminds them of Nazis, they get a little…verklempt. Luckily, the US still allows the app. And since I've been properly desensitized, I've got the app right here. Hey, look! You’re on here, Jon. Let's see, your parents are both Jewish, you’re a Sagittarius, you secretly hate gefilte fish, you have a mole on your inner thigh--

JON: Wait, how does it know that?

WYATT: Hey, what’s “Death To Smoochy”? Is that like a venereal disease?

JON: Alright. Wyatt Cenac everybody. We'll be right back.

A Haircut Saga

2011-09-26T07:00:00.000-07:00

I've determined there are two kinds of stress (now really I'm sure the medical community has determined this about 100 years ago but I'm only grasping it now so work with me here):

1. TOO MUCH TO DO AND NO TIME TO DO IT AND EVERYTHING'S HAPPENING AT ONNNNNNNNCE!!!!! stress.

2. Slow seepage stress. Aka, the stress of not knowing what you are doing with your life. Sure, you get 8 hours of sleep and your heart stays at a nice resting pace, but in the past week, this kind of stress has still caused me:
a. 3 pimples on my chin (and not the curable ones--the lurkers)
b. 1 canker sore (Which is different from a cold sore. From what I hear from cold sore sufferers, canker sores are much more painful, although infinitely less embarrassing.)
c. The kind of cold that, when you're healthy, you think only wimps would be affected by. But when you actually have it, you think you might die. Seriously, how do you have a stuffy nose, runny nose, and so-clear-it-hurts nose AT THE SAME TIME?! HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE?
Okay. Calm down, Emily.
YOU CALM DOWN.
Juuuuuust breathe.
I CAN'T BREATHE BECAUSE OF THIS GODFORSAKEN NOSE.
Great now I have multiple personalities
YOUR MOM HAS MULTIPLE PERSONALITIES.
YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH ABOUT MY MOTHER!

So this is the state I was in when I went to the hairdresser yesterday.

In order for you to understand my story, I need to explain a little about my hair. Stay with me, this is key. Currently, I have a chin-length bob. Kind of like Rihanna here, but a little longer, brunette, and without the talent.

I've been needing a trim for about a week or two now--but not technically a trim. My hair was getting heavy at the bottom, kind of like in the late 90's, before layers. Like Claire Danes hair here:

All I needed was someone to use those *shink shink* scissors to thin it out. I have gone to this place before, and it should have been a 4-second fix, done for free to tide me over until I needed to come in for a full-on haircut.

Yes, I said SHOULD have. Walk with me.

So my hairdesser is a half hour walk, and it was drizzling outside. I wanted to make sure I wouldn't be walking there for nothing, so I called to make sure they weren't running around like chickens already. I tried to be as clear as possible that it should be a quick trim, in and out in a few minutes. She said "Our next available appointment is for 1:30." Again, I tried to emphasize that it should only be like a nothing, like not even a trim, just a quick fix. *Silence.* So okay, yeah, 1:30. 1:30 okay. Exactly 1:30. It's better. Thank you, Dr. M/lady on the phone.

When I arrived, there were two women at the front desk, one woman with tin foil in her hair reading a magazine, and me. (And Lady Gaga, but she was only there in sound.) I introduced myself, they had me take a seat while they...I don't know, discussed what they wanted for lunch, I think. Finally Rosa sat me down (I've never had her before) and I said hi. She said nothing.

Oh boy. Here is the next problem: I am intimidated by hair dressers for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I turn beat red as soon as I describe my hair and what it needs. Every time. No matter how well I know the person. Later, Joe told me "You practically act like they're celebrities! What if John Krasinski was cutting your hair?!" "I would die. I would actually have a heart attack and die." I don't know what it is, I just get so nervous around them! Maybe it's the fact that I'm looking in the mirror, watching myself talk that gets me so self-conscious. I don't know what it is.

Anyway, I tried to tell the woman that I just need a nothing, a little, just like it's getting heavy in the front and I want to take out some of the weight, or whatever, you know, it got kind of curly in the rain but like, I mean, and the weight, with my hair, like not the length, just like, with the--

Finally Rosa stopped me (THANK GOD or we would have been there all day) and said "okay so basically just some of the weight out of the bottom." YES. THANK YOU.

She said, "Okay, so what I want to do is shampoo you, blow dry, straighten it, and then we can see where we're at.

What I SHOULD have said was: "No."
What I DID say was "Oh....................kay."
See, the thing is, I had JUST washed it. Like an hour earlier. And all that work sounded like WAY too much for just the quick snip I knew this should be. But I was already beat red from trying to talk, and my brain just stopped functioning. I guess I figured: I had done all I can to explain that this was a quick, free trim I was looking to get, and if she wanted to wash my hair, I guess that was fine.

And then the woman washed my hair, blow dried my hair, and straightened my hair with such attention to detail, such care, that I realized: this was not a free cut. She even added the oils. THE OILS, PEOPLE. And you know what that means.

Finally, she got to the part I had wanted in the first place. She takes out her scissors and roughly ten seconds later, my hair is the way I want it. Of course.

So I walked up to the counter, realizing that this haircut was not going to be free. I told her I belong to Cheetah Gym which means I get a 15% discount. And I hoped that she realized how little hair she actually cut and not charge me full price.

"That'll be $52 dollars."
WHAT?!?!?!?!??!?! ARE YOU INSAAAANNNNNEEEEE!?!!??!?!?!?!? I DON'T EVEN PAY THAT MUCH WHEN I ACTUALLY GET A REAL HAIRCUT HERE!

...is what I should have screamed.

Instead, I handed her my credit card, while a single tear rolled down my face. I didn't know what to do. I am so not a confrontation person. You could serve me food at a restaurant with a cockroach in the middle of it and I would politely eat around it and go home. So.....*siiiiigh*....I still tipped the woman. In fact, I tipped her ten WHOLE dollars. What I'm saying to you is, I just got my hair styled for $62. I just got a $62 blow dry.

To prove to you guys how very very flustered I was by the whole thing, though, I put the $10 in one of those little envelopes for tipping (even though she was standing right there) and where it said "From" I wrote (and this is true): Emyl.

...E. M. Y. L. That was how I spelled MY OWN NAME.

The icing on the cake is, since it was rainy, as soon as I stepped outside, everything that woman had just done for the past hour was completely ruined. I had just paid $62 for a blow dry that lasted 2 minutes.

Finally, this morning I called the place to explain my situation. He said they usually give free cuts if it's to fix a problem from a recent cut, or to trim bangs. But not for that. And the woman I saw was apparently JUDO MASTER level, hence the steep price. So he couldn't do anything for me. Really, I'm the idiot who thought I could go in for a free haircut and should have just stuck it out with my heavy hair.

Well, what's done is done. My hair looks better now at least? I mean, I got what I wanted, I just paid a billion dollars for it. So if you see me in the next month or so, I'd appreciate it if you tell me my hair looks amazing and I should be a model. It's the only way I'll keep my stress level down and these zits off my chin.

BRB, Having a Meltdown

2011-09-23T10:59:00.003-07:00

This is how I feel about moving to California in a month:

This is how I feel when I remember Joe is visiting next weekend:

This is how I feel about my professional future:

Movin' On Out

2011-09-22T07:00:00.009-07:00

Well I started inklings of it here. And then I really got into it here.

But when Joe and I were in Seattle, we shook on it. It's official: I'm moving to San Francisco in November.

Question: Gasp! Do you have a job out there yet?
Answer: Welll...no I do not. But Advertising is a very in-the-moment, we-need-you-yesterday kind of business, so this doesn't worry me. EDIT: Joe's contract job isn't full-time yet either. We just decided that even if he doesn't get it, we'd both have to look for a job somewhere, so we might as well make it San Fran.

Question: Do you have a place out there yet?
Answer. No we do not. Joe doesn't have much spare time to devote to checking out places, but once we get our credit reports and checkbooks ready, he is going to go apartment searching by himself to try and find us a place that is not a) falling apart and b) a hundred million dollars. Apparently this is a difficult task.

Question: Have you bought your plane ticket yet?
Answer. No I have not. OKAY SO I KNOW THERE ARE A LOT OF "NO I HAVEN'T DONE THE RESPONSIBLE PARTS OF MOVING" YET CAN YOU PLEASE GET OFF MY BACK MOVING IS HARD I'M DOING MY BEST TO KEEP IT TOGETHER NOW LOOK WHAT YOU DID I'VE STOPPED USING PUNCTUATION AND I FORGET WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT....wait, what? Oh, okay so no I haven't bought the plane ticket yet. Gotta do that, but I probably should know when we're moving in before I do. And flying with Regina Phalange means a few extra tasks so it's going to be really fun and complicated and annoying.

Question: Did he like it so he should have put a ring on it?
Answer: Well, well, well. The question I knew you were REALLY wondering all along. Only took you four tries before you got the heart of it. He does like it, he has not put a ring on it yet. We're getting there, don't worry. My personal opinion? I'd like to feel a little more grounded before we start throwing rings around willy-nilly. You know, slightly less like a giant helium balloon flying high above the parade of life. (PS in this metaphor it's best to think of me as a giant Kermit flying above your faces. Really drives the point home. But I digress.)

Question: But! But! What about...And then there's....You can't just...!!
Answer: I know. I know! When I started to think about moving away, my core group of friends was starting to break off and do their own thing. And it felt like the move would be really easy. And then Laura finally moved back into the city and my niece learned my name and I moved next to the lake and my little sister became legal drinking age and I have a friend who could use me close by--I KNOW!

Question: SO?! THEN?! HMM?!?!
Answer: Well the thing is, I've never memorized a zip code that didn't start with a 6. But this isn't one of those "I've gotta get out of this dump" situations, because Chicago is awesome. I'll even say that in January and mean it. I just need to experience somewhere outside the prairie. And it's not one of those "I've gotta get away from these people" situations because these are my family and my friends and the people I love more than anything. Ever. These are the people who loved me when I had glasses the size of my face. These are the people who hugged me until I stopped crying after I broke up with my boyfriend of 4 years. These are the people who ACTUALLY think I could be a successful Muppeteer if I went out and did it. It's not at all about leaving. It's about arriving. I need to do this terrifying thing because if I don't, I'll always wonder if I could. I'm also going to try (possibly for the last time) to see if I really can be a good copywriter in a city that seems to have better options for me. And besides all this, I get to have an adventure with Joe that's as close as I'm willing to come to "Man, Woman, Wild".

Question: Pff...kcchhh....ccckk...
Answer: I know. But it's happening. It has to. I have to. I don't know how long I'll be there. Maybe I'll hate it and I'll be back in a year. Maybe I'll love it and stay forever! I don't know! Somehow I think it'll be somewhere between those two. A warning: you might be hard pressed to rip me away from a city that's a quick drive to 80 degrees and wine. Just keep reminding me about deep dish pizza. I'm sure I'll come around.

A Fake Colbert Report Piece

2011-09-21T08:08:00.007-07:00

So the reason I had no post yesterday was because I was working like a mutha on a project for my comedy writing class last night. The assignment was to write two pieces on the same news article--one for the Daily Show and one for the Colbert Report.

I can happily say the Colbert Report piece was a success. The Daily Show one? Noooooooot so much. It wasn't terrible, but it needs some work (luckily revisions are the assignment for next week.) So instead of giving you a real blog post today, I'm going to be incredibly lazy and just do a little copy/paste/voila action. So here is the spec Colbert Report piece. And maybe next week I'll show you the DS version...if I can mold it into something in any way useful.

Here we go.

Nation, as you know, I don’t trust the French. They drink mineral water instead of high fructose corn syrup, their kisses can get a little sloppy, and they can’t tell the difference between a female skunk and a cat with a paint stripe.

But I was outraged when I heard about a law France is enforcing: something so despicable, I nearly threw up in my mouth. I’m talking about the separation of church and state. *HURR!* Sorry.

Sure, in America, we believe in the separation of church and state, as long as we can still debate political issues using scripture. But in France, they don’t even swear their president in on a Bible! What do they use? Le Petite Prince? Or maybe just a nice plate of beef bourguignon.

But folks, even knowing this, I was shocked to hear that last week, France took their church and state separation a step too far when Apple obliterated a religion-centered iPhone app called “Jew or Not Jew”.

The app aggregates information on Jewish celebrities, so you can find out quickly if, say, Natalie Portman is or is not Jewish. This many Jewish celebrities haven’t been outed since Adam Sandler’s Hannukah Song.

But thanks to lawsuit threats, Apple France has said goodbye or, “frommage” to the app. According to CNN, recording a person’s faith in a public file crosses the line in France. But if you don’t know someone’s faith, how can you know how harshly to judge them? For example, if you didn’t know I was Catholic, you’d have no idea how much guilt I feel at what I’m about to say next:

Shame on you, France! Put down your croissants and see it the American way. We were built on the separation of church and state, with the understanding that church will inform every state decision we make.

Church and state should be as separate as peanut butter and jelly. You keep peanut butter on one slice of bread, and jelly on the other. Sure, you put the two together eventually, but that’s because they go together SO WELL! Deal with it, France. That’s how we do things here, in this one nation, under God.

We’ll be right back.

My Emmy Fail

2011-09-19T09:08:00.003-07:00

The Emmy's were fun. And funny. And sparkly. Just as they should be.

But, sa-weet Jesus, I got every single one of my predictions wrong. If you know me, you probably are not putting any money on any decisions I make anyway (and thank God for that, because you would be a poor, poor person if you did.) But I apologize for leading you all astray. That'll teach you to trust my instincts.

Also

That is all.

8 Amazing TV Shows To Watch & How To Start Watching Them

2011-09-14T07:00:00.007-07:00

Well it's mid-September, we all know what that means: TELEVISION IS COMING BACK! Who’s excited? Is it possibly the girl who is living alone with her cat? Hey now, that was harsh. You don’t know me.

So I’m sure there are shows that you’ve been hearing about but you’re unsure if it’s the show for you. Or even where to start. Here’s what I’d like to do: I want to create a comprehensive list. A list of shows worth watching, and the episode you should watch first to get you hooked. A few shows start out amazing out of the gate (AHEMmodernfamilyAHEM) but some take a little while to get going (AHEMparksandrecAHEM).

So here are just 8 shows to get the list started. These are currently running shows (yes, all comedies because that's how I roll) which I suggest to anyone and everyone, paired with the episode that I believe will convince you to start watching it. I tried to pick episodes that are high quality, but introduces the characters, too. So it's not just that these are the "best" episodes, they are the best introductory episodes.

I'll give you links if I can, but they mostly require a Netflix or Hulu Plus account. I give you all my personal permission to find them any way you can (wink wink nudge nudge say no more). So here we go.

IF YOU DON"T WATCH...

Parks and Recreation

Watch "Hunting Trip". After I gave up on Parks and Rec, I saw this episode and realized that I’d been missing out on what had become an amazing show.

Modern Family

Watch the Pilot and keep going. But if you can’t get your hands on it, watch any (they each work on their own) and I’ll give you the basic rundown so you know what’s going on: Jay (aka Al Bundy) married a Columbian woman named Gloria, who has a son, Manny. Jay has two adult children from a previous marriage: Claire, who is married to Phil and has three kids, and Mitchell, who recently adopted a Vietnamese baby named Lily with his partner, Cameron. They all live near each other in California. AAAAAAAAND GO.

The Office (American)

Watch "Boys and Girls". This was the first episode I ever saw and it made a life long fan out of me. Current episodes are more touch-and-go but certainly still have their moments. But seasons 2-4 shone like diamonds.

Glee

Watch “Throwdown.” It’s a Sue episode, and as I've said before, she's the biggest reason to watch the show.

30 Rock

Tough One. Any will do, really. “Secrets and Lies” is a good introduction to characters, but “Reunion” is funnier.

Community

Watch "Modern Warfare". Then go back and bother to learn who the people are. Like with Parks and Rec, this was the episode that made me realize the show had become awesome without me. There is also a zombie Halloween episode, and a Christmas claymation episode. Just to whet your whistle.

New Girl

Of course you don't watch this show, because this is the new show with Zooey Deschanel and so far the only thing available is the pilot, but it is absolutely hilarious. Sure, a little unbelievable that Ms. Deschanel is supposed to be one step above repulsive, but it’s so funny and cute you kinda have to overlook that.

Happy Endings

This show just started last year. It’s basically "New Girl" without Zooey but with a bro-y gay guy and still hilarious. The episodes play off each other a LITTLE but I say watch what you can find—the only thing to note is that the platinum-blonde girl and the non-gay white guy were almost married but she chickened out at the altar in the first episode and now they’re friends. Aaaaaaaaaand, GO.

Now I want to hear from you!

1. Do you think I got the “key episode” wrong on these shows? Think there’s a better one to start on?

2. What other shows should people watch? And what’s the first episode people should start on? Clearly I have a “type” when it comes to shows. How about sci-fi shows? Dr Who? Breaking Bad? Entourage? Weeds? I want to hear it, sure, but think of all the new people you may influence to watch a new show.

3. Are you mad at me for not finding you ways to watch all these episodes immediately? I know I am.

Home Improvement Reunion Picture?! YES AND PLEASE.

2011-09-12T07:59:00.003-07:00

Let's go clockwise here, shall we?

1. Mark, I expected nothing less from you.
2. Tim, nice to see you as always.
3. Brad! I know your best days as a dreamy blonde soccer player are behind you, but METH IS NOT THE WAY TO GO!
4. Oh, wow, Heidi looks really goo--WAIT. What is going on with her arm?....And lips?
5. You keep trucking, Al. You just keep on trucking.
6. JTT! You look different...kinda...not really...or do you? Meh, you know what? I'd still date you.
7. Jill. Jill Jill Jill Jill Jill. You are the Jennifer Aniston of TV moms. I'm really banking on this whole "prettier with age" thing so please keep up the good work.

Back To "Normal"

2011-09-09T08:00:00.001-07:00

Whoa. Sorry for the time away. I've been hosting Michelle for the week and I was distracted by the giant tub of cookie dough we made and consequently consumed. It doesn't take much to distract me. At least it was a worthwhile cause. But she has gone home now, so it's back to blogging, working out, and lots and lots of Netflix.

So last weekend I went to Seattle for a wedding--Joe's old roommate, Mo, got hitched in a forest filled with treehouses. It was gorgeous, Joe kept making the same jokes about Star Wars, fun times were had by all.

The wedding ended a bit earlier than some were ready for because of the venue, so a few of us went out to a bar. The bar we landed at was filled with a bunch of pinball machines. As always when I find myself surrounded by pinball machines, I searched for the one Katie and I experienced as children. She will back me up on this--we believe it was S&M themed. YES, SERIOUSLY. All I remember is there was a picture of a sexy woman in black leather with big black hair, and when the ball hit a certain point, her voice would croon, "Don't touch me THERE!"

It was horrifying.

Anyway, it wasn't there. In fact, there were actually NEW pinball machines. Like a "Tron: Legacy" pinball machine. Which was weird. It was like a version of 2011 where the internet didn't happen. My life without Google flashed before my eyes. It was grim.

We drank a few beers and right when we decided it was about time to go, a guy in a Mexican wrestling mask walked in. He was about 5'4", 110 pounds. When we noticed him, Teo muttered to us, "Hey, Nacho Libre over here..." and we grimmaced with him. Next thing we know, the guy in the mask lifted it off his face and screamed directly into Teo's ear,

"JACK BLACK WAS A BITCH!!!" (<--Please imagine this also in 72pt font, it really drives the point home.)

We all sat straight up in our chairs, our eyes round as saucers. The man put his mask back over his head and walked on. God, humans are weird. Sajid laughed and said, "I think he was joking." Teo wiped the side of his face and said, "It didn't FEEL like he was joking." We were still chuckling when Jared came over and asked, "Who was just screaming? It wasn't the guy in the mask, was it? Yeah, he tried to light my face on fire."

Amazing.

Really, it was a great long weekend. Joe and I both loved Seattle. Here's what we realized: we were both raised in the suburbs and have fond memories of suburban living: riding bikes, playing in the yard, that kind of thing. But we like the options of activities that a city gives us. What's great about Seattle is that is has the feel of a suburb (clean, quiet, safe), with the amenities of a city (restaurants, bars, public transportation, museums). We were both quite impressed. Also the only litter we saw ever was Starbuck's related, which I find fitting. It was definitely the kind of city I could see myself living in, if only it offered me anything professionally. Sadly I don't work for Amazon and can't work from home quite yet, so it's not an option for now. Oh well! It was a great place to visit, and with our married friends there (and a few aunts out that way) we have an excuse to go back!

Here are a few pictures from the trip, just to prove that I actually DID go there.

(That's me, eating one of the best donuts from one of the best donut places ever, Top Pot. If you are in or around Seattle, go there immediately)

(My view from the plane, obv, as the Space Needle doesn't go THAT high. That's Mount Rainier)

(Pike Place Market. AKA, Tourists Walking Around Without Looking Where They're Going, plus a lot of fish.)

(See? Fish. GROSS. People were touching them. It was horrifying. You always hear about Pike Place and how they throw the fish, but it's really more of an occasional toss, so I didn't get a picture of it. I had to settle for these monsters with their mouths open and their eyes all looking at me. Shut up, fish, quit looking at me like that. If I had my way you'd still be alive in the ocean.)

Scenes From A Camera Phone

2011-09-01T13:18:00.013-07:00

Okay guys. This one is a doozy. It is officially September now, and what better time to reflect on the past year than in September (I know, it makes no sense. Work with me here. It's Adrienne's birthday, so let's say I'm reflecting on HER past year or whatever. JUST SHUT UP ALREADY I FELT LIKE DOING THIS AND I DIDN'T WANT TO WAIT UNTIL DECEMBER SO I'M DOING IT NOW AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME)

See? Do you see what you've done? You made me go all caps lock early in the post and scare away new people who are now nervous about what I might do or say next and don't appreciate getting yelled at, like you all clearly do.

HANYWAY. So I'm looking through my phone and realizing how many insane, random pictures I have in here of things I've observed. Now, if you don't have a camera on your phone, or a proper one as I'm pretty sure everyone over the age of 3 has a camera phone, you are missing out on the true reason to get one: random observational pictures. I am particularly fond of taking pictures of weird-looking people in Chicago or ads that give me Scrunch Face. It is up to you to determine what weird, nonsense things you take pictures of. Because it is a digital world and taking pictures of a dude with a big fro is no longer considered a waste of film, it is a miracle sent by baby Jesus. Not grown-up Jesus; he wouldn't stand for that kind of crap. But baby Jesus is probably cool with it.

God, I'm in a really weird mood right now, I'm sorry. MOVING ON.

So without further ado, here, in chronological order, are a crap ton of pictures of things I've taken pictures of, mostly in Chicago (except I squeezed in a few San Fran ones in there in the end. Sorry, SF, you aren't getting away so easy.)

This is one of Jane Lynch's costumes from Glee (and I love how long it was on the mannequin), and it was at Claire's, of all places. They had all this "I <3 Finn" and "I <3 That Asshole Guy With The Mohawk Who No One Should Love Because He Is The Worst" memorabilia, but NO "I <3 Sue Sylvester" stuff. Apparently Claire's is for 13 year-old girls and NOT 26 year-old women with emotional attachments to tall sassy women.

As promised, dude with a fro. AND HOW.

You know what? It wasn't MY fault that we were playing jenga next to a plate of nachos at the bar. I STILL refuse to take the fall for that. (Get it? FALL?!)

Praise be to the person who corrected this sign. It makes me eternally happy.

Fine. I give up on the why-do-female-mannequins-have-nipples fight because apparently it is a losing battle. But really, do we need MOOBS on our male mannequins? Can American men not picture an outfit unless it resembles their soft, shapeless form?

Joe and I joke that any time we see a sign like this (which says "best in town") we think of Elf. "YOU DID IT! Congratulations."

How. Amazing. Is. This. And how sad that I never look up and it took me months to notice.

This was at the wedding where the guy told us, "No offense, but you LOOK like you're from Chicago." Read that post. Then look at those blonde women. I rest my case.

At that same wedding, we looked around and realized that there was a potential mob boss at every table. The man was at a wedding reception in an undershirt. I was 100% terrified of him.

Mullet fauxhawk. Sadly, this combo is not like where you THINK that fries and shake will not mix and then you try them and are pleasantly surprised.

I don't even know what to do with this bumper sticker. Are you mocking? Are you serious? I don't know how to feel! And yet I love it!

For an apartment finder company in Chicago. That's some of the best graffiti I've seen to date.

You can't tell from this picture, but this was rush hour. REALLY, sir? REALLY?!

Oh this was one of the best. This was a man in a suit, pushing himself around the el car with his feet while in a wheelchair, eating a pint of ice cream with a screwdriver. At 8 in the morning.

This is, from head to toe, what Joe wears 90% of his waking life. The Gap, you just blew my mind.

Why.

Either Nick Cannon is REALLY good at balancing food in a bag, or someone with my same level of abilities at Photoshop had some fun with the drop shadow.

I'm sad, I forgot about this guy when I put together my post recently about the cute things I accidentally drew. Look at how adorable he is!

That is a woman. Walking a dog. With another dog in a stroller. All three of them have the same hair.

Science nerd humor in advertising. I'm Emily, and I support this message.

Reasonable prices? For whom, Whole Foods? The Queen?

Does anyone look at this and NOT see Robin Williams?

The funny thing is, this man only looks about 150 pounds from the front.

Lest you think I'm size-ist from that last picture of the big guy, here is a girl who was SO skinny, her jeggings did not hug her ankles. It was scary. I hope she is okay.

Obligatory Adorable Old Man Photo

I bank while picking out my wedgie.

This guy could hardly walk because he was low-riding his skinny jeans and it looked RIDICULOUS.

This picture isn't weird, it was just my first trip to Chick-fil-a and I wanted you all to be jealous.

Oh so fine, I go away for ONE extended weekend and THESE GUYS show up?!?! BAH!! WHAT IS THE POINT.

As soon as Adrienne and I poured our "Butterbeer" (aka Butterscotch liqueur and cream soda) in celebration of having seen all 8 Harry Potter movies together, an impressionable 10 year-old boy sat down next to us. Whoopsie.

Was this Halloween? Was this a costume party? No. This was a group of ladies out on the town. And one of them had on a mask. And she didn't even have the decency to sing "Music Of The Night."

Obligatory Old People Standing Weird Photo

So....this exists.

Basically everything you need then? I mean, it's practically a Wal-Mart.

BUT WHERE?!?!?!?!?

One way I know Joe and I are meant to be together is our creepy ability to know what is going on with the other person when not with them. The day everyone got laid off, I had had a COUPLE PBRs and texted him a schmoopy text saying "I love you SO MUCH." and his response: "You're eating fries, aren't you?" I sent back this picture.

I have such glee at the fact that my air conditioner goes to eleven.

Old couple wearing weird shoes. I don't know, it seemed funny at the time. Leave me alone, they can't all be winners.

This was parked a few blocks from my house. I don't even know what to tell you about it. I mean, I guess good that the driver of this vehicle does not believe murder is the answer...but do you have to be so "if the Manson Family killed someone in a car" about it?

This was at Asian-style group karaoke last weekend. That is Hootie and the Blowfish "Let Her Cry" and we were informed that the hip hop dancing in the background was by the "Korean Usher." Obviously this makes sense.

And that has been my favorite pictures from the past 12 months! I hope I have encouraged you to take a few more stealth photos yourself.

And I Feel Fine

2011-08-30T14:37:00.006-07:00

Sorry about the lack of blogging 'round these parts lately. I've been in a slump. I basically get halfway through a sentence before I mutter "aw, screw it" and put something from Netflix back on.

The best part about being unemployed is the sheer amount of Hulu Plus and Netflix Instant I am able to fit into my day while still being a functional person. I also spend extra time at the gym and go on extensive walks along the lake, clean my studio (OH MY GOD WHERE HAVE YOU GONE, DISHWASHER?! YOU ARE MY ONLY FRIEND), hang out with people, etc etc. AND STILL. I complete whole television series within a week. It's glorious. Absolutely glorious. Part of the reason I do this, I'm convinced, is because I grew up in a large family and a small house. I hated it at the time and wanted privacy, particularly during the whole "gross I have to wear a bra this is SOOOOO EMBARRASSIIIIIIING" phase. But now it's what I'm used to. I'm used to there being voices and interruptions and people walking in and out and through at any given moment. So brushing my teeth or washing dishes now in complete silence is practically torture. So I have Netflix and Hulu and they are magical. I don't know how I survived before without them. I probably had thoughts. LAME.

Louis CK has this bit where he says he's divorced and when people say "aww" he's all, don't be sorry for me. I was in a terrible marriage and now I'm not. I'm actually happier now than I have been in a decade. You should be applauding for me. (Obviously he says it in a funny way, that's just my boring interpretation.)

That's how I feel about unemployment right now. People ask me what's new and I feel compelled to tell them that I was laid off recently. Because that is honestly what's new. I mean, I totally am the awkward kind of person who might try to not mention it and then end up knee deep in lies about how their job is going which they currently don't even have, but I just don't have the strength for that kind of storytelling. Not for something without dragons and a karate-kicking princess.

So I tell people I'm unemployed and they all have one of two reactions: "Oh, I'm so sorry!" with that pained look on their face, or a totally uncomfortable "Aw jeez I wish I hadn't even asked" *single finger collar pull*.

And I try to explain that it's totally fine. In fact, it's not just fine. It's actually pretty much awesome. I hated what I was doing, every single day I was doing it. And I'm not a 45 year old with kids to feed who'd have an excuse to hate their job, I was just a miserable 26 year old, whittling away the best years she's got. Now I get to actually enjoy the amazing weather we've been having. I go to the gym in the middle of the day and I still have time to come home, shower, and go out. I get to watch absurd amounts of things on the internet. Basically, every day is Saturday for me. I have no family to support, no medical bills to pay off. What I'm saying is, I'm having a kick ass time, despite a downtick in funds. Do not feel sorry for me, do not feel sorry for asking.

Their response to my positive response? "Sure! You WILL be fine! You're young. You'll land on your feet!" they say, consoling me. "....So are you applying for jobs?"

Bah.

Improv Level B

2011-08-26T07:00:00.002-07:00

So, as I've said, I've decided to take the next level of improv classes. Despite my horrific showing during the after-class improv pick-up game, I think I'm generally pretty good at it. And I of course mean "Level A good". I'm no Colin Mochrie here, I mean come on.

And really, is anyone?

Oh my god, the majesty of that gif. The majesty.

So anyway, I'm not sure what else to say about it. But people seem to be curious about it so here goes. Second City does a good job of easing you into the situation until suddenly you're creating scenes with people and you had no idea. All of a sudden you're just in the middle of one. What's great is the scenes don't necessarily last very long and no one expects you to be hilarious. There are plenty of scenes where I've gotten a slight pity chuckle and then put out of my misery by the teacher calling "Scene!" And there are times when I feel like I have the scene in the palm of my hand and people are laughing. There was one where I was a gym rat working on my pecs, and another where I was a bored teenager slouched so low in my chair I was almost laying down. Those were both fun. I could have kept doing those scenes all day. Then there was the one where we were nudist paintings and I said nothing except somehow a Lost reference (I don't even know), or one where we were picking out prom dresses and it went absolutely nowhere. I think that's kind of the fun about it--you're not always amazing. I mean, is anyone ever 100% great at what they do? Except, like...Mozart, It's what makes those successes so much sweeter, when you've already failed a bunch of times.

Besides that class, I'm taking another one at a place called Improv Olympic called "Talk Show Portfolio." Basically you learn how to write two-liner jokes, like the ones on Weekend Update or the Tonight Show. Once you take that class you get into Sketch Writing and then Spec Script writing. If you want to be a sitcom writer, you submit a few spec scripts of shows that are already running. That's how Mindy Kaling got her job writing for the Office: she wrote a spec script for Arrested Development. So I'm starting with the joke-learning. Once the class is done, I'll likely be in San Francisco so I can't take the next two from iO, but hopefully there's something comparable if I want to keep going. I just keep telling people, "I don't know exactly what they have in San Francisco, but Robin Williams lives there so there's gotta be something."

I figure it's now or never if I really want to go into another kind of writing in time to be discovered and put on screen next to Tom Hanks before I get all wrinkly and droopy and get typecasted as the school marm. So I'm testing the waters. And maybe I'll know where I stand a little bit better before I move.

Anyway, that's the story with that! I'm sorry this wasn't more funny. It's weird, it's like I can't be funny when I'm talking about being funny. God, I need to quit digging this hole. It's getting steep.

A Love Letter to Advertising

2011-08-23T07:30:00.008-07:00

I guess it wasn't love at first site, Advertising. There must have been dozens of cookie and action figure ads...your attempts at capturing my attention that I just let fly past me, unaware you were trying to court me.

No, it wasn't until Tabasco. A man ate a pizza drenched in it. Smiling, he let a mosquito bite him. Then, after flying away for a second, the mosquito exploded. An enormous, tiny explosion. That was when I knew, Advertising. That's when I knew I loved you.

I started following you around with puppy dog eyes, hoping you'd notice me. Little did I know, you were trailing me along with a sly smirk. People told me I'd never have you because only someone who REALLY wanted you could ever catch you. Thing was, I REALLY wanted you.

And I caught you.

Our love blossomed at first. It was my first relationship, though, and it wasn't as easy as I dreamed it would be. But you were good to me. You let me be myself: funny sometimes, or serious when I wanted to be. You showed me you had flaws. And you showed me you had secret bits of perfection, too.

They say when you live through a tragedy together, it can bring you closer. I'm not so sure that's true of you and I. I always try to tell myself that I didn't know Paul that well, but it's hard to recover from something like that when you're still so impressionable.

You hurt me early. And lately I've felt nothing but hurt from you, Advertising. For some reason, it seems I only remember the bad times any more. You've become uninteresting and unreliable. Or am I the one who has become that way? That's the thing about long term relationships: you're never quite sure who's the problem, you just know there is one.

I keep grasping for that first lovestruck feeling I had for you. I miss that version of you. The one that wanted me to be my best. I wanted us to be so simple. To get along so well that we turned heads.

Maybe this break from each other is for the best, Advertising. Maybe we need some time to think. At least I do. I'm not sure where our love is failing, quite. Maybe it's a bit from both of us. Maybe I need to change my attitude, but you could stand to relax, too. I want to become that person again. The one who fell in love with a mosquito.

Until next time,

Emily

Hitting-On Situation, Part 2

2011-08-22T12:32:00.009-07:00

Every once in a while, my subconscious gets very guilty about not posting and sends me a dream to kick myself in high gear. Last night I had a dream that someone had written a review of my blog, giving it good reviews, but telling people to skip the ones about work, particularly all the posts about my former coworker (whom I have never blogged about and will likely never blog about because he is simply a nice man with whom I have no beef.) SO FINE. FINE, BRAIN. I WILL WRITE A POST THAT IS NOT ABOUT WORK. HAPPY?!

I was hit on again this weekend. And it could not have been further from my previous experience the week before. Check it, check it:

I was dressed and ready for the gym: no makeup, falling apart Nikes, headband, ugly old baggy tshirt from that team-building exercise '99...you know. The kind of clothes I will inevitably be wearing when I run into all my ex-boyfriends.

There was an old man power-walking past the door right when I walked outside. Rut-roh, another "walkward" situation. But this was an old man. He was over 70 if he was a day, with his shoulders permanently hunched and his socks so high they were touching the bottom of his shorts. I figured I would easily pass him and move on.

"Hi." He said.
"Hello." I smiled, and start walking. But here's the thing: that was one fast, old, hunchbacked man. He was keeping up.
"I used to live in this apartment. I paid $60 a month for a studio."
"Heh heh...wow..." I said. Because I don't know if I've mentioned this, I AM AWKWARD. "It's...I pay for...that's not what it is now..." I mumble, trying to remember how to be a functioning person and figure out how long I now have to keep up this conversation.
"How much are you paying now?"
"Uh, about $600 for a studio. So, a little bit more."
"Ah. Well if you ever need a roommate!"

BRAIN PAUSE! WHAT?! Wait, was that a joke? Or were you being suggestive? Moving on, moving on, he's just a dirty old man, moving on.

"You walking to work?" he said.
"No, I'm going to the gym right up there."
"Oh! I'll walk with you! I'm just parked up in Rogers Park, I've been walking around. Just sold my business so now I have time to just walk and walk and I'm just up this way so I can walk over a block with you."
"O....kaaaaay...uuuuurrrrhhhh, what business did you own?"
"Taxis. I just sold a bunch of my taxis to some Ruski. Bah, he seemed like a fine man. Strong, big shoulders. He's bought my taxis so now I just walk around here, getting in shape."
"Cool."
At this point we'd walked a few blocks. My gym is really close, and we were waiting at the light.
"Ah, I used to go to that barber." He said, pointing across the street. "Don't any more though. You know those Italians, they just talk and talk and talk." I smiled.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"I'm Emily."
"Emily! Hi, I'm Art Johnson, nice to meet you." He bulldozed through this next part like a pro. "So Emily, whaddya say I get your number, I can call you up we can go out sometime, we could go to a nice meal?"
"Oh, that's okay. I already have a boyfriend." (BRAIN PAUSE: "That's okay"?? What did he, spill water on me? PULL IT TOGETHER, EMILY.)
"Ah well. All the good ones are taken, am I right? Well Emily, I'm going to go on this way. You take care."
"Bye, you too."

I was totally blown away. This was by far the fastest I had met someone and been asked out, and by a septuagenarian no less. And it was glorious. I mean, weird and awkward and "REALLY?! with Seth and Amy" but still glorious. Because here's the thing: this man is old. He's doesn't have time to mess around. He sees a pretty girl (shut up shut up) and he goes for it. No time to ponder the 50 year age difference. Twinkies have gone bad between our births but WHO CARES, amiright?

It was such a stark comparison to last week, with a guy saying things like "yes it is difficult for me to work long hours because it means I do not have a girlfriend," to go to the old man saying "Hey nice to meet you why don't we go out sometime?" With an ACTUAL question that I could ACTUALLY answer. And then taking that answer, accepting it, and walking the hell away. I don't know if this is a generational difference or an age difference--if these men have never minced words, or if they grow out of it once they realize they're out of time and they should make the most of the few years they have left with their original teeth.

Either way, guys our age are not like that. Just the other day, I was talking to some friends and we agreed that an art show or art museum is a good place for a first date. I was thinking because it automatically provides conversation without dominating the night. But one guy friend said, "yeah and you have an out so it doesn't have to actually be a date." I imitated in my 'dude' voice, "No, I just meant we could go as friends, JEEZ" and he laughed and said, "Exactly!" *SIGHHHHHHHHHH*

I mean, I can't fault young guys for doing this. I'm guilty of it myself. I actually asked Joe out on our first date, via text (UGH, I know. Those youngins and their technology and their Pepsi and their Ninja Turtles and their Walkmans *Shakes fist*) but I didn't really specify if it was a date. I just said we should get food. I mean really, looking back, I should have assumed it was a date. Joe sure did. And we'd been flirting for weeks so it's not like it would be a surprise. But I was scared that he thought it was just some friendly pizza, so I spent a day in a dither about what to wear. Was this date-sexy or friend-casual? And it was lunch. And it was pizza. So I didn't know what to do. In the end, I wore my sexiest hoodie (no bleach stains) because I'm the kind of girl who has hoodies at different levels of sexiness.

While on the date, it became clear that it was actually a date and not two pals palling around, so I got off free without having to actually ask one way or the other. So what I'm saying is, I understand that it can be complicated. And scary, and an ego blow. But can't we all learn from Old Man Art and say what we mean just a little more often? Or at least learn to ask a girl out within 3 blocks or not at all.

Finally, The Truth

2011-08-17T06:00:00.004-07:00

Warning: this post is just about my personal life. If you're all, "Boo! Get back to disparaging Johnny Depp!" you can skip this one. May I suggest getting hooked on 2birds1blog?

Okay guys. I have a lot of truth to spill all up on your grill. It might get a little sloppy so I want to apologize in advance. (Also, that's what she said. But that's neither here nor there.)

I've been laid off. And it is totally and completely okay. In fact, it's not just okay. It's good.

Question: Did you write this post the day before you were laid off?
Answer: In fact I did.
Question: Yowza. Are you currently editing this post under the influence of a day's worth of PBR?
Answer: Y'all don't know me.
Question: Did your dinner consist of scavenged garlic fries and congealed nachos?
Answer: LAY OFF ME, I'M STARVING.

Yes. It happened. But in order for you to get the full picture, in the words of the great Lil' John, "Back back back it up."

Here are some life facts, coming at you in waves.

Let's all recall how about this time last year, I was hired full time at an ad agency after a long time of unsteady/no work. I was happy to have the money and dental appointments and treated myself to AN shopping spree at American Eagle. Because, yeah. I'm worth it. About three months later, my account was put up for review. Clearly this had nothing to do with me; it is literally a billion dollar account. So basically I've known since 2010 that my time at this job could be limited. So there's that.

Completely beside this point, I was miserable. I came home every day with a new boiling anger. There were tears. Often. It almost always had to do with interpersonal issues. But the ads I was making weren't making me happy, either. They always came out clunky, cheesy, boring, and once even misogynistic. I didn't know where I was going wrong. I stopped believing that I could even make a good ad. So why didn't I just ask to transfer? Well...

Elsewhere, Joe was in his final year at grad school and was looking for jobs in Chicago, but it wasn't going well. He was getting really down on himself. Somewhere along the way, we decided it would be okay if he started looking at other cities. That's when I wrote this post about potential cities where he had leads.

I figured it was silly of me to raise drama and awkwardness in the office by asking to be moved when Joe and I could have been moving across the country when he graduated in May. Add on the fact that I thought it would look bad to ask to be transferred off an account in review, and there I was, feeling stuck in limbo.

Eventually Joe got the contract job in San Francisco where he is now. What I haven't told you, though, is that the contract job is very likely to become full time. They told him that they had the intention to hire him once the 4 months was up. But since he hasn't signed any papers to that effect, we didn't want to make assumptions and move our lives out there prematurely. But there are tons of great ad agencies out there, so it wouldn't just be a good professional move for Joe, it would be one for me, too. The fly in the ointment was that I still had a full-time job and couldn't just pick up and go.

Well. While I was visiting Joe in San Francisco we found out that my agency lost the account (yes, when you are a billion-dollar company, it takes you 7 months to make a decision of this magnitude.) Which meant that I would probably be let go. So I've known Doomsday was coming for weeks.

I still couldn't mention any of this on the blog or Facebook because (and here's the HUBBA WHA? part) In a way, I wanted to be let go. (HUBBA WHA?! I told you.) What we realized is, if I got laid off then I could collect unemployment. Which means if I moved to San Francisco, I would have a (paltry but existent) income while I looked for work. But if people at work found out I was considering moving, I was afraid I would be denied it somehow. I mean, I don't know, maybe that makes no fiscal sense. I nearly failed BOTH macro- and microeconomics so you shouldn't listen to me. Alls I know is, I didn't want to negatively influence the decision either way. So I zipped my lid.

And in the end, I got let go with the rest of the crowd Tuesday morning and spent the day at the bar down the street. I'm not going to move to SF right away for a few reasons, but the biggest is because I signed up for the next level of improv (and I know I haven't talked about it since the day I complained about my failure, but it's going well and I plan to write about it soon.) and another writing class that I'm really excited about. Both of these classes run through the end of October, which was when we were originally planning the move anyway.

So what all this means:

- I am no longer miserable.
- But I am back to spending as little as possible.
- But I can get unemployment money.
- And I can freelance for different clients.
- It's very possible I will move to San Francisco before the end of the year.
- I will keep blogging from there and I'm sure there will be stories in pictures to be had.
- I can spend some time really considering what I want to do professionally, and figuring out if it's copywriting or some other form of writing/creating where I don't get turned down because my idea is "too funny." (OH IT HAPPENED.)
- Hopefully I will become "unemployed skinny" again, since I can work out all day and afford to eat nothing but air sandwiches.

Why I Don't Like Big Dogs

2011-08-16T07:00:00.000-07:00

PEOPLE OF THE INTERNET! PLEASE! *hammers gavel multiple times* PLEASE! SETTLE DOWN. LET THE WOMAN SPEAK.

It's true. I had an epiphany recently that, despite my previous statements of liking anything fuzzy, I kinda dislike big dogs.

Clarifications:

This is not a post about how cats are better than dogs. If you are looking for such a post, you will never find it here. I believe in the lyrics of that classic children's song:
"All God's critters got a place in the choir
so quit getting your pants in a bunch about it
and let's be friends, for Christ's sake."

This is also not a post in which I try to convince you to dislike big dogs. This is an epiphany all my own, with my experiences and biases.

I came to acknowledge my dislike the other day while walking home from the grocery store. I went to turn down a street and saw a large dog about a block away. I did one of those "Blurg! *shuffle shuffle" things, backed up, and kept walking down the original street, deciding to turn at the next block instead.

I started thinking: Why? What has that dog done? Nothing. Nothing except look large. What was it that made me want to avoid it? The reason, I realized, is twofold:

1. I'm scared of a lot of large dogs.

Dogs you don't know are unpredictable. You don't know if it is a Beethoven or a Cujo. And big dogs' jaws are designed to rip apart small to medium animals. My childhood friend's son was attacked by a large dog. And I have had a few run-ins (injury free but still terrifying) with large dogs myself while babysitting. And if you know me at all, you know there was no egging on for my part. (I mean, come on. I call Great Danes "puppies".) And yet I've seen my life flash before my eyes multiple times thanks to large dogs.

2. The big dogs that don't scare me...kind of annoy me.

Okay now here is where I'm sure I'll get some eye rolls, but big dogs that are nice are also often slobbery and overweight. And they LOVE to smell people's crotches. I don't know about you, but I enjoy nothing more than trying to shake my boyfriend's parents hand while also shoving a Labrador away from my crotch. Really leaves a good first impression.

So fine, maybe I have angered you. And for dudes, this opinion certainly doesn't make me a "cool" chick (see also, my disdain for sports)(But on the other hand please see my love of beer and occasional Star Wars references?) But I need to be honest with myself. I'm just not the biggest fan of large dogs.

I know, I know, big dogs save people from burning buildings and they're loyal and sweet and answer the phone for people who have no arms. And I'm sure most of them are lovely, wonderful creatures. But you have to admit it, they can't ALL be Shadow.

Ohhhh, Shadow! You were old and hurt and in a ditch and we thought you were too old and it was too far but you made it out! And you were so worried about Peter but really WE were so worried about YOU! SHADOW! Sha-ha-ha-dow! ARRRGGGALARRAAAHAAAAHHHH!--Wait, let me say something! Let me say something!--BLLRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Okay, everyone immediately go hug your pet. If you have a large dog, please give it a ham bone for me. God, this is like the Toy Story fandango all over again.

4 Things I Drew That Were Accidentally Adorable

2011-08-15T06:44:00.001-07:00

Bear with me as I give a little explanation about the basic structure of creative advertising, as it is important to explain how these drawings came to be.

People who create ads are split up into two groups: art directors and copywriters. One focuses on how the ad looks and specializes in graphic design and scrolling through hours of stock photos, and one focuses on how the ad sounds or reads and specializes in making people feel bad for not knowing the difference between "its" and "it's". Usually they put one of each together and you make ads with that one person. Sometimes I forget that most people don't know all this and talk about Jamie as my "partner" which gets a raised eyebrow until I clarify.

Brainstorming together, Jamie and I usually throw ideas at each other, scribble stuff down, figure out what we like, and then Jamie sketches something and I put together some basic copy. Once we feel we're getting the point across, we can show it to our Creative Directors and see what they think.

Sometimes, though, I have an idea that Jamie isn't seeing. So in order to show what I mean, I draw something quickly so she can create something much more lovely than I could. And sometimes they turn out accidentally awesome. Here are four I've made that I was particularly proud of.

This one was supposed to be a panel of judges at a food network show. You know how there is always some snooty British person? May I introduce the man on the left.

This was a woman surrounded by a bubble. Within her bubble was a meadow, even though she was really at home. She just looks so darn happy!

This is a woman picking up her nice-smelling dog. The dog looks so confused!

This one I couldn't find the real picture to scan it, I only found the picture I took of it. But it is Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Present. And isn't he the cutest, shocked-looking Scrooge you've ever seen? Look at his nightcap all blown back and everything!

Okay, that is all. Just wanted to share my accidental creativity with you all.

Why Am I So Freaking Awkward?

2011-08-12T05:00:00.004-07:00

Oh God, I had a hitting-on situation yesterday.

So I had to return my cable box to the cable company yesterday, and of course they were in the ass middle of Nowhere, Chicago. So from work I had to take two different buses to get there. It was one of those creepy, depressing business centers with nothing but street and one-story office buildings. If I had driven it would have been no big deal. But having to walk through it is another story. See, I'm used to my urban center. And suddenly I find myself unable to hold out my arms and feel a building at each fingertip and I am scared. Suddenly Chicago stops being home to hot dogs and blues and John Cusack. It is now home of murderers and gangs and Al Capone, the original Scarface.

Someone else got off the bus with me. A skinny guy in I.T. Business Casual (clothes that are too big, tucked into other clothes that are too big) and some kind of accent. Something middle easterny. I pulled out my phone to figure out exactly where to go next. He said, "Bradley Street is this way, yes?" And, having checked my phone and realized that was the street I was heading to as well, told him yes and then gave him a few feet of buffer so we didn't have to awkwardly walk next to each other or on each others' heels (Joe and I have coined this type of situation. We call it "walkward.")

But when we got to Bradley, he checked with me again to figure out where to go. I pointed to the building with the cable company's name on it in big letters, and the guy took this as a sign to start talking to me. Lovely.

He told me we had been on both buses together and mentioned something about how he remembered because he noticed how cute I was. Well that was nice, actually. I laughed awkwardly. It may have been a guffaw. Because what the hell should your reaction be when you are involuntarily hit on in the middle of your cable company's parking lot?

We both went inside where there were two glass windows with women behind them. We each returned the boxes we needed to return. He left and I slowly, sloooowwwwwwwwwwwwly put my wallet back in my purse. I slooooowwwwwwly zipped up my purse. I sat down at a chair and checked my phone for the directions home. All of this very timed. I figured by the time I got out the door, he'd at least be halfway back to the bus stop by then and I could avoid an awkward walk back.

He was waiting for me. Looking at his phone in the parking lot, but obviously waiting for me.

"I was waiting for you." He said.
"Mmmmff." I said.

He kept talking to me. I don't know what about. He went to school at DePaul I guess. I don't know what he was studying, it was hard to understand with the accent and with me so voraciously trying to ignore him. I tried to give as little input as possible. Yes or no answers. "Oh, okay." That kind of thing. GOD, WHY CAN BOYS NEVER TAKE A HINT?! Why do we have to be so PAINFULLY obvious with you people?! Do you REALLY need me to say "Listen, I'm not interested, please back off"? You're just being a nice guy, please don't make me be accidentally bitchy! And PS, I will tell you one thing right now: if we are interested in you, YOU WOULD KNOW. There would be a lot more eye contact, giggling, and arm grazes and a lot less "Uh huh, *text text*"

While we waited for the bus, I tried to bury myself in my phone. "Oh, reading a message from your boyfriend?" he said, laughing in a the-kind-of-guy-who-types-lol-after-every-sentence kind of way. Ah! The perfect out! All I'd have to say is, "Yes, in fact this is a message from my big strong muscular jealous linebacker with a gun boyfriend, Astronaut Mike Dexter," and I would be, as Blago would say, f*ing golden.

"No," I said.

WHAT?! WHY DID I SAY NO?! Why do I have to be so scared of lying?! And what was I going to say instead? The truth that I was just scrolling my Twitter feed to appear busy?

"Just reading a message from a friend."

..........................WHAT?!?!!?!?!?!?!?!?!??!?! WHY DO I BOTHER TO SAY WORDS?!?! GOD!!

Blech, so I failed the ultimate "leave me alone" tactic of bringing up the boyfriend who is NOT EVEN FICTITIOUS. Luckily the bus came quickly and I took the opportunity to walk briskly to a seat between two other people.

Here's the problem with other people: they are not there to be your personal buffer, and they often stand up and walk off the bus at a moment's notice. Jerks.

Cant Take A Hint McGee sat down next to me and said, "You know, I think I might go to the Target at Wilson so I would take the red line, too." WHY OH WHY had I told him I was getting off at the red line earlier?! Oh that's right because he already said he'd be taking a bus and I thought I'd be safe and home free. LIKE AN IMBECILE.

At this point I'd given up all hope of niceties. I raised my eyebrows and nodded and kept reading my book. At the next bus stop, someone else opened the back doors and saw my final glimmer of hope flash before my eyes. Without a second thought, I stood up and walked off the bus. Three blocks before my stop. Worried he'd gotten off with me but too scared to look back, I headed into the closest store. A 7-11. He was gone.

God bless you, 7-11. Bless you and your eight flavors of Combos.

I grabbed a cherry Slurpee (aka the nectar of the gods), paid my buck fifty and strolled out. It was the tastiest Victory Slurpee of Pathetic Awkwardness I'd ever had.

3 Things That Made Sense When I Grew Up

2011-08-11T08:45:00.009-07:00

I was a pretty innocent child. I had little interest in making trouble (apparently when I was a toddler I was Hell on Legs but I mean AFTER that.) As I grew up, my fantasies with boys involved a LOT of snuggling and very little else. The occasional fantasy make-out session was not unheard of, but it was likely in a library or after a rousing reenactment of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. I watched Friends, but mostly because I thought Chandler had a funny way of talking, not because I wanted to emulate their lifestyle. Besides, they were ADULTS. They were, like....in their TWENTIES.

So I don't understand why people--people MY age--get up in arms about the shows kids these days are watching. I don't think we give kids enough credit for their innocence.

Actual Conversation:
Girl: Have you seen iCarly?! They have such adult conversations It's forcing kids to become older than they are!
Me: Yeah, maybe. Then again, I used to watch Night Court.

It's true. I did. And damn me if I understood a single word those people were saying, but I LOVED that show. Or maybe I just loved John Larroquette. Hmm. Regardless, every generation thinks that the generation younger than them is going to Hell in a handbasket because of the shows and movies and news they're surrounded by. (PS that phrase always makes me think of this image)

Awwww! Handbaskets are so cute!

Wait, where was I? Oh right, how everyone always thinks kids are screwed. But really, I think we forget that kids do not have the knowledge, experience, and life biases that we do. 3/4 of the stuff thrown at them goes over their heads. And the other fourth gets taken in, processed, and decided upon. Because they are human beings, not robots. But most of it? Most of that "adult" stuff we let them watch? It's called "adult" for a reason--kids don't get it.

If you don't believe me, here are three things I simply DID NOT GET as a child.

1. Grease

I don't know why Grease is considered such a family-friendly movie. It boggles my mind. That is a dirty, DIRTY movie. The thing is, though, I had no idea it was dirty as a kid. All I knew was there were a lot of parts in the movie I didn't understand.

Eventually (but while still young) I was informed that the movie was kind of dirty and I started looking for things. But with my innocent, untainted mind, I still had no idea what was going on. Remember the scene when Rizzo climbs down the drainpipe to meet the boys and she says "eat your heart out" to Danny? Well, from what I could tell, Danny responds "Stop your sex just ain't my style." Which...I guess made sense. I didn't really get what it meant. Then one day it hit me--I wasn't even watching the movie, I just thought about it for AN second and realized he had said "sloppy seconds ain't my style."

And like that, all the pieces of Grease started coming together. I started thinking about lyrics I had previously ignored or glossed over and realized what sick, twisted words were going in one ear and out the other. It became so strange to me that we all danced to "Greased Lightning" in the 6th grade. Like, we're all willing to ignore the fact that John Travolta sings "you know that ain't no sh*t, we'll be gettin' lots of t*t" just so we can punch our fists up and out. White people go crazy for dancing to Greased Lightning. "You mean we get to fist pump...IN UNISON?! And then we get to CLAP?! SIGN ME UP!" But seriously that song has nothing on Eminem for dirty, sexist lyrics. And yet children have been dancing around in their living room to that song for literally DECADES. Has Family Guy REALLY caused that much trouble?

2. Tracy Chapman, Fast Car

A lovely song about a woman who likes driving in a car with her loved one. We had this album on tape and listened to it all the time when I was about 5. This one was Katie's favorite song on the album and I thought she was SO BORING for liking it. It's about a woman driving a car! What's so great about that?! I doubt Katie, an 8-year-old suburbanite, understood that the song was about the socioeconomic issues behind a woman's lower-class life and relationship, but it took ME until I was 26 to actually listen to the lyrics and realize how much is actually in this song. Which, admittedly, is probably longer than it should have taken me. (Also, check out this great cover)

3. Gin-flavored Limes

When I was little, I loved lemons and limes. I know, I know--I was a WEIRD child. And whenever we went to my aunt's house, the adults would drink drinks with limes in them. This was as far as my understanding went. They sat around drinking drinks with limes and talking about boring adult stuff. I had too many other, more fun things to be doing. I had too many Playmobil toys that needed wheelchairs to care. But every once in a while I'd come by my parents, make sure they were talking about me, and ask for their limes.

When I finally started drinking gin (ie, like last year because I am embarrassingly un-classy) I realized then, and only then, that gin and tonics remind me of my aunt. Because I had been eating gin-soaked limes as a young child and had no idea. Was I a drunk 6-year-old? Is that why I decided to get spiked hair and a tail? The world may never know.

I'll tell you one thing that still makes no sense to me, though: Mary Poppins.

Now, don't get me wrong, I loves me some Dick Van Dyke dancing with penguins. But you have to admit, that movie makes no sense. WHY ARE THERE MEN ON A ROOF SHOOTING OFF A CANNON?! WHY DOES LAUGHING MAKE YOU FLOAT?! It's one of those things I always figured I'd understand when I got older and then I got older and realized, NOPE. That stuff is just completely insane. I guess they were trying to make a movie about a child's imagination. But it wasn't MY imagination, so I thought it was just weird.

I'd love to hear some from you guys. What did you only understand once you got older? What do you STILL not understand? I wanted to make a huge list of these but I couldn't think of very many, even though I know there are a million. So help me out! Please?

How's Blank?

2011-08-09T07:00:00.003-07:00

Lately I've been getting the same 5 questions. I'm actually pretty impressed. 5 questions means people know 5 different things about me and know that there may be updates in any of the five worth sharing. Frankly I'm impressed. Although everyone's knowledge of me may be due to my ability to grotesquely overshare on the internet.

Hmm.

Oh well. I thought I'd catch the rest of you all up in one fell swoop by answering the same questions you may be wondering yourself.

How's Joe?

He's great. (Mini explanation: He's in San Francisco working a contract job for 4 months.) He's in a city with a plethora of coffee shops and restaurants. Let me break it down for you. Joe : Cafes as Little Foot : The Great Valley. I'm sure you understand.

(*obligatory moment of silence for Little Foot's mother, may she rest in peace*)

Joe is enjoying his job, he likes the people, he likes the work, and he's doing well at it, from what I can tell. He has a few friends in San Fran so he hasn't been totally on his own the whole time. Plus, he makes friends easily so he's already found a few peeps to see his nerd movies with.

How are you doing without Joe?

I'm actually doing better than I thought I would be. Perhaps it is because I know there is a clear end in sight. Perhaps it is because Skype helps us see each other's faces all the time. Perhaps it is because I am a grown ass woman who does not need a man to make her life feel fulfilled and has better things to do than pine over her lost love such as hanging out with friends, taking improv classes and watching instant Netflix to fill the silence. Take your pick.

How was San Francisco?

I know I only really touched on it earlier, so I will add to what I told you before and say: it's hard to tell. Since Joe had to work 3/5 of the days I was there, I spent a lot of time by myself. And, while I enjoyed the city and traveling around, I think it's more fun to explore with a buddy after a while. Like...okay. There were these fuchsia flowery vines all over houses in the city. I think they actually were literally fuchsia the flower (Google search aaaaaaaand....no they were not. Well whatever.) They were pretty. And I'M SORRY, I wanted a picture of myself next to them. I'm a THAT GIRL. Sue me. See, I have these dull grey-blue eyes that turn insane, Alec Baldwin blue in bright light near bright colors. But I couldn't just take a picture of myself next to these flowers because that's awkward. That's when you need a travel buddy around, to take a picture of yourself doing things. I actually tried to, pathetically, because I thought I could do it subtly with my front-facing camera. Well, one squint-eyed attempt and some lady passed me and said "I can take that for you!" NO FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET AWAY FROM ME I WILL NOT BE THE CREEPY GIRL ASKING STRANGERS TO TAKE PICTURES OF HER NEXT TO FLOWERS DANGLING FROM SOMEONE'S RANDOM FENCE. I quickly put my camera down, said something incoherent and ran the other direction.

Side note, What is it with people offering to take pictures of you when you're trying to take it yourself? I kind of like the occasional picture of people squeezing into the bottom of a frame. For one thing, the smiles are more natural because you are not saying "cheese" to some idiot in a Hawaiian shirt and for another thing, strangers always seem to know how to cut a picture at the perfect place to make me look horrifyingly obese.

So...that's how San Francisco was?

How is the apartment?

I have one window.
In that window is an air conditioning unit which I am not allowed to take in or out.
That a/c unit also sucks up 9/10 of the electricity in the apartment. So if I want to microwave something for longer than 2 minutes or use my hair dryer to dry my entire head, I blow a fuse. It's one of those things that, when I look at starving children in Africa, feels like a stupid thing to complain about. Oh, I cannot cook my plethora of food AND cool off my apartment from its balmy 80 degrees AND make myself look beautiful all at the same time, my life is JUST. SO. HARD. But seriously it's every other day and I'd really like it to stop.

Then there's the fridge fiasco. When I moved in, the fridge was hardly cold. I tried the dial at both ends of the spectrum and nothing worked. My milk spoiled in a week. And if you must know one weird thing about me, it's...well, it's that I'm scared of whales. But if you must know ANOTHER weird thing about me, it's that I am sickened by milk that is above 32 degrees Fahrenheit. People who say they don't like skim because it has no flavor? That is WHY I like skim. So imagine my chagrin when, a week after buying my milk, I discovered it had gone off. There was wretching. So I called my maintenance guy and he came while I was in SF. Upon my return I discovered that my water and a tub of cottage cheese had frozen all the way through. Well that's lovely, isn't it? I checked the dial, it was at THREE. OUT OF FIVE. I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT POSSESSES MY FRIDGE. Again, it feels pretty #firstworldproblems to complain that my fridge keeps my food TOO fresh but seriously. I've now been living off of pretzels and Twizzlers just to avoid the whole fridge situation all together.

How's work?

If you're really curious you'll need to do some sleuthing because I won't say anything that might get me in trouble. But there has been a recent shake-up in the world of advertising in Chicago and I am mixed up in it. I haven't done anything personally, I'm just a casualty. Nothing has happened around the office as a result yet, but that is a very large "yet". It would be type 72 font if I could figure out how to do that on Blogger.

And so those are my life updates thus far. More to come on the horizon.

3 Things I Learned About San Francisco:

2011-08-03T08:45:00.005-07:00

To be honest, I had a great trip. The weather was nice, the coffee was great, and I appreciate any place whose top two foods are bread and avocados. Now I have three things to share that I didn't know about San Fran and they are going to sound like I am complaining, but that is just my way and you will have to take it with a grain of salt because honestly I did like the city in general.

1. The public transportation system goes all over, but it is a hot, hot mess.

The Bart (the subway) is not connected to the other modes of transportation, governmentally, but it is physically. The buses and street cars have a different card, and there are multiple ways to pay and transfer. It made my eyes water in frustration when I tried to figure it out. Joe had to talk me off a few ledges.

2. No one sent SF the memo that they don't have to hand-paint their signs.

Perhaps this is leftover sentiment from being hippie central, perhaps it is a newer concept brought from Mexico. Perhaps it is maintained by hipsters and independent shops. But my word, San Francisco has a lot hand-painted signs.

They are also really big into hand-painted murals. There was a page about this in my Touristy Tourism book but I forgot to read it and then left it with Joe. So the murals are still a big mystery.

3. When you walk out the door, bring more layers than Joey wearing Chandler's clothes.

Could he BE wearing any more clothes?

I'm sorry, you think the weather in Chicago is unpredictable? Just because it rains once a week? In San Fran, you walk out the door and it is chilly and overcast. By noon it is sunny and warm. By evening a frost has settled upon your nose. So I walked around with a cardigan, hoodie AND fleece on--AT ONCE--and gradually stripped them off and then put them back on again throughout the day. If you are at the Golden Gate bridge you will want some kind of parka. And if you are at the Bay Bridge, a bikini will do fine. And keep in mind that the two are a FIFTEEN MINUTE DRIVE FROM EACH OTHER. Microclimates are WEIRD.

GASP!

2011-08-02T14:10:00.004-07:00

I forgot! I was going to blog today!

To be honest with you, I had the option to either post pictures from San Francisco here or to my personal Facebook wall. Both felt like an amazing amount of overkill seeing as most of the pictures were for the benefit of Joe's mother. Also, it is not very easy to post pictures to Blogger because from my Top Security Entry Page, it's still in secret coding language and each picture takes up a paragraph of letters and symbols that apparently = a picture. Suffice it to say, any blog post you've seen here that has a lot of pictures took me all day to compile and organize. Don't even get me started on that damn Glee post.

I need to ponder a bit more before I decide what to say about San Francisco, but I think you guys will get a little more of an in-depth analysis here, a la my post about what I learned when I went to LA.

I will give you one picture to whet your appetite, though.

And I really do mean that.

Can't Talk. Busy Eating Rice-A-Roni.

2011-07-28T09:02:00.002-07:00

Hey kids! I'm in San Francisco visiting Joe (yippee!) for a bit, so posting might be sporadic at best. I'm back to Chicago on Tuesday. Expect at least 1 post about how I am lost and alone in a new city (while Joe is at work) and trying to navigate a city that has a rather confusing public transit system.

Remember all that complaining I did about the el not going anywhere but into the city and back out again? No? Well I do. And anyway, I take it all back.

I Want To Live In A Giant Glass Box, Or: The MSI's Month At The Museum

2011-07-27T07:00:00.003-07:00

FINALLY! I can tell you about the puppet situation. I knew you were all dying to hear about it.

So remember when I showed you the nerdiest thing I'd ever done: make a puppet and have it recite the Brady Bunch theme song? But I couldn't tell you why?

Well I can finally tell you why!

Last year, Chicago's Museum of Science and Industry had an awesome idea: "Month At The Museum." They had someone live in their museum for an entire month. They decided to do it again this year, and applications were due on Monday so I can tell you about it now because it will be too late for you all to apply and beat me! BWA HA HA HA HA!

Facts about Month At The Museum:

1. There is a glass box in the museum where you are expected to hang out in for a bit every day. But you are also allowed to walk around the museum and talk to people and explore the exhibits. This is the girl from last year in her glass case of emotion:

2. You don't sleep or shower in the glass box, there are private rooms for such things. So don't worry, no one sees your bits.

3. Things you DO do (tee hee...doodoo): Talk to kids and strangers, blog every day, maintain a Twitter and Facebook account, sleep in exhibits, learn about science. Hi, SERIOUSLY? How awesome would I be at this gig? REALLY AWESOME. *Does the dancing banana dance to relieve nervous/excited tension*

4. You are cut off from real life. No personal Facebook or phone calls or nothin'. You are the museum's hamster for the month and I am fine with it. It'll be like living in 2002. You know, the Stone Age.

5. You don't go to work, so I would have to take a month unpaid leave. But you DO get $10,000! Question: Do I currently make ten grand a month at my job? Answer: Does Rory Gilmore make good romantic decisions? Clearer Answer: Heck no.

6. The girl who won last year, Kate, was AWESOME and totally hard to live up to. She was funny, adorable, energetic...everything I hope I would be but am terrified I would fall short of. A big problem, too, is that we seem really similar at first. Young white girls living in Chicago without a science background. I doubt the museum wants everyone to think they're type casting, especially since this second time around might also be the last time. "Hey, remember when the museum asked the same girl to live in the museum for two years?"....I get it. But I also think I would kick major tail at it. So the best I could do when applying was show off my differences (Like, for example, my puppet skillz), make sure they see how amazing I would be at this gig even if I am similar to Kate in some ways, and keep my lips shut when talking to friends so that no one else would apply and further ruin my chances. (Again with the evil laughter)

Last year 1500 people applied for the month. I think it's possible the numbers will go two ways: Either they'll be astronomically bigger because more people will have heard about it after all the press from last year, OR it will dwindle down to way way less people because Kate will make people doubt their own levels of coolness. Which, of course, would be very sad because I'm sure there are tons of people who would do really well. But of course I'm secretly hoping this is the case so they will be forced to choose me and my awkward charm.

For now, I sit and await the verdict. They won't notify anyone about the next round until mid-September, and the official month starts mid-October. They do phone interviews and then have people come in. AND they had us all create a 60 second video which they have everyone vote on. I don't think the voting determines the winner, but it might help sway them once they see who the public likes. So nothing to do but sit and wait for now and continue to live like the kind of person who would live in a museum without a second thought. But when the time comes and they post my video (because I'm nothing if not a positive thinker) you all WILL vote for me. Yes?

The Business of Being Nauseated

2011-07-26T07:00:00.004-07:00

I'm not exactly sure what I was thinking.

Due to rain and other cancellations, my busy day yesterday turned into a lot of me scanning my apartment for things to do. My eyes landed on Netflix streaming, as they do. I decided it was finally time to watch one of my instant documentaries I put on my list with the best of intentions. You know the kind. "Oh, it sounds so interesting! It's a tribute by the director to his murdered childhood friend!" But then a year later you still haven't watched it and you realize...when am I EVER going to be in the mood to watch that??

So it goes with this documentary I watched last night. It was produced by Ricki Lake. I mean, I don't think I need to add anything else, but I'll go on just in case that somehow did not convince you that this was a great idea. It was called "The Business of Being Born". I thought it was going to be about how insanely expensive baby stuff is and how they're trying to convince us to buy all this stuff but really all we need is our own breasticles and the baby will be fine.

So yes, I knew there would be babies involved. And while I am not about to have a child, I found the idea interesting. I have a niece, I think of these things. Very Fahrenheit 911 but with babies and consumerism.

Well let me tell you. This was not what the movie was about AT ALL. It was, in fact, about how women should not have babies in hospitals and we have it all wrong, and the women of northern Europe (the place where people always doing everything RIGHT, apparently) are using midwives and having babies the right way and they are not dying like apparently women in the US are.

THINGS I LEARNED FROM THIS DOCUMENTARY:

1. Laying on your back with your knees to your ears is a terrible way to have a baby. It makes your pelvis smaller and makes it hurt way more. (Ich...bleck)

2. The epidural takes away pain but slows down the process so they add a different drug to speed it up, which brings the pain higher so they add more epidural which slows it down and they add the other drug and eventually your baby is like "EFF THIS NOISE" and gets very upset and you end up having to get a cesarean.

3. Having a baby is an INSANE process and whoever thought it up needs to have their BRAIN CHECKED.

I'm not really that squeamish about babies being born. Which is weird because I can't even watch fake people being fake cut open on Grey's Anatomy. But pull that baby out all white and covered in goo with a slimy chord attached to his stomach and I sit there, unblinking into the night.

But MY GOD, there were at least 6 babies born in this movie to show the process of at-home births and how "beautiful" it is and what not and like....CHRIST. One woman did it while squatting on the floor. ON THE FLOOR.

In the end, they've got me thinking about it. The most I'd ever thought about myself possibly delivering a baby was "let's avoid that whole situation as much as possible." But they bring up some very good arguments and now I've turned into another crunchy hippie, ready to climb into the bathtub and focus on my breathing. When the time comes, of course.

For anyone who is not squeamish about babies and is curious about what the deal is with midwives OR wants to see a lot of nekkid pregnant ladiez, check it out. But if you want an exposé on formula like I did and the idea of a newnewnewborn makes your insides feel like they're on your outsides...maybe sit this one out.

Life List: The First 50

2011-07-25T07:20:00.005-07:00

(Me, on the right, distinctly NOT seizing the day two years ago.)

So I've been inspired by other blogs to make a Life List. Otherwise known as a Bucket List, but I feel weird pulling a phrase from something I've heard Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson say in sync. So it is my Life List. And it is halfway done.

With Joe gone, some slow days at work, and my improv classes has sprouted a new feeling in me. A feeling that can only be described (and I apologize but it's true) as Carpe Diem. But like LEGITIMATELY feeling it, not just reading an inspirational quote from Dr. Seuss or Yoda on your friend's Facebook info section and thinking for one second that you SHOULD, in fact, live in the moment...before you realize that Say Yes To The Dress is on and WHAT THE WHAT, you're willing to spend five grand on a dress and you are worried you won't find something?? Also, when they say, "It only comes in one color: ivory" THEY MEAN WHITE so I don't want to hear you say that you don't want the dress because this is your wedding day and you deserve to wear white--grrrrrl don't MAKE me come over there *z snap*

Breathe.

Okay, I'm back. Sorry I had to turn into an offensively fake sassy black lady for a second there, but something had to be done. ANYWAY, lately I've been feeling a lot more in-the-moment than I usually do and I'm loving it. And I want that feeling to stick around. So I thought a To Do list would help me because I can look at it and challenge myself to become the person I want to be, and in very specific ways. I'm not just sitting around watching Parks and Rec, waiting for something awesome to happen. Not that Parks and Rec is ever a waste of time--SHUT UP EMILY, NOT THE POINT.

I want to take more responsibility for my life and what I'm doing with it. Because (uh-oh, here comes another cliche) I'm not getting any younger. The time is now! Six of one, half a dozen of the other! Wait, crap, that last one doesn't work here. WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY is that my life isn't going to make itself happen and I don't want to wake up all wrinkly and realize I never did anything. I think that's the way I've been living lately. And here are the first 50 things I want to do to change that.

There are 50. I want to get to 100. Some things I could do tomorrow. Some things I could do this year. Some things I could do in five years. Some maybe not for a few decades. It's not so much about the timing, it's more about the fact that I want to be the kind of person who does it...eventually.

Life List

1 Grow vegetables in a garden
2 See my ancestor’s castle in Scotland
3 Swim in the Mediterranean
4 Go anywhere in Asia (But not Russia because that’s not what I mean)
5 Eat lobster in New England
6 Visit Lake Winnipesauke with Michelle
7 Watch enough Dr. Who to know what other people are talking about.
8 Write a script
9 Write a book for young adults
10 Win an advertising award
11 Go on a production shoot outside the city I live
12 See a whale in real life
13 Snorkel
14 Join a funny-women-bloggers community or create one
15 Make baklava
16 Have a fruit tree
17 Send my parents on a vacation
18 Do good in a 3rd world country
19 Help change a struggling school.
20 Go on a girls-only group vacation
21 Be a bike rider
22 Own a vespa-esque scooter
23 Create art
23 Make something funny or cool out of snow
24 Write a new graduation speech for my high school self and friends
25 Become an improv pro
26 Paintball
27 Stay classy in wine country
28 Go to a Gay Pride Parade
29 Sing unconventionally-themed Karaoke (like show tunes)
30 Adopt a dog or two
31 Make a main dish from the Julia Child cook book
32 Get a tattoo
33 Eat at one of those raw, vegan, crunchy restaurants
34 Become a regular at a bar or restaurant
35 Go to an outdoor movie by myself
36 Go to a restaurant by myself
37 Go to a movie by myself
38 Take a sculpting class
39 Buy a nice camera
40 Take a class to learn how to take good pictures with said camera
41 Create a quilt (with help)
42 Crochet a scarf
43 Re-certify for CPR
44 Create a reading nook
45 Stand behind a waterfall
46 Do something cool at a spa, like a mud bath or seaweed wrap
47 Get Lasik
48 Get wisdom teeth out
49 Start a 401K (shut up shut up everyone)
50 Act in something again

So those are the first 50 I've thought of. I challenge you all to make one, too. You'd be surprised how quickly you use up the ones you've wanted to do (like travel) and you'd also be surprised by the things you come up with to challenge yourself.

10 Things To Know If You're Moving To Chicago

2011-07-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

I've lived near or around Chicago my whole life, and specifically in the city for four years. At this point I think I get it.

Here's what you need to know about Chicago before you come here.

1. WEATHER

Learn how to complain.
People in Chicago have two jobs: the first is the one they get paid to do, and the second is part-time complaining about the weather. Rainy. Windy. Cold. Hot. Nothing satisfies the people of Chicago and they are always baffled by anyone who moves here from a warmer climate. Of course if anyone from that warmer climate DARES TO INSULT THE GREAT CITY OF CHICAGO we know how to passive-aggressively tell you that we just love the change of seasons and we don't think we could ever live without it.

Chicago is not the end of the world, weather-wise.
I drove from Chicago to Wisconsin in January and I will tell you, Chicago doesn't even know the MEANING of the word snow. "Oh but what about that snow storm we had that one--" --PUNY NONSENSE SNOW, I will interrupt, COMPARED TO WISCONSIN. Wisconsin eats snow for breakfast. And I imagine so do many other northern states and that place above Wisconsin, Ol' What's-Its-Name. Yeah, it gets windy and snowy and horrible here and it makes you want to curl up inside a Tauntaun. But at least we have salt for the roads and trucks to distribute it. Do you know what Wisconsin uses to keep their billions of feet of snow off the roads? SAND. But like, a child's sandbox amount of sand. What are you, Houston? Wisconsin, you care just a LITTLE too much about those lakes of yours. If your fish refuse to adapt to the salt, just buy something more tropical. I'm sure they'll adapt.

The secret to surviving winter
Two things: Preparation and not bothering to care what you look like. A coat from an authentic sporting goods store. Multiple gloves at once. A hat that is so big and fuzzy that it is possible it's still alive. Large, weather-proof winter boots that can trudge through dark grey slush. Basically, the closer you are to looking like an Inuit, the better. They know what they're doing. If you can wrap yourself up in an actual polar bear, you have done your job.

It always snows once in April.
I am telling you right now: there will be a day in March. Maybe even a few days. On that day, it will seem magical. It may even be 60 degrees outside, dare I say 70. Every year this happens. And every year on that day I tell people "It always snows once in April." And they laugh. Oh! How they laugh. "You fool!" they say. "Weather cannot change!" They put on shorts and flip flops and wonder why no restaurant has put out its outdoor cafe seating. But the restaurants have learned. And so have I. I have held this "April" theory since college. Chicago has never let me down. Every year it comes back. Usually not too harshly. But it snows. Oh! How it snows. And all the idiots who vow that they'll never go back to pants have to walk around, their teeth chattering, pretending they never heard my warning. But they heard. They heard.

The summer is freaking awesome.
Because of our deathly winters, Chicago comes alive in the summer. There are literally festivals on every weekend. Free concerts, movies in the park...all kinds of things. Check out metromix.com to find fun stuff.

2. ROADS

We're on a grid.
After the Chicago fire, this city had a chance to rebuild itself smartly. One thing they did was put everything on a grid system, where almost every street goes either north-south or east-west. That makes it easy to get around. However...

Some roads go diagonally into the city.
These roads are generally annoying because they mess with intersections. The worst of them being Elston Ave...Ohhhhhh Elston, how I loathe thee. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Stick with the grid and you'll be fine.

Some Chicagoans understand location based on the address numbers.
They say things like "Oh, 1400? that's really far north" or some nonsense. These people are freaks. Most of us just give main cross streets. "Broadway and Foster" "Damen and North." Eventually you'll learn these roads too and these intersections will mean something to you as well.

3. FOOD

A proper Chicago hotdog
If you don't know, the Chicago dog is piled with everything besides ketchup. I don't know why we are so opposed to ketchup on our sausages but it is just our way. Most places won't blink if you order ketchup, but I suggest you try the true Chicago way just once. There are plenty of places for them. Check Yelp, or go to Portillo's.

A proper Chicago slice
Chicago pizza is usually served deep dish. It is intense. One to two slices will suffice, and you have to eat it with a knife and fork because it weighs about 80 pounds. Giordano's is well-liked and there are tons of them around, although I'm partial to Lou Malnati's. Lou's isn't for everyone--the sauce is chunkier and less sweet, and the crust is buttery and crunchy, not bready. But it should be tried. Stay away from Uno's. It's not worth it.
Thin crust pizza in Chicago often comes cut into squares, not large triangles like New York. It's good that way; you have no idea how many you've had and can pretend like it wasn't much.

Groceries
In order of expense: Whole Foods, Dominick's, Jewel, Trader Joe's, Aldi. I'd personally stay away from both end caps. But that's the Middle Class Girl talking.

Restaurants:
We have them. To say Chicagoans only "like" food would be doing us a great injustice. I mean, sure, our winters aren't as bad as some, but they're enough to keep you indoors for 9 months. We've got good restaurants, and all the kinds you want. We also have been home to immigrants from all eras, which means delicious foods from around the world: Polish, Ethiopian, Irish (Fadó is Irishman certified), Turkish, Mexican, Detroitian...we have it all, and it's all good. There are tons of independently owned restaurants if you get away from the city, like in Wicker Park (Division and Damen) and in northern Andersonville (Clark and Foster). Again, Yelp that shizz.

4. NEIGHBORHOODS

Where to start:
If you're looking for a good place to move to in Chicago and you don't know the area at all, I suggest you check out Lakeview. Unless you consider yourself a little more Indie/Hipster, then I say Wicker Park. Both these places are pretty generally well-liked. They have a lot to offer, lots of shops and restaurants and they're close to public transportation. From there you can do research into the other neighborhoods, but here's a small list to get you started:

Neighborhood Breakdown:
This is insanely stereotyped and obviously not the final word, but here's who tends to live in some of the neighborhoods you'll hear about, in no particular order:

Streeterville: Newbies, Rich people
Gold Coast/River North: Old Rich people
Old Town: Young rich people
Lincoln Park: Newly college grads
Wrigleyville: Frat guys
Boystown: Young gays
Lakeview: Yuppies
Pilsen: Hipsters, Mexican-Americans
Wicker Park: Rich hipsters, Mexican-Americans
Bucktown: Richer hipsters
Logan Square: Poor hipsters, Mexican-Americans
Ukranian Village: Reformed hipsters
Chinatown: Chinese-Americans (surprise!)
Uptown: Crazy people and corporate gays
Andersonville: Lesbians, Sweeds
Edgewater: A melting pot of immigrants
Rogers Park: Rich college kids
Roscoe Village: Dinks
Lincoln Square: Saxons
South Loop: Couples with dogs
West Loop: Greek-Americans
Humboldt park: Puerto Rican-Americans
Hyde Park: Obama

(Most of these are north side, because I don't know much about the south side. You'll have to sleuth on your own if you want to move there.)(Also, there are SOOO many more than these but I ran out of brain power.)

I've lived in 4 different neighborhoods and I still haven't made up my mind about my favorite neighborhood. They're all pretty great in their own ways.

The neighborhoods are still very segregated.
If you couldn't already tell based on how I just described the above. But I'll let the numbers speak for themselves. Check out this map.

5. PUBLIC TRANSPORTATION

All the information about the CTA is here. But let me break it down.

Cards:
There are three kinds of cards.
1. Unlimited paper cards. You can buy these at grocery stores and you can ride as much as you want for 1, 3, 7, and 30 days.
2. Pay-per-ride cards. You can buy these at the el station with cash. Each ride is $2.25 per ride, no matter where you go. Put as much or as little as you want on these cards.
3. Magic plastic CTA card that automatically refills with money. You can get that online.

Train:
The el, which we also call "the subway" or just "the train" (or at least I do because I'm too lazy to remember words), runs like a spiderweb into the city and back out again. A lot of it does run above ground, but the red and blue line run underground once they get to the city. These two are the fastest lines and the only two that run 24/7. These are the only two lines I've lived along, so I know them the best.
All the el lines transfer to the other lines at some point or another, although it's not always the fastest way to get around. Often the best route is to transfer to a bus. I always check Google Maps for the fastest transit directions. Gmaps is your friend. Use gmaps.

Buses:
I hear people say that they're too scared to ride the buses all the time, but they're harmless. They basically just run up and down one street. If it runs up and down Grand, that bus is called "Grand." It's really hard. Again, Google Maps will help you figure that part out anyway. As for paying, if you already have a card, there's a place by the driver where you use it just like on the el. If you only have cash, you can put that in the little machine and it sucks it up. But there's no cash back so pray you have quarters.

6. PARKING

I've never had a car in the city, but I'll tell you what I know.

Parking downtown is insane. Avoid! Avoid!
It's near impossible to find street parking, and the parking garages cost more than a Donald Trump haircut. If your destination is downtown, a taxi or the CTA is your best bet.

Street parking elsewhere in Chicago:
Some places you pay. We recently replaced coin meters with ones that'll take credit cards, which is clutch.
Some side streets are free, although these ones are usually pretty full, of course. Some side streets require a permit.
No matter what, you're going to need to learn parallel parking. It's the only parking you'll do for a while.

Parking where you live?
Your apartment may have a spot that you'll probably have to pay for, although some places give it to you for free. That one's a toss-up. Just like whether or not they make you pay a move-in fee (BAH, don't get me started), it depends on your landlord. If you're living in a walk-up (an apartment with 3-4 apartments stacked on one another) you're more likely to get cheap parking. The high rises will cost you. If you can live without a car, I say go for it. I've survived so far on borrowing others' cars, renting cars, and taking public transit. Although I have a few friends who have used zipcar.com, too.

Dibs
In the winter it's hard to get a spot because the street cleaners are not particularly precise and snow covers a quarter of the spots. Once you finally dig yourself out/into a spot, some people find that spot hard to let go of it. So they put old lawn chairs out to save their spot. It's pretty much crap and a point of contention for Chicagoans every winter. In the end, it persists because people are afraid if they move the lawn chairs, they'll be keyed.

7. ENTERTAINMENT:

(Look familiar?)

This is a big city, so of course there are tons of places to see regular concerts and plays and stuff. Here are a few slightly more underground:

Second City: Improv
Steppenwolf: Weird theater
The Neo-Futurists: Weirder, smaller theater
The Vic: Smaller concerts and stand up
Music Box Theater: Film festival type movies
Landmark Cinema: Film Festival type movies...but the ones with Sean Penn in them
Buddy Guy's Legends: Authentic Chicago blues that will ease your soul.

8. SAFETY

You know all those jokes New York people make about homeless people pooping in boxes? Yeah, we have those people, too. I've seen some crazies. I've HEARD some crazies. I've been approached by crazies. But I have never been hurt by a crazy. They smell like the pachyderm house at the zoo, they ask for any food you can spare and then get mad when you give them your sandwich because they wanted Wendy's (*true story*) they sing loudly. Everyone has a few stories about crazy/drunk people on the el. My personal favorites:
1. The guy who announced everything the P.A. voice did, with the exact same timing and intonation.
2. The guy who kept yelling "MATA LA GENTE" which I confirmed via phone meant "kill the people." That one was by far the scariest. But he got off the el without touching a soul.

There are stories. People being beaten or jumped. And apparently lately there have been these mob attacks where a bunch of kids jump on a bus, take everyone's stuff, and jump off. And the morning news is not exactly the best time to look for feel-good stories. Almost every day, a child on the South Side has been killed and someone was found in the lake. Safety is not to be taken lightly, for sure.

All I can tell you is, I've never had anything stolen from me (KNOCKS ON ALL THE WOOD) and I've never been hurt (AGAIN WITH THE KNOCKING). Keep your headphones in your pocket at night, and stay alert. But we're still Midwesterners, and most of us still have the decency to keep our hands to ourselves. We're also a city, so the streets are well-lit and well-populated. Use those to your advantage.

9. YOUR APARTMENT

Nine times out of ten, your apartment will look like this:

It will be a walk-up, huge, with tiny bedrooms off to the side. It is the Chicago way. A landlord told me that this was because, before central heating, people did nothing but sleep in bedrooms because they were so cold, so they didn't bother making them very big. So if you go looking at apartments, expect this general look.

If you've never lived in cold weather:
Go to a hardware store before winter sets in and buy this stuff to go over your windows. Especially if you have old windows, this will cut down drastically on your bill and cut out drafts.

10. SPORTS

Yikes. I am the last person to tell you about sports in this city. But it's important for you to know the basics if you want to live here. We are REALLY into sports in Chicago. So for those in the dark, here is the breakdown. If you want deeper info than this...you're in the wrong place.

Basketball
The Bulls. Red, Black and White. We used to have Michael Jordan and once he left, we were only okay until this year.

Football
The Bears. Navy and Orange. We used to have Ditka and once he left, we were only okay until we got Urlacher, a white dude with an insanely large neck.

Baseball
Cubs: North side. Blue and red. The stereotypical fan is white, rich, and a prat. We are infamous for having a 100 year losing streak, and famous for Harry Carey and an analog scoreboard.
White Sox: South side. Black and white. The stereotypical fan is...well, the opposite of a Cubs Fan. The Sox won the World Series in like...2005?

Hockey
Blackhawks: Red and black. This is the jersey they wear in Wayne's World. Everyone forgot about hockey around here until last year when we won the Stanley Cup and suddenly everyone became enormous hockey fans. I found it annoying, but I guess good for general morale.

Soccer
Chicago Fire: Navy and red. One time, two players from the Fire came to our junior high and played Keep The Ball In The Air with one of my classmates, Paul. Paul won.

Okay! That's what I have to say about Chicago. Hope this helps any newbies (or potential newbies who are thinking about making your way here). Any other Chicagoans make it all the way through this thing and have anything to add? Comments welcome and requested!

And Thank You, Lambies

2011-07-21T12:01:00.005-07:00

This past week I've been very very tired. Things it could be:

My thyroid.
Ever since I discovered that thyroid issues probably run in my family, I've been on the lookout and any time I get tired I race off to get my blood tested. In college the first test came back hyperthyroid. The second came back hypothyroid. I was excited to tell people I was a hyper-hypo, until the third test came back normal. Well, if I can't constantly quote Mike Myers then what is the POINT? I took that normal and ran with it. I would also like "thyroid issues" to be the reason for my 10 pound weight gain in the past year, and NOT, in fact, on my reinstated two dessert (per meal...including breakfast and snacks) minimum.

Mono.
If Junior High health class taught me anything (and it did not) it's that Mono is not just a kissing disease. I mean, with Joe gone, I haven't kissed anyone except the occasional mustachioed cat in the past three weeks anyway. So that's a moo point (like a cow's opinion). So I could have it from general germiness. Or trying someone's drink or however the hell else you get Mono. My roommate in college went in to see if she had Mono and found out she'd already had it a few months earlier and had just thought she was tired from all-nighters. I wouldn't put it past me to be that oblivious as well.

My middling addiction to caffeine.
Some days I can wake up, walk out the door and be about my day without a single thought about a brown beverage. And then some days, like today, I stare daggers into my teapot, willing it to steep faster and wondering how my life has turned to shambles.

I went to bed at 2 am yesterday.
But I had a very good reason. I had to finish the movie I got from Netflix so I could get my next one on Saturday and watch it over the weekend. PRIORITIES.

New Life Goal, And It Involves Me Becoming A Crazy Pet Lady. Which I'm Fine With.

2011-07-19T07:48:00.004-07:00

I need to ultimately own four pets, purely for the names I have devised:

Regina Phalange (check)
Arf Vandelay, Vandelay Industries
Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration
Anastasia Beaverhausen

And if any of you can tell me which one of these things is not like the other, you win the prize of my adoring affection.

Improv

2011-07-18T07:00:00.006-07:00

So I've never mentioned I'm taking an improv class! At my work, once you've been there a year, they'll pay for 75% of any classes taken that are relevant to your profession. Since presentations and thinking on your feet are huge in copywriting, improv is a legitimate class to take. So as soon as I'd been at my agency for a year I signed up!

Here's the problem: I had a Mr. Tanner experience last week.

And sadly, not this Mr. Tanner.

And yes, that is the second time in nearly as many posts that I've mentioned Bob Saget and DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT ABOUT IT.

No, not the Great Danny Tanner. I'm talking Mr. Martin Tanner, baritone, from Dayton Ohio. He's a man in a song by Harry Chapin, who wrote Cats In The Cradle. This song was about a man who is a really good singer and all his friends tell him he should perform in public. When he does, he gets a really crappy review and goes back to just singing to himself again. Take away from it what you will. Harry Chapin was a deep man. He also wrote a song called "Thirty Thousand Pounds of Bananas."

What I love about my own family and friends is that they seem to be convinced that I could be famous. I'm not exactly sure for what, and neither are they. But apparently according to them, if I walked around L.A. long enough, someone would find me in a grocery store, grab me by both shoulders and say, "Young lady, the joke you just made about shampoo is a riot--A RIOT, I SAY! Now take your weak chin and weaker hips and follow me to the land of The Famous!" In all honesty, it makes me feel like I'm on top of a mountain to hear people tell me they believe in me. And I was starting to become convinced that maybe one day I really would make it.

And then I did my first improv scene last week. YOWZA.

In our actual class, we haven't done a real improv scene yet, mostly games and other things to make us comfortable with the ideas and basics behind improv. But then AFTER class, there's a for-students-only thing where we watch a couple scenes done by legit people who have been through the program, and then they take volunteers and do scenes with them.

Everyone was really gung-ho about me getting up there, even though I wanted to just watch and learn. But eventually their egging paired with me watching someone who I KNOW I would have been better than wore me down. So I finally raised my hand. The dude in front of me thought they had picked him even though he hadn't raised his hand (*eye roll, eye roll*), and he jumped up, too. So there were four people in the scene.

They decided to do "Sit Stand Lay" (in which you do a scene as usual but at all times, someone has to sit, someone has to stand, and someone has to lay down.) But because of the extra knucklehead who stood up, we had to change it to "Sit Stand Lay Lean." And in my head I'm going "Sit Stand Lay Lean Sit Stand Lay Lean Sit Stand Lay Lean..." while the other people in the scene were beginning to perform.

We were supposed to be on a beach.
Sit Stand Lay Lean.
We were teenagers. I made a terrible joke about how I was excited that my boobs had finally come in. BLUGH.
Sit Stand Lay Lean.
Suddenly we were people that came back to the same beach house every year.
Sit Stand Lay Lean.
Someone wanted to kill someone else.
Sit Stand Lay Lean.
WAIT, WHAT?!?!
Sit Stand Lay Lean.
They were pointing at me. Someone announced that I was going to jump the guy they wanted to kill. Oh God, what is happening?! I didn't even know if they meant jump like "fight"? Or jump like "sexually advance upon"? I had no idea. I couldn't jump in because I had no idea what anyone was talking about. The three other people up there had moved so far past the original beach scene while I was busy trying to either sit, stand, lay or lean, that the scene had completely gotten away from me. Suddenly the guy laying down got up, and I lay in his place. I did the sexiest pose I could (read: writhed awkwardly) and said the only thing I could think of, "Wait...which kind of 'jump' did you mean?" People laughed! It worked! But the scene was moving on, and I lost it again. At some point I was put out of my misery by the lights briefly going down to signify the end. I grimaced as I went back to my seat. People high fived me and I felt like a sham high fiving them back. Two lines. I said two lines, and one was a cheap shot about boobs?! Aaaarrrrrrgguuuuuggghhhhhhh.

I know, I know. It was my first time. And I learned an important lesson: don't worry about the rules of the game, focus on the scene. But I was so overwhelmed, so caught off guard by how much harder it was on stage than from the audience (even though of course I knew it would be, it's something you only truly know when it's happening to you.)

But that night, I lay motionless in bed thinking about it. Boobs. One half of the things I said was a cheap boob joke. And 100% of the things I said were Stupid Sexy Flanders--I MEAN Stupid Sexy Girl character jokes. BAH. And who stays silent on stage for that long? I must have looked like a doofus! Just some person from the audience who accidentally walked on stage but still expected to watch the show from within it. I'll never be a comedy writer! I'll never be a Tina Fey prodigy! I'll never be....whatever the hell it is I want to do because GOD EVEN KNOWS ANYMORE.

This was how I spent the night. And the next day. And despite others' reassurances that I had done fine, that my one joke had gotten the most laughs, and that it's hard for everyone the first time, I was still disappointed. My ego had been inflated too much by my friends and family telling me that I could be a rock star. I was Ms. Tanner, reading her bad review and moping back home to perform sketch comedy for her mustachioed cat, who would meow back out of disdain and/or hunger.

I'm glad it happened, though. And unlike Mr. Tanner, I refuse to let my first go defeat me. Sure, my presentation may not have been up to contemporary professional standards, but the class is fun and I think I'm generally doing pretty well. And anyway, if I ever have any hope of being Amy Poehler, I'm going to need to start somewhere.