Showing posts with label Regina Phalange. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Regina Phalange. Show all posts

Monday, March 19, 2012

T.Hanks

My friend Erin always said that life goes in circles. Sometimes you’re at the top, sometimes you’re at the bottom.

This was right after college, when everyone was at the bottom of their circles. Because, let’s face it, immediately post-college is a black hole of suckiness. Sorry, Hannah. But her point was to look up, because eventually you'll be at the top again. You can’t stay in the Pit Of Despair forever.

I’ve just come up from the bottom and I’m sitting at the top of a really big circle. It might be my first authentic Top Of The Circle moment. I’ve got a job that I love which keeps my writing chops honed, I have a boy so amazing that he secretly signed me up for an all-day “Television Puppetry” class taught by a Muppeteer, and I’m living in a city with endless possibilities for entertainment. I have real, actual hobbies that aren’t “hanging out with friends” and “drinking” (although I still enjoy both of those greatly) and I have a cat whose favorite pastime is cuddling…immediately after pooping. Hey, you can’t have everything.

I’m sure I won’t be at the top of this circle forever. Call it pessimism or realism, but if the circle theory is correct, eventually you have to dip back down. So while I’m still up here, I want to enjoy it as best as I can. And part of that is going to be letting go of the blog, at least for now. Posts usually take me an hour at best--the good ones much longer--and I want to give over that time to other things, like fostering my relationship with Joe, enjoying the city and the sunlight, and using my writing energy to help my work become a thriving business.

So I want to say thank you to everyone who followed along, whether loudly or quietly. This blog is literally why I’m in the good place I’m in now, and you forced me to stay at it. Don’t be surprised to see blog posts pop up now and then, and maybe in full force again one day. For now, I'll just say: see you later.

Tuesday, February 28, 2012

Regina Phalange: The Heart Of A Champion

A few weeks ago, I took Regina Phalange to the vet. I should have taken her around last June, but there was this whole thing called Looming & Subsequent Unemployment that kept me from doing it.

And since this isn't a blog about my cat (good god) I will skip ahead to tell you that I FINALLY took her this month and she has a mouth disease called Stomatitis which is apparently very painful. Poor little Gee Gee Kittenface Meowington McMeowMix. (Which is basically what I actually call her. It's faster.)

She went in for surgery this morning and the vet called to say she survived it, the champ! He took out about half her teeth, but left her ferocious canines so she can still instill fear into all who dare cross her. Technically, they don't know the cause or cure to stomatitis (and yet we put a man on the moon 40 years ago but WHATEVARRR) so the surgery--which was NOT free--may actually have done nothing for her. And she'll have to be on pain medication for the rest of her life.

But I believe in Regina. You know why?



That's why.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

The New Job

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?

Friday, November 4, 2011

What Ever Happened To Predictability?

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.

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Cats On A Plane

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.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

REAL UPDATE!

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!

Thursday, October 13, 2011

An Update On Moving:

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)

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Movin' On Out



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.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

And Thank You, Lambies

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.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

New Life Goal, And It Involves Me Becoming A Crazy Pet Lady. Which I'm Fine With.

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.

Monday, June 13, 2011

I Think I'm Alone Now

Oh heyyyyy guys. How've you been? How was your weekend? What have you been up to lately?

Sigh, I'm sorry. I feel like I've been gone/absent for a while and now we've gotten to that point like when you haven't seen a good friend for an awkward amount of time, you know? And you feel weird asking them about their life because they're supposed to be a good friend and you should KNOW if they have a boyfriend/job/car but you don't, but you also feel weird making small talk because they're your good friend and you refuse to discuss the weather. You know.

You do know, right? Please tell me you know. Don't tell me I'm the only one out there who gets that awkward. Although God knows I'm capable of it.

Anyway, I'm avoiding it now. Here's the skinny. The nub. The gist. The low-down. STOP IT, EMILY.

Joe has accepted a 4-month contract job in San Francisco. He'll be gone from the 4th of July to Halloween. I will be alllll alone. I'm moving to a studio on the (extremely) north side. I will be a sad, lonely, destitute old hag, with no one to comfort her during the cold, dark nights but her mustachioed female cat named after an obscure Friends reference.

Thing is, though...I'm actually really excited. But like, REALLY excited.

Not so much excited that Joe is going to be gone. That part makes my insides feel like burning. But I'm excited to have my own place for a little bit. I've never lived alone in my entire life. I've never blasted my music in the middle of a living space for hours. I've never been able to constantly pick my own movies and tv shows without consulting someone else (why HELLO, marathon of old Grey's Anatomy episodes. And how are we this evening? Anyone object to a Miranda Bailey lecture once every 40 minutes? Regina Phalange? Refrigerator? No one? Excellent, let's begin.)

Dishes will be done WHEN I SAY THEY'LL BE DONE. Everything in the fridge is mine, MINE! ALL MINE!! BWA HA HA HA HA HA!! What's this goo on the bathroom sink? Who knows, but I created it and therefore I won't get the Black Lung by scraping it off. THE FREEDOM IS ENDLESS, PEOPLE.

I'm also looking forward to forcing myself to do more alone-time things. I'm going to go to a movie by myself for the first time. I'm going to go out to eat by myself. I'm going to go to movies in the park by myself. Rent roller skates at the beach? Maybe! You never know what kind of kooky adventures I'll find myself in.

It's not that I couldn't have done these things earlier. I just...never did. I guess I never really thought to. Even when I was unemployed and had all the alone time in the world, the whole pesky "lack of paycheck" thing was keeping me from reaching my true adventuresome potential.

So what does this mean to you? Because, let's great real. The world revolves around each and every one of you. Separately. What it means is that you get nonstop complaining for the rest of the month as we pack up our stuff and put it in storage until Joe's gig is done and we know what we're doing next. HOW FUN FOR YOU! Also, you get to hear about the adventures of a single girl who is not really single. Read: no posts about awkward first dates BUT INSTEAD posts about how I broke my pride falling into the lake while roller skating. Yippee!

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

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.

Thursday, March 24, 2011

What What WHAT Are You Doing.

Dear everyone,

I am currently in love with the Second City's "Sassy Gay Friend" youtube videos. They actually get funnier the more you watch them, to the point where I went from "haha" to "LOL" to "ROFL!!!!11!!!!1!!!1"

And I am not even joking. I really was rofl-ing. Like, on my back, kicking my legs in the air laughing. NO BUT SERIOUSLY. ASK JOE.

If you've seen Black Swan, kindly watch this one (It's my fave):

Maybe! No.

If you haven't watched Black Swan, any other one will do, but may I suggest this one:



In other news, I have just discovered how spoiled Joe has made me. I was over at Carla's (of "Wait, you're not Jewish?" fame) eating chocolate & peanut butter ice cream and watching Modern Family, as one does, and I requested to split a particularly large chunk of peanut butter. And Carla's husband, Bryan, wouldn't let me! The nerve! I may or may not have thrown a small temper tantrum. Aaaaaand I may or may not have called him a fat whore.

"No, Emily, I am not Joe. I will not split things with you just because you don't feel like eating the whole thing."

"But...but..."

It was the moment I realized: Joe basically does everything I ask him to do. Granted, I don't ask him to do much besides split peanut butter chunks and get me things when I can't get up because I'm busy snuggling with Regina Phalange. I came home later and asked him about it, and he said, "Well, yeah, I let you have stuff if it's something that will make you happier than it would me."

"Oh, so is that why you never let me eat the first bite of your pizza slices?"

"Exactly."

That's real love. It's giving but it's honest, and it will always, always choose the first bite of pizza over you.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

10 Ways To Be Healthy And Not Go Crazy. It's Possible.

You know how some dogs will keep eating and eating until they die, as long as there is food in front of them?

That is me with junk food.

There is no switch in my brain that says “Alrighty, I think you’ve had enough, dear.” No. I will eat every french fry in my basket, no matter what. And I will eat any french fry I can then steal. I usually have the presence of mind not to lunge at the waiter when he takes away plates with fries still on them (Oh, the humanity!) but not always.

I have a problem.

Thank God I've figured out ways to keep myself healthy. Obviously, I'm not an expert. I've mostly just educated myself through the health sections of Cosmo. I'm also not crazy. I don't spout the ideals of whey protein and Omega 3 or scoff at breadsticks. (Mmmmmmmmm...breaaaaadsticcccccks) I'm just an American with a lot of daily temptations and a scary family history to keep myself in check.

That's why I'd like to share some basic thoughts with you, in case you are like me and have a little trouble going the Nancy Reagan route and just saying no. However, if you are one of those people who can eat one Reese's cup and then leave well enough alone, A) screw you and B) this might not be your bag.

Here we go. Ready?

1. Chocolate can be your friend.


Last week I was given a baggie of assorted chocolate. I have one word to describe that afternoon: massacre. I don’t know what it is about chocolate; sometimes it feels like the only way to properly end a meal. I could have apple pie, shortcake and a sugar cookie, but until I get an M&M, the meal is incomplete. I have three ways to combat this:

a. Brushing my teeth. I know a few girls who do this, and they always seem a bit like a crazy person, brushing their teeth in the middle of the day. But it works. Nothing like a little toothpaste to keep you from shoving more stuff into your gob. And when that’s not an option…

b. Chewing mint gum. Not quite as effective, but helpful.

c. Dark chocolate: “Oh really, Emily? You combat chocolate by eating chocolate?” Why yes. YES I DO. This was one of those tricks that I read that actually works: since dark chocolate is so much richer, it takes a lot less to satisfy me. So a quick bite of dark and I feel finished and ready to move on, only a few calories deeper.

2. Choke down that carrot.


You know you’re supposed to eat vegetables. But they’re gross. I mean, but really, veggies are gross. And anyone who says otherwise is either being snobby or lying to herself. They’re gross. Accept it.

The annoying thing is, you still have to eat them. You can’t just say, “I don’t like vegetables” and then not eat them. That’s like saying, “I don’t like brushing my teeth” and stopping that, too. You do it because it’s good for you and it will make you feel better.

So figure out which vegetables you like better than others, figure out how you like to eat them, and suck it up. If you hate cooked carrots, but you like them raw? Ain’t nobody forcing you to cook those things. Have a few next to your sandwich instead of chips. If you like green beans slightly crunchy? Make them slightly crunchy. Stir some vegetables into your marinara sauce (like mushrooms, tomatoes, spinach, or onions) and you'll never know they're there.

And experiment. Two of my “favorite” vegetables are asparagus and Brussels sprouts. I’d never eaten either until I had graduated college because I was terrified of them. Turns out, if you cook them in a little olive oil and sprinkle them with salt instead of boiling all the green out of them and shellacking them onto a plate, they're fine.

Another nice thing about veggies is that they make a good palate cleanser. Eat a few bites every once in a while, and it’s like coming back to a whole new hot dog.

If you aren’t used to eating very many vegetables, first try to get at least one serving into every dinner. Then see if you can manage one in your lunch, too. Once you’re more used to finding, cooking, and thinking about veggies, it’ll get easier.

Oh, and they say corn and potatoes don’t really count as vegetables because corn is sugary and potatoes are more of a starch, so...sorry kid. They're better than tons of other things, but you probably shouldn't count them as your veggie.

3. Keep It Lean



Don’t eat your meat fried all the time. Fried meat should be a treat, not a given. Look for words like “crispy” “crusted” and “breaded.” These are just tricky ways to make "fried" sound more appealing. Don't let Applebee's trick you like that.

When you buy ground beef at the store, look for the ones that say “96/4” or “90/10.” That’s the ratio of meat/fat and the more meat, the better. It won’t break up as nicely or be as tasty, true. But if you’re only going for what’s tastiest, just buy a deep dish pizza and call it a night. Eating healthier takes sacrifice.

Why not try ground turkey or ground chicken as a substitute? Hmm? Why not? Scared?


4. Don’t listen to what experts say about fruit. They’re idiots.


There are people that will tell you fruit is full of sugar or that it’s blah blah blah BLAH. I don’t want to hear it. Fruit is good for you. Eat as much as you want. I want to meet someone who says they’re overweight because they eat too much fruit. Worry about the heavy cream and the Italian sausage first.

5. Realize the things you binge on. And don’t buy them.


Crackers. Chips. Ice cream. Peanut butter. Gouda. When I pass these things in the grocery store, I lean wistfully toward them, a single tear rolling down my cheek. But I don’t buy. Why not? Because I have zero control. Some people can grab a handful of Wheat Thins and leave well enough alone. I, on the other hand, can eat peanut butter by the spoonful. And I have. So if you’re like me and your serving size of Doritos is “all the Doritos,” leave them at the store. Quit buying them. Force yourself to find something else to eat.

6. Find the substitutions that work for you.

I hate fat free cream cheese. I think it tastes like watery powder. It probably is. Low fat cream cheese is okay, but you can’t use them to make cheese balls. Laughing Cow wedges are great for snacking. And whipped cream cheese is great because it’s half air. You know how I know all these things? Because I experimented. I tried out my options until I found what worked best for me. You have to do the same, because those little changes matter. Why?...

7. One small thing won’t kill you. But all of them together might.


No, eating a white bun instead of a whole wheat one is not going to send you to the hospital. But eating a burger on a white bun with cheese, mayo, ketchup and bacon with a side of fries and cole slaw will. Switch out a few of those. This is the kind of thing you’ll realize if you track what you eat when you…

8. Keep a food journal for a few weeks.


There are a bazillion websites and apps that help you calculate your calories (including restaurant food and workouts.) Ultimately, food journaling drives me crazy because I eat too many potlucks and I have no way to document those meals properly. Sadly, "a few scoops of whatever I could fit on my plate" is not an option. But keeping track for a few days is super helpful for three reasons:

a. You can see just how much food = 2000 calories (And you can calculate how many calories you need a day. Hint: it's probably not exactly 2000.)

b. It keeps you from mindless snacking. When you have to enter every single pretzel you ate, you’re less likely to sit back and let them fall into your face. It really brings all your eating habits to light and puts them in check.

c. It makes you realize how detrimental a few drinks (and certainly binge drinking) is to your diet. Stupid internet and your knowledge. Why don’t you mind your own damn business?

9. Go to restaurants with a plan.


Yes. That is actually how many calories are in Cheesecake Factory's chicken salad sandwich. YOWZA. Like...is it actually made of BUTTER? How? Why? What is WRONG with you, CF? (I didn't mean that. Don't leave, baby. Come back. I love you. I HATE YOU! No. No. Shhh. I love you.)

What I'm trying to say here is: if you're going to a restaurant that has a menu on their website, especially one with a nutrition list, figure out what you'll get before you go. When you see that the bacon & tortilla salad has over 1000 calories but the roast beef sandwich (no mayo) has 350, guess what? Everyone wins, because you get to eat a roast beef sandwich with no guilt.


10. You don’t have to run a marathon, but you have to move.




The great part about burning calories is that it motivates you to eat better, too. When you know how hard you had to work to burn 300 calories, suddenly putting it back on with a tiny brownie hardly seems worth it. Here are a few non-crazy workout thoughts:

a. If you work out at a gym, the best advice I ever read was “Just go.”
See, sometimes you don’t want to go to the gym. You aren’t busy, you aren’t too tired, you just really REALLY don’t want to go. So the advice was: JUST GO. And once you’re in the door, if you still don’t want to work out, turn around and walk back home. I use this logic on myself ALL THE TIME. And there has only been one time where I walked in, worked out for a second and just went home. Usually once you’re there and you see other people working their asses off, it doesn’t seem like the horrible injustice it did when you were on your couch. But it’s a good reminder that...

b. No one is forcing you to do something you hate.
Working out is not junior high gym class. You’re a grown ass person and you get to decide your own health. If you hate the treadmill? Get the hell off it. Take a step aerobics’ class. Go power walking with your friend or family member or dog (life goal: own a cat that will go on walks with me. I have little hope for Regina Phalange.) Basically, find something that doesn’t make you feel like you’re in hell and go do it.

c. During cardio, watch TV or read an exciting book.
No one ever said that to burn calories you have to be aware that you’re doing it. If you have a machine at home, point it toward your TV and work out during your favorite shows. The thing that gets me to the gym is usually a certain show I can watch at the gym (which works because we have TVs on every machine. But if you don’t, you can always ask the gym workers to change a channel.) So I know that I HAVE to get to the gym by a certain time or I’ll miss whatever prank Jim is going to play on Dwight. Books and magazines can work, too. Anything that takes your mind as far away from your body as possible. I used to read Harry Potter on the elliptical. Yes, it looked ridiculous because it was an 800-page hardcover. But it got the job done.

d. Save something to eat when you are done working out.
Figure out your post-workout food before you start your routine. A handful of pretzels, a slice of bread...or save your dessert until after working out. Whatever. Just make sure you have a plan. Because when you’re done, your body is going to be all, “Um, you just made me burn calories and I WANT THEM BACK, THIEF!!” And your willpower will be hovering around zero because you just forced it to do a bunch of crap it doesn’t want to do. So you’ll get to the fridge and be like, “Giant slice of cake? Don’t mind if I do and don’t mind if I DO.” And you’ll gain back allllll the lovely little calories you just worked so hard to get rid of. So have a plan.


And those are my main points. Of course I have about a billion other tricks I've figured out over time. But I think those are the biggest; those are what I'd tell someone having trouble getting off the couch for anything but cake (and who DOESN'T have trouble with that at least once a week?) In the end, everyone's preferences are different, and everyone needs to decide how to keep themselves healthy, because no one else is going to do it for you.

So tell me, what have I missed? What other tricks do you have to stay healthy? Substitutions? Avoidance food? Food you know you shouldn't have but you keep around anyway for the sake of your sanity?

Thursday, February 10, 2011

50 Finger 'Stache Official Results

Welp! Adrienne and I FINALLY presented our 50 finger 'staches yesterday. It was supposed to be last week but The Storm Of Insanity (not to be confused with The Cliffs of Insanity) kept us all in our houses.

Here's the entire thing. Look how pretty!!


And here are the winners. *Awkward Michael Scott Drumroll*
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrr....brrrrrr....rrrrrrr....

RUNNER UP:


SECOND PLACE:


FIRST PRIZE:



AND SECRET ASSISTANT TO THE FIRST PRIZE (brought to you by Regina Phalange):


Sadly, our efforts did not win us a prize, but you guys should have SEEN the great stuff people brought in. The winner made an entire (BOUND) coloring book. Someone else made pins. Someone else made 50 drawings that were good enough that Adrienne and I both bought one off of her at $5 each. That does NOT, however, mean that we don't appreciate the effort that you guys put into your finger 'staches, and we thank you VERY much. Wow, I'm really into the CAPS today. I regret nothing.

Of course, if you can donate a bit (a dollar, five...a million, whatever) to the cause, which is a tutoring center in inner-city Chicago, that makes you even more splendorrific. Go to "Collabostache" and donate your heart out.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

On Becoming Boring

Last Saturday, I was grating cheese and apparently it was making a weird noise. From the living room, Joe asked, "What's Regina doing?" And I said, "It's me with the cheese."

And for some reason which neither of us understand and yet both of us understand completely, "It's me with the cheese" is actually the funniest sentence that can be uttered in the English language, especially in a 1920's gangster accent. "Mrah, it's me with the cheese, see?"

So naturally I drew a picture to commemorate the event with the fancy new colored pencils my mom--UH, UH, SANTA--put in my stocking.



And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what I accomplished last weekend.

Other things that happened last weekend:
1. I sat on my couch
2. I complained when the music was too loud at the bar (except during Call Me Al, which I think is acceptable at any level and I will fight you if you say otherwise. Also, Call Me Al is the first music video I ever remember seeing. I was at my preschool husband/big wheel cohort's house and I remember it being on in his front room TV and being like, "What is this magical thing presenting itself before me? I want to touch it." Wow I didn't realize I had this much to say about Call Me Al. BACK TO IT)
3. I left the bar early because of how loud all non-Paul Simon songs were.
4. I sat on Taylor and Jess' couch and watched a movie.
5. I sat on Michael and Lindsay's couch and watched sporting events.
6. I entertained a baby for a few minutes by saying "ba ba ba ba" over and over.

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why I am an old, boring person. And I'm okay with it.

I mean, at first I thought my weekend overview meant that all fun had been sucked out of my life and young hooligans would point and laugh at me for being so ver, ver boring. And then I realized that what I used to call "boring" was actually just "sober." And really all I've become is a more mature version of a teenager. Because what do I do now? I get together with friends and watch movies. I go out to eat. I find things to do with people I enjoy which may or may not involve alcohol. I sleep when it's dark out. I sing Cher "Believe" whenever possible. I complain about how adults JUST DON'T GET IT, MAN.

Okay, not the last one. And I don't think I ever said "man" because I was not a teenager in the 60s nor did I smoke peyote. But the rest is true. And that doesn't have to make me boring. Not if I don't let it. So fine, I currently have three forms of antacids in my purse. But it's only because I might get a little CRAZY and order some french fries! You don't know! You don't know what I'm going to do next!!

GOD, there is a really good Friends clip where the guys come back and they're all tired and old and it is SO PERFECT, but my Googling skills have failed me. So take this and enjoy, preferably in a t-shirt and sport coat.


Thursday, December 9, 2010

Why We All Need Christmas

OH MY GOD, you guys. I'm back. And I'm EXCITED. Are you kidding me?? I get to come home from work and I don't have to go directly to bed? What IS this freedom?!?

But you know who is more excited than I am? Regina Phalange. When I came home she started running around the entire apartment and did a cow-jumped-over-the-moon jump over our queen bed. So yeah. I think she's happy.

As I ease my way back into the life of the blogosphere, I thought I'd share with you guys some thoughts reflecting where my mind is when it's not writing headlines: Christmas. Here's part 1.


I think everyone should celebrate Christmas. Hear me out; I promise not to go Bill O'Reilly on you. I think everyone should get behind Christmas, not because I think everyone should believe in Jesus, because the dude is not for everyone, but because Christmas makes cold weather SO MUCH BETTER. Sure, we all have to suffer in January. But why December? Why? December is cold and snowy and terrible. BUT. If Bing Crosby croons softly in your ear while you walk through that December weather? Not so terrible. Not so terrible at ALL, m'friends.

Lately I've been thinking especially about Christmas traditions; which ones have stuck around, which ones have changed, which ones I'm fine with losing. Especially since this is the second holiday go-around with Joe and I'm starting to realize that maybe I'll need to give a little, and do a few more of his Christmas things and a few less of my own.

I think my favorite Christmas tradition which I'd be sad to lose is Christmas Eve. In my mind, that's one of those traditions that's stayed true year after year. It seems that way, but if I really think about it, it's actually changed a TON.

When I was young, it was the one night a year that I was willing to get fancy. I had short hair for much of my childhood, and was convinced that I looked ridiculous in anything fancier than my dinosaur t-shirt. Plus! Dresses were itchy!



But on Christmas Eve, you endure anything. I mean, Santa's watching, people. Shove those feet into those Mary Janes, froof that lace collar and wait for someone to ask you if you're excited for Santa to come.

So we'd sit all politely and nicely at church, surrounded by people we'd never seen before but happy for the warm bodies, and at the end of the service everyone got a candle and lit it and we'd sing Silent Night. Well, everyone ELSE would sing Silent Night. My siblings and I were more concerned with keeping the wax from dripping onto our soft, defenseless hands.

Then, after the service, we'd all pile into the car (the one time that we all called dibs on the back seats so we could huddle for warmth) and our dad would drive us around town, looking at lights and stopping at the house of the professional ice sculptor who always made something mind-blowing.

Finally, we'd get home, put out the cookies and carrots, bounce off walls like Judy Miller, and burrow under our sheets, ready for the assured amazingness awaiting us the next morning.

But eventually it all evolves. The ice sculptor moved. Our hands became callous enough for the candles. And everything became a lot less about impressing Santa and a lot more about impressing Michael, the organist's son, who sings O Holy Night every year now (and hot damn DOES HE, might I add.)

I mean, things change. Christmas is 90% childhood memories, 10% butter and 1% a pain in the ass. I think we're all in general agreement on that. And even though the traditions we keep anymore might not be exactly as we did them as children, and even though being with Joe may mean that I need to reformat Christmas at times, somehow it's all still...nice. Right down to the lame stuff, like car commercials. Because even THEY have giant red bows and happy soundtracks, and even THEY make driving through the snow feel like some kind of wonder of December.

And whether you're Jewish, Christian, Muslim or indifferent, I think anyone should want to get behind turning December--horrible, thigh-freezing December--into a miracle.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Happy Blogaversary!

Wow, today is this blog's one year anniversary. That is CRAZAAYYY! It seems like just yesterday I was dragging my laptop to Lovely to force myself to finally make a blog, even if I had no idea what I wanted to do with it.

I tried to write a little somethin' somethin' along the lines of "here are all the things I did this year" but it just sounded so Dullsville, USA, population me. So what do I do? I turned it into another story in pictures, of course.

So here it is, a bit of the past year, as seen from EJS IS ME:

Here is essentially what the Cheese Knives debacle looked like.

In which I realized that not everyone remembers classic Bible stories in the same way.

If you haven't caught on yet, whales are the bane/joke upon my life. But the original post about them was not all fun and games.

I really did want to become a Roller Derby girl. For now, I'm going to settle on buying myself some roller skates next summer.

This is a bit of a random one, but it pretty well represents my time as a true Freelancer.

What a disaster. For the entire story in pictures, go here.


Here is a good representation of the place I sat when I first started the internship that turned into a real job. That window was like God shining his love down upon me.

My most crass title to date, but I still don't take it back.

I don't think I ever got around to explaining the 3rd disaster of our camping experience: besides the fact that it was a ghetto piece of land in podunk Michigan and the showers probably gave me smallpox, there was also a nearby group of Russians playing and yelling Hotel California--and nothing BUT Hotel California--for 24 straight hours, including those times most people reserve for sleeping. What was crazy was that when they first started, Joe and I couldn't figure out what song they were even trying to play or sing. And by the time we left, they were singing in perfect harmony and even playing the crazy bridge part.

Two days after I got a job, I got a cat with a mustache. She likes it with us.


And I really mean that. Thanks to everyone who's shown support for me or for this blog by reposting, voting, becoming a facebook fan, commenting, or even just telling me that they enjoyed what they read. It's the reason I kept going, blog-wise, and life-wise. Your support has honestly changed the way I've been doing things lately. For the better, obv.

Oh! And I didn't include SO SO many posts, like the dogs in sweaters, a bunch of Bible posts, the one about Advertising that got a gazillion hits, anything involving Muppets or my embarrassing childhood, my disdain for sports, my British teeth issue (in which I got a few angry comments from British people who apparently only understand sarcasm if it's coming out of the mouth of Ricky Gervais)...the list goes on. Feel free to go back and read as much or little as you want!