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!

Talking REAL Derby

Okay. HERE'S the deal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ohhhhhhhh stereotypes FTW.

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


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

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

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

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

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

WHOOPS

SCHEDULE THROWN OFF FORGOT TO BLOG FORGOT HOW TO USE LOWER CASE LETTERS AND PUNCTUATION

UH....UH...VOTE FOR ME?


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




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

Talking Derby

Question: Did I spend most of my weekend watching Gilmore Girls and eating butter cookies?
Answer: Did you REALLY need to ask that?

Question: Did I also have a rockin' weekend?
Answer: Why yes! Yes I did!

On Saturday I had an awesome date night with Joe, which you do not need to hear about EXCEPT for the fact that I have learned something viciously important to your lives: Nutella-flavored things are disappointing--HEAR ME OUT! Please, everyone, put down your pitchforks and your barraging tree trunks. Now, obviously, Nutella in the raw is the single greatest thing in existence. But Nutella cheesecake? Just tastes like chocolate cheesecake. It's a sad, harsh reality to just have thrown upon you, I know. But those are the facts. And sooner or later, you're just going to have to face them.

But enough with such trivialities!
For a solid fourteen-or-so hours now, I have had a whole new take on life, Nutella be damned (Yeah, I said it. WHAT.) Guys. I am in love with the roller derby.



Ever since my time as a tomboy, I have longed for such a lifestyle. My inner self actually has a slim, boyish figure, short, wind-swept blue hair, and tattoos up and down my arms. Of what? I don't know. But there they are.

I never really embraced my badass, blue-haired tomboyness, though. For one thing, I am not actually badass at all (see previous Gilmore statement.) Also, I just don't have the strong jaw/flat chest combination that I feel the look truly requires.

But yesterday I saw my first roller derby, and it has given me new hope for my inner blue hair.

First of all, these girls wear spankies. And I'm sorry, but I would look HOT whipping through time and space in a pair of those bad boys. What can I say? I've got good legs. Even if I gained 50 pounds, my legs would still be nice. Granted, I would look like a giant potato on toothpicks, but for some reason, the legs would still be intact. Thanks, genetics!

Secondly, cool names. In roller derby, you get to have a hardcore, kick ass new name! All you do is take your name and you use a pun to make yourself sound totally badass. Like Juanna Rumbel, Mel Content, or Zombea Arthur. I haven't quite decided on what mine should be, but I'm leaning toward Emily Killjoy or Death Shepard.

Thirdly, hip checks. So here's how roller derby works: There's an oval rink. Most girls on both teams are in one pack going in one direction. There are two girls in the back who have to fight through the pack and get to the front. They get points for passing girls on the other team. Basically, it's football going in one direction. (...With girls. On skates. In spankies.) So to be good, you've either gotta be wiley and fast and get through a pack of rock star girls, or you've gotta be one of those rock star girls.

I always thought that I would be good at football if a girl's team existed (do NOT suggest "Powderpuff" to me unless you want a knee to the groin.) I considered for one second joining girls' rugby in college, but I didn't like the idea of no padding and flesh being bitten off. But roller derby! Roller derby is my calling! There are hip checks AND elbow pads! There's light pushing! There's butt bumping! There's the speed of skates without the instability of aligned wheels! And there are girls with tattoos on their thighs! I could be one of those girls!

I've been loosely researching derby things all morning now--where rinks are, how to get in, blue hair dye...most likely I'll put Whip It into my Netflix queue and call it a day. But there is a chance I will actually put my mind to something for once. Granted, I haven't been on a real sports team since tee ball in the first grade. But maybe this is my second chance at tomboyness! You know, in a...spankies and cleavage kind of way.