We'll Have A Brain Fart Time

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.

5 College Courses I Wish I'd Taken

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

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.

My Brief Punk Rock Adventure

Before I get into today's post I want to correct something I have overlooked for nearly nine months (NOT PREGNANT. JUST AN UNFORTUNATE COINCIDENTAL NUMBER. I WILL NOT BE ON TLC LATER. WHY AM I TALKING IN CAPS LOCK STILL?)

If any of you remember, a while ago I shared with you my list of potential celebrity husbands, at the top of which is of course Future Husband John Krasinski. But I forgot one crucial celebrity, and that is probably because he is not yet...well, a celebrity. He is this guy:


And he was in this T-Mobile commercial.

His name is Kyle Bornheimer. You may also know him as Advertising Guy from the Office episode, "Local Ad" or you may know him as Main Character Guy from That Show That Was On Some Channel Probably NBC That Was Almost Good But Not Quite And Oh Wait Wasn't Olivia Munn In That? Yeah Yeah I Think I Saw An Episode Of That Show.

But I know him as T-Mobile Voicemail Guy SLASH Future Husband. I mean, look at him in that ad! He's so nervous and snuggleable! I want to do crosswords over breakfast with him and then later go out to dinner at Benihana.

What can I say? I dream high.

ANYWAY, now that that's out of the way, let me tell you about my adventure yesterday. I went to a punk rock show at a bar in Logan Square. As someone who openly admitted to liking Maroon 5 and Avril Lavigne in high school, you can imagine this was a typical night for Emily.



The reason I was there was layered. At the top layer, I am friends with a band member's older sister. On a layer underneath that, I am trying to go do more fun things with a variety of people instead of being a Netflix-watching hermit in my apartment with my cat at all times. When I went, I didn't know it was a punk rock show. But I figured it out when I saw people with mohawks/pony tails/worn black t-shirts. I won't lie. I was scared. The last experience I had with Punk Rock was the video I watched of a mash-up between Slipknot's "Psychosocial" and Justin Bieber's "Baby", which had the affect of a child singing in a horror movie. If this was the night I was in for, I was going to need someone to hold my hand on the way home.

We stood in the back, so as not to offend the true punk rockers. Our colorful clothes and chipper attitudes really would have killed the mood. However, this meant that my view was obstructed by a man who was roughly 6'6", 300 pounds. His pony tail fell to the middle of his back. Jean shorts. He was the kind of guy you'd want with you at Six Flags purely because you would never lose him in a crowd. He probably either knows everything about either Star Wars or Star Trek but definitely not both. You get the picture.

He was the only one dancing. And by dancing, I mean nodding his head. There was no swaying or bopping in this bar, only diligent listening. Each band seem to be in competition with their own bandmates for how fast they could play the song, which led to songs so fast that each one lasted thirty seconds. No real words ever came out of the singer's mouth, just a gutteral string of vowels with the occasional f-bomb. Think "Master of Puppets" but without the genius talent and ten times faster and louder.

I loved it.

See, since Joe has left, I've quickly developed an eff-it attitude about what to do with my time. There's no longer a "Why am I here when I could be snuggled up on my couch with Joe?" thought running through my head at all times, pulling me back toward home.

So I was there. And I was determined to enjoy myself. What I found was that even with this loud, Adderall-filled music you begin to hear the nuances. So, you know when you turn on the radio and it's the middle of a Lady Gaga song or some such nonsense and at first you're like, "What fresh hell is this ruckus?" But give it a second of listening and you get into the rhythm of it? That was the deal with this music, too. You start tuning out the screeching and reverberations of too-much drum bouncing off the matte black walls and you start to hear the melody. And it's not that bad. But then you try to listen to the lyrics. And that's where it all goes all downhill.

My particular favorite song was from the opening band, a song we dubbed, "F-ck the bullsh-t" in which the lyrics were "F-ck f-ck f-ck, f-ck the bullsh-t." It was a deep song. I was amazed that we made out those words. Otherwise, words like "instigator" and "mashed potato" were completely indiscernible from one another. My second favorite song was the one about Mayor Rahm Emanuel being a mashed potato.

The singer for the opening band also kept dedicating his songs to other dude friends, with names like Kyle and Scott. You could tell he had never gotten a girl to listen to more than a second of his favorite music, let alone request a dedicated song to her.

I spent about an hour and a half listening to this music, observing, chuckling, legitimately enjoying the music at 4-second intervals. It was the kind of night that made me realize, I really need to let go and do stuff. Without that nagging thought in the back of my head that I would be happier at home. Sure, I was yawning despite the in-yo-face music because it was 11:30 on a school night and I am old. But I had a good time. I didn't need to feel like I fit in or like I was doing something accomplishing (although I knew I'd get a half-assed blog post out of it--AND HOW!) in order to have a good time. When my time lately has been spent watching movies and drinking wine or WISHING I was watching a movie and drinking wine, it was nice to remind myself that it's not the only way to be happy. I needed that.

Odd Jobs

Well. Someone from my high school posted the sonogram for their second child on Facebook. And because I am still not in the mood for booze (hurrr) after this weekend (hurrr) and thinking about alcohol makes me dry heave (hurrrr) but I still need to drown my sorrows, I've found the next best thing: licking the Hint of Lime off Tostidos tortilla chips. It's helping.

Here's the thing: I'm not ready for a second child. I am not ready for a first child. Like, AT ALL. In fact, lately I've been having some near mental-breakdown issues where I completely doubt everything about the life I'm living. Well, really it's more about my job.

Basically what happens in my brain is this:

Bah, this one part of my job is the worst.
Well this sucks, I don't even like doing this.
Wait, am I going to have to do what I don't like forever?
Wait, am I going to get laid off if I don't do a good job at this thing I don't like?
Wait, why am I doing a job that I'm going to get laid off from when I'm 40 and then can't find something because I've become totally obsolete and I'll be forced to fold socks at Walmart for the rest of my life?!?!?!?!?

And that's when, as Jan Levenson says, I collapse in on myself like a dying star.

Basically this:


These are the times that I start considering my options. And, as I see it, I have four potential other jobs that I would be willing to seriously consider.


1. Puppeteer


Ya'll know my blood runs Muppet. But honestly, I could see myself making a job out of entertaining on stage with a puppet, Muppet-brand or otherwise. There's something in me that just HAS to talk to inanimate objects (cabinet doors, boxes of dry pasta, running water...) and give voiceless things voices. Every pet and baby I've come in contact with in the past 10 years has had a voice. Each with their own personality and timbre. Taxi finished every sentence with "you know, and stuff." Charlie craved attention. Wally has a 1930's gangster voice. Regina is the first one to continuously threaten to kill me. I really think I could make a puppet show based on my pets. And no, I have never written a more depressing sentence.

I'm so serious about this one, I started legitimately looking into Puppetry schools. There's one in Connecticut. Puppet fantasies AND Gilmore Girl fantasies all wrapped into one? Be still my little beating heart.

2. Kindergarten Teacher


And I know this goes against what I just said about not being ready for kids, but Kindergarten teaching is different than owning and operating your own mini human. I'm pretty sure everyone I say this to has laughed in my face, little specks of spittle flying every which way. But I'm serious. I am really good with 5 year olds. BUT REALLY good. I used to nanny two boys and I MAY have learned the name, number, color, size, and wheel quality of all the Thomas the Tank Engine characters.

The most attractive part of being a Kindergarten teacher, though, is that I'm pretty sure it's the exact opposite to being in Advertising. Instead of constantly trying to figure out how to weasel my products into the hearts and minds of people who could give a damn, I would be teaching children how to become better people. In fact, I wouldn't have to spend another single second pondering an ad. I could even try to IGNORE THEM. Also, I could wear vests with puffy paint on them. And who doesn't love the idea of that?


3. Junior High English Teacher


Honestly, I think I may be a glutton for punishment. But I really like the idea of this one. GONE are the days of kids who can't tell the difference between your and you're FOR I SHALL ATTACK THEM WITH THE NORTH if they ever forgot it.

Also, I remember my high school English classes as being one long string of teachers wailing "WHERE IS THE 'SO WHAT'?!" and we would wail back "WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HELL YOU MEAN!" Do you guys remember that? Did ANYONE get it back then? I know Adrienne and I didn't, that's for damn sure. And it wasn't until I started reading books for pleasure again that I actually figured it out, all on my own. And I want to try and pass on that knowledge to the childrenz, before they even hit high school. Because yeah. I'm ambitious.

4. TV comedy writer.



This is my newest idea. It's an interesting one to me right now. It involves me getting to be raunchier and more authentic than I can be in Advertising, which I like. And I get to write long copy versus headlines, which I clearly like. And I could be funny. And successful. And write myself into a show with Future Husband John Krasinski, Amy Poehler and (what the hell) Aunt Meryl and Tom Hanks.


For now I'm sticking with Advertising. I mean, I DID almost sell an ad with a flying squirrel in it the other day, so the job does have its high points.

Potential Life Changes

I haven't really talked about what is going on in my life recently. This is because it is so MIGHTILY up in the air right now.

The deal is, Joe graduates in a few minutes (or like a month or two but you get it) and he's looking for work. And APPARENTLY the job market is a little touch-and-go at the moment OR SO I HEAR. So it's not a very stress-free process. And then throw ME into the mix and what do you get, boys and girls? Seven ulcers. That is what you get.

In my opinion, we've both been really good about taking each other into account when it comes to next steps for his job. Open-minded. I told him that if we have to move, we can. I'm not going to keep us cooped up in Chicago if that's not the right option--just because I'm afraid to leave. And in exchange, he gets to continue to date me. NO, no. ...Yes. NO! In exchange, he has to make sure we both approve of the city, and that it has good Advertising gigs so I don't have to become the next Real Housewife of Boise or something.

At first, the motto was "Chicago first, but if we must, maybe another city." But the more and more we talk about it, the more the motto changes to "F*ck it, let's do this."

Obviously nothing is set AT ALL. And Joe is trying hard for Chicago-based places. But if it has to happen, here are some of our current options, and why I'd be happy to move to any of them:

SAN FRANCISCO:


1. Francisco! That's fun to say.
2. Apparently the weather is constantly 50-70 degrees. SIGN. ME. UP. Plus, I can rock the light jacket like no body's BEESWAX.
3. It seems really laid back. And everyone I know there is really awesome. It must have some connection to the weather. People don't get cooped up for months on end, nor do they get irritated by constant boob sweat.
4. I do not have a Sassy Gay Friend. Maybe I could finally find one in San Fran.

SEATTLE:


1. Again with the laid back attitude.
2. I see your "it rains too much" and I raise you "It rains while you sleep or while you enjoy a nice cup of tea and a book on a lazy Sunday afternoon." Game set match.
3. Two of my aunts live near or around there. My aunts are super adorable.
4. Fresh fish at the fish market MIGHT mean I am able to choke down seafood.

PORTLAND:


1. I feel like Portland is like Seattle, but with less water and more hipsters.
2. In preparation for a potential move, I watched all the Portlandia episodes on Hulu and I have to say, Portland might just be the rich man's Wicker Park. And I love Wicker Park.
3. I could get a bike. I could get a bike and ride it around everywhere. And since everyone else has a bike, it would be way cooler and I would not fear for my life because people actually WATCH for bikers unlike SOME cities coughCHICAGOcough.
4. Joe and I could recreate the Oregon Trail and, as always, Hannah would get dysentery.

LOS ANGELES:


1. The constantly nice weather means I could get a scooter instead of a car and be like Jason Segal in I Love You, Man or like Zooey Deschanel in Yes Man. Basically any movie involving a scooter and ending in Man? That could be me.
2. I would be SIGNIFICANTLY closer to Future Husband John Krasinski. A plus for me, a negative for Joe. But these are the sacrifices we must make.
3. Higher potential for becoming famous. I assume everyone who lives in LA is famous, right?

So that's it. That's what's going on right now. Yes it is crazy. Yes it is frustrating not knowing for sure what city I'll be in within a few months. Yes I would be moving far away from my family and friends. Yes I have never lived outside Illinois. Yes it is creeping dangerously close to the end of our lease. Yes I need to go chug some Maalox right now.

Johnny Depp Is Not Attractive.

I've mentioned it before on this blog, but I've decided it needs it's own post.

It's true: I do not like Johnny Depp. Here--take this paper bag and breathe into it. Put your head between your knees. Everything's going to be ALL RIGHT, just CALM DOWN. Go take a nap. Come back when you're ready.

Yesterday I saw a brief interview on some Hollywood gossip show in which they talked to Johnny Depp.

Let me describe a man for you:
-unwashed hair
-tinted glasses inside
-goatee
-orange



Which of these qualities EXACTLY, is the one that everyone flocks to? I JUST. DON'T. GET IT. Except for his strange, milky orange glow, the man is colorless. All washed out and bland-looking. He has no personality as a human. His voice is as unilayered as his skin tone. He looks like he is on drugs. If that is attractive, then Jim Bruer is the next Hollywood hunk.



And yet YOU ALL find him hummina-hummina-hummina gorgeous. Women AND men! Johnny Depp is the only man that I consistently hear from straight guys that they find him attractive. It's as if all straight dudes in the world got together and said, "we have to maintain our heterosexuality in the eyes of others, but HOT DAMN that grey-skinned man and his unwashed hair is just the sexiest fella we've ever seen. Can we all agree to publicly call him hot but still act weird about it being gay if we sit next to each other when we watch his movies?"

At the very least, it just irks me that people consider him to be universally attractive. As if, OF COURSE the man is hot, and everyone everywhere thinks so.

I've been asked, "Okay, so then who would you consider to be universally attractive?" And I find myself flabbergasted. "I don't know...just about anyone ELSE in Hollywood?" I want to shout. But instead I give them Brad Pitt, Harrison Ford, Robert Redford, Tom Cruise, Patrick Swayze, Denzel Washington, George Clooney.

"Yes," they reply, "but those were all in their heyday. Who, right now, might be YOUR Johnny Depp?"

And I realize that I can't answer them. Do we have no household name, A-list, Universally Attractive Man anymore? Ryan Reynolds was People's Sexiest Man Alive for 2010. Is that it? While I agree the man is good-looking, he's not really buzzed about at the water cooler. His name is not synonymous with Attractive Male. Like, no one ever says, "I know I'm no Ryan Reynolds, but we belong together."

Next in line may be Hugh Jackman. But while he seems sweet, there's something about him that makes him not quite Ken doll-like. Patrick Dempsey? McMaybe.

I'm looking for someone who is UNDENIABLY attractive to every single person he meets. And while I love ya, Future Husband John Krasinski, that is a schnoz.

Or is my issue something deeper? Maybe it's to do with Depp's total lack of off-screen interest. I'm very critical of attractiveness when it doesn't come with a great personality to match it. Leonardo DiCaprio was a Hollywood hunk since Titanic. But the man has always dated models, which to me just screams "pretty but boring."

Maybe the reason I can't think of the Universally Attractive Man is because I don't CARE about those men. Thing is, that guy is also 100% unattainable. I'm not going to see him in a bar and win him over with my sarcastic arm punch and self-plucked eyebrows. So why bother to get weak in the knees for HIM?

I suppose I've just always been realistic. Why fall for the guy because he looks like Stretch Armstrong? (Ooh, speaking of which, maybe Aaron Eckhart? Hmm. Too blond.) Why not look for the guy with his head out of the clouds? After all, that's the only way he'd ever see me.

Oh no wait. WAIT. Jon Hamm. Jon Hamm, everybody. Nevermind, it's Jon Hamm.

Fifty Mustaches

Soooooooooo, you know how Adrienne and I like to do weird things to raise money for the children?

Well we're at it again! This time, it's back to Mustache-a-thon, because OH YES, it's been a whole year since we did that. Time flies when you're keeping kids off the street. Am I right or am I right? Right? Right. Right. #groundhogdayreferences

So, for those new to the Emily's Blog Scene, the Mustache-a-thon is a fundraiser. Dudes grow mustaches, and people pledge money to them to keep them going and make them feel less like Stanley Tucci in Lonely Bones. And the money goes to a tutoring center in Chicago. It's a great idea...except it discludes (unincludes? uncludes? MOVING ON) half the world's population from being able to raise money. So they have a separate category for "prosthetic" growers, who have a mustache-related challenge to accomplish each week. And people can donate to them as well.

To extra complicate things, Adrienne and I formed a team called Collabostache and we try to raise money and awareness together. A little extra fun for us, a little extra money for the childrenz.

REQUEST TIME!!
Obviously if you would like to donate to the worthy, worthy, WORTHY cause, you can go here, find Collabostache (which, coincidentally is a picture of me holding a fake Adrienne that I constructed out of a pita chip, carrot, hummus, and pretzels because she had to work) and donate.

BUT! SOMETHING BETTER!!
If you have no money but still enjoy helping disadvantaged kids learn to read, you can do something that costs nothing but would help us out a TON. See, our challenge for next week is to collect/create/find 50 mustaches, in whatever way we see fit. Adrienne came up with the idea of finger mustaches. SO ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS: Take a picture of yourself holding up a finger mustache and send it to me. I have a handy-dandy email address over there to the right that'll work just fine. Or if you like Adrienne better (as we all truly do) you can also send it to her, given that you know her. Otherwise, please don't send her things. That'd be weird. Don't be like that.

So that's it. Money or mustaches. OR BOTH! GET CRAZY WITH IT!! Hey, I'll sweeten the deal. Best mustache gets a dedicated blog post. Here's mine; think you can beat it?

I tried to get Future Husband John Krasinski with "GOALS" written under it into this pic, but it was a no go. You'll just have to picture it in your minds. Also, we will discuss those bangs ANOTHER DAY.

IMPORTANT DISCOVERY

As I was searching through IMDb for actresses I could reference for an ad, I came across this pretty little number.

THAT'S RIGHT. Future Husband John Krasinski (and some other people but who cares) is going to be in a movie called "Everybody Loves Whales." [EDIT: It's now called "Big Miracle". That does not change the horror I feel.]

WHALES, people.

a) WRONG. EVERYBODY DOES NOT LOVE WHALES.

b) After I found this, I typed the word "what" so many times, that the word lost all meaning and I literally had to google it to make sure I was still spelling it correctly.

I don't know how to feel or what to do. I need to think about this. Carry on. Carry on.

The 5 Celebrities I'd Get A Timeshare With

Last weekend I dusted off Season 3 of Friends. And since I don't reference that show enough for you, here's some more!

It was the episode where Ross is trying to decide which 5 celebrities make his "list" of who he would be allowed to sleep with without Rachel getting mad. He takes the whole episode to decide, and at the end (10-YEAR-OLD SPOILER ALERT!) he actually meets Isabella Rossellini, who he had booted off the list for being too international.

SO! The episode got me thinking--who would my 5 celebrities be? But here's the thing: I'm raising the stakes. Any given celebrity is good looking enough to have one night in Bangkok with. The question is: who is TRULY worthy? That's right. What celebrity would you cherish for better or worse? Which would you roll your eyes at when they tell the same joke to different friends? The question is: which celebrity would you open a Google Docs to track your shared family plan bill with?

I'm curious what other people have to say. And to start you off on your journey, here are my five:

1. John Krasinski



Like this was a question. To me, people who DON'T want to marry John Krasinski are like people who don't like chocolate or cheese or happiness. These must be the same people who watch him on talk shows and don't laugh at his jokes. ROBOTS! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HIM LIKE I DO.

2. Paul Rudd



I decided that I would some day marry Paul Rudd when I saw the trailer for How Do You Know, which is coming out at Christmas.



Because how amazing is Paul Rudd ALWAYS? Or in I Love You Man? "Slappin' da bass"? COME ON! He can't help the way he is because clearly that's how he is in real life. And it's like we were made for each other! HE'S adorably awkward, I'M adorably awkward! (caveat: you must consider the fact that I run into walls 'adorable'...)

3) Mario Batali



Laugh if you will. The truth is, we all lose our looks one day. But Italian food is forever. As are orange crocs. ALSO, have any of you seen "Spain-On The Road Again" on PBS? It's MAGIC. Pure Magic. Mario Batali and some other guy travel Spain and learn about the country and say hilarious things and laugh and eat food and nap. And then eat and then nap. And then suddenly Gweneth Paltrow is there and things get very classy VERY quickly.

QUESTION: Is one of my life goals to travel, eat, sit, nap, and hang out with Gweneth Paltrow all at once?
ANSWER: OF COURSE IT IS.

So yeah. I'd marry Mario Batali. I'd marry him right nice.

4) Ed Helms



REASONS WHY I'D MARRY ED HELMS
-Wholesome
-We'd make amazing karaoke partners
-He can play the banjo
-That's about all.

So fine, I can't give you a true reason for wanting to marry Ed Helms. It's a gut reaction and I'm sticking with it.

5) Colin Firth



I could see Colin Firth and I curling up in matching sweaters in front of a fireplace somewhere in the English countryside. We'd be the most mature couple, and we'd only drink wine that costs over $20 because, yeah, we're fancy.

I want to take Colin Firth to a high-class event held in a museum and watch him make everyone feel inferior to him. But then when we're alone and I'm upset about something and I start crying, he completely falls apart and gets all flustered and doesn't know what to do so he gets all Bumbling British Person and offers me tea and cakes and runs his hands through his thick, luscious hair a million times. And even when he's old and in his wheelchair and I'm still in my prime, I will wheel him around and announce that I'm with The Guy Who Played Mr. Darcy so they better do whatever I want them to do. It will be a very stable, very grounded marriage.



So that's it. That's my current list. And yours?

Blog Posts That Will Probably Never Happen.

I have been sitting in this coffee shop for hours trying to come up with a good blog to give you, and mostly I just have a complaint about the sandwich I had for lunch. I MEAN REALLY. Here was the conversation:

Emily: How's the chicken salad sandwich?
Cafe Guy: Meh, it's okay.
Emily: Oh, then I'll have--
Cafe Guy: But I don't like chicken salad.
Emily: Well in that case...maybe?
Cafe Guy: *blank stare*
Emily: Okay, well I don't like chicken salad with a lot of mayo. Does it have a lot of mayo?
Cafe Guy: It's really more of a Miracle Whip.
Emily: That doesn't...whatever. I'll take my chances. Give me the sandwich.
(Ten minutes later, Cafe Guy shows up at my table with a sandwich that is 99 parts Miracle Whip, 1 parts chicken. THANKS. THANK YOU. SWELL.)

So anyway. Suffice it to say, the sandwich did not get my creative juices going. So I went to my phone for my list of back up possible topics (aka things I thought of and half-assedly wrote down so as not to forget them). And none of those topics have sparked anything in me EITHER. Frankly some of them are just terrible ideas. And so for this post, I tell you a few of them:

- A letter to delicious unhealthy food as if it has killed my childhood pet (FU Penguin style)
- Why Friday nights are meant for staying in
- Why Future Husband John Krasinski is my future husband (entirely too obvious to require an entire post)
- Narrative of me waking up and being magically in the 8th grade again (this has potential hilarity...)
- A case for learning Geometry (oh, yes Emily. THRILLING conversation topic you've got there.)
- Discovery Zone (OH MAN! Remember?!?!?!)
- Awkward telephone goodbyes
- Why don't math teachers require you to show work anymore?! (Yeah I'm pretty sure that's the end of that blog post right there.)
- "Lady Gaga Kermit" I swear this is all I wrote down. I have no idea what I intended to write about, but I assume it has to do with this:


Welp! Best to end on that note, I should think. Seacrest out.

Highlights from St. Louis

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My 4 Favorite Dreams

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

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

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

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

REE!! REE!! REE!! REE!! REE!! REE!! REE!! REE!!

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

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



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

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

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

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


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

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

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