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.

Emily's Oscars Drinking Game

Oh my God, I am SO SORRY. That was a serious blog break there and trust me, it hurt me more than it hurt you. Work turned into a crazy storm of crazy. So remember how I have a contract-to-hire job through March (and then hopefully for the rest of our lives)? And how it's a mobile app company? Well the app is launching this week and needed to be submitted to the app store last Friday. Which means the last two weeks have been like this:


But now things are hopefully going to move at a SLIGHTLY slower pace and I should be home before bedtime and able to write posts now and again. Since I've been so absent, I literally had to send Joe away on Saturday so I could spend some time "catching up on the internet." Blogs are unread, Tumblr animated gifs are unseen...hell, I barely had time to watch Parks and Rec twice. (Which I did. Because some things are important to me and it's not my real life.)

So my first entry back is a fun one. While I've been away, I've been thinking about the upcoming Oscars this Sunday. I'm really quite excited, despite the fact that I haven't seen 99% of the movies. But it's the OSCARS. It's going to be a SPECTACLE. Also, Billy Crystal is back. And I'm pumped, even though I'm sure people will get all pissy and say he's not as good as he was. These are the same people who say, "The Super bowl commercials weren't as good this year." EVERY FREAKING YEAR.

YOU SAY THIS EVERY YEAR.

EVERY YEAR.

Ahem. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have mentioned it. On to the topic at hand. The Academy Awards. To prove my excitement about the event, I have formulated my own special drinking game. Here we go.



Emily's Oscars Drinking Game

Drink when someone at home says, "Jeez, what's with all the women wearing [color] this year?"

Drink when an actress is wearing crazy jewelry that makes you angry at first but then five minutes later you love it.

Drink when Sigourney Weaver is wearing a one-strap dress.

Drink when no one mentions that Melissa McCarthy played the unstoppable Sookie St. James and you start feeling very possessive of your Melissa McCarthy. YOU DON'T KNOW HER LIKE I DO.

Drink for every man wearing some alternative suit like anyone cares. (bolo ties, maroon jacket, black shirt, etc).

Drink when you see Daniel Day Lewis' suit and it makes you question his real life.

Drink when Brad Pitt looks terrible because his hair or beard are grown out

Drink when you decide that deep down and despite it all, you'd make out with him anyway.

Drink when you realize the only dress you can pull off is Helen Mirren's and even then...no.

Drink when they do some kind if montage with classic movies and you spend the whole time trying to remember what the song is in the background and it turns out to be the theme to Dragonheart. (Or possibly Last of the Mohicans, but really, it's probably Dragonheart. 1:40. Trust me.)

Drink when Billy Crystal comes out and you start weeping for days past, even though you are only in your twenties.

Drink when Billy Crystal looks at someone he knows in the audience and smiles like a kindly grandfather.

Drink when they start off with Supporting Actress and you're all, "Oh so I guess we're just starting this thing right away. No big deal, supporting actresses aren't people, too. They don't need time to collect themselves."

Drink whether or not Sookie wins. Either way you're going to need a drink for this moment.


Drink every time they list a nominee and you say, "Who?"

Drink when someone thanks Harvey Weinstein and you say, "Why?"

Drink when someone says something abrasively Liberal and you're like UGH but really you technically agree with them.

Drink when they do the In Memoriam and you're like, "Wow this is lame this y-- wait, HE died?! Awwwwww! *sniff, sniff* I LOVE the In Memoriam!"

Drink when that person is Grandpa Joe.

Drink when everyone cheers extra for Whitney Houston because they will and fine, I'll let it happen because I can't stop it.

Drink when people act surprised that Disney•Pixar won the award.

Drink any time you involuntarily roll your eyes.

Drink when Sookie cries and so you start crying because you're best friends and you have a bond that shall not be broken.

Drink every time Dustin Hoffman is amazing.

Drink when an actor tries to make a joke off the cuff and it fails miserably.

Drink when an actor makes a joke and it fails miserably, but at home you're like, "BAH HA HA! Good one, Steve Martin."

Drink when an actress comes out from the back and you hold your breath. Not because of her beauty, but because you're terrified that if anyone breathes, she might trip on her train.

Drink when someone makes a joke about Tom Hanks and they cut to him and he immediately goes along with the joke and suddenly you're pregnant.

Likewise Aunt Meryl.

Drink when the music cuts in on the second guy and he just wants to thank his wife and kids so you feel bad for him, but also get off the damn stage, there are actors to look at.

Drink each time you ponder the fact that if actors are terrible at reading teleprompters, then WHO IS GOOD AT IT.

Drink whenever you really want someone to win and then some schmo gets it instead and they're on stage crying happy tears and this is a pivotal moment in their lives and you're sitting at home throwing popcorn at the screen yelling "Oh boo hoo, you no-talent CLOWN."

Drink when Billy Crystal comes out and you're like "Oh, right, this show technically has a host. Why is this supposed to be such a hard job again?"

Drink when they finally finish off with Best Film but they spent so long on sound design and cinematography that you're worn out and don't remember why you started on this grand adventure in the first place.


Any others I missed? Comment with your own! Especially if you've seen the movies this year and know more about how this is going to go down than I do.

Fantastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mostly because she made this:


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

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


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

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

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

Improv Level B

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

And really, is anyone?



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

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

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

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

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

Things That Make Me Happy Right Now

Moving is stressful. Two days of moving in the middle of the week? All I can say is, thank God I have two parents who don't work 9-5 jobs (When I needed a nepotism-fueled internship during college like my friends, I was not happy about that fact. But it's helping me out right now.) Then add the fact that at the end of all this moving, Joe and I are being ripped from each other's arms, and I need a little happy in my life right now. That's why I plan on focusing on these things today.

1. The Chew.

It's a new daytime show coming this fall. I know very little about it, but hi, Mario Batali AND Clinton Kelly? Of "Stacey and Clinton"?? YES AND YES. NOW. GIVE. GIVE NOW.


(Edit: Hmm, that video is not embedding properly. Damn you, ABC! Check it out here if you're interested.)

2. Tom Hanks dancing on Univision

I gather that Tom Hanks remembers about as much Spanish as I do, considering his reactions to people speaking Spanish with him: "...........Como?" I find it adorable that he had the courage to go on a Spanish-speaking show in the first place, and DOUBLY adorable when he just gives up. In a different clip, he's supposed to help with a recipe, but just regresses to eating a raw jalepeño. Amazing. This one takes the cake, though.



I love that Tom Hanks, in his age, wisdom, and earned respect has just said "F--K IT, I'M DOING WHATEVER THE HELL I WANT."


Tom Hanks on WhoSay
(Courtesy of Tom's own Twitter)

3. Lonely Island

I'm sorry, but how can these songs not make you feel totally amazing?





If there was a nuclear explosion and the only artists left were Akon and Ludacris and they sang every song for the rest of my life....well that'd be just fine.


4. Gay Boyfriend, Purple Shorts
As always, a little bit of Party In The FIP to top it off.

The Tragic Tale of Mold-A-Rama Lincoln

Joe and I went up to the Sears--GAH! WILLIS!!--Tower on Saturday. This is his last weekend in Chicago before he moves to San Fran for the next four months, and he's never been up to the top of the Sears--WILLIS!--Tower. So we decided it would be a fun, quick touristy thing to do. We actually live only a few blocks away, so it was a fast walk. And it was really cool to be able to look at the place you live from up above. Turns out Target is shaped weirdly.

Since I've last been there, they've added these glass boxes that jut out on the west side of the building, so you can basically step out and be 5/6 suspended in mid-air. When I first heard about it, I swore to the high heavens that I would absolutely 100% never go.

Sigh. Here I am, giving in to the peer pressure.



Once we circled the top and went back down, we walked through a bunch of touristy things. Mugs, snowglobes, we walked past them all. But then! *Fanfare music* Photo booths, penny-flattening machines and two, COUNT EM, TWO Mold-A-Rama machines.

For those who do not know about the majesty that is Mold-A-Rama, here's the deal: they're these retro-looking things that make wax figurines. The only other place I can remember seeing them is at the zoo. Near the dolphins, you can get a dolphin. Bears, bears. Rhinos, rhinos. Etc etc, ditto ditto, and so on and so forth.

Here's an example of another one I found on Google.



Up in the top left they show you what the figurine would look like. Then there under the glass is the mechanism: two halves of the mold, which come together and fill with wax after you put the money in. After a minute, the mold is done, and a little arm comes down and pushes it down into the hole where you can get it, vending-machine style.

Well. I got pretty excited about this particular mold, a bright blue Abraham Lincoln with "The Land Of Lincoln" written underneath. It just sounded so kitch, I couldn't resist. Here's what he would look like.



Joe put in the $2 it costs, the two metal arms came together as they should, we heard the noise of the mold coming in, aaaaaannnnnd something weird happened.

Blue wax started dripping out the bottom.

Now, I have a pretty bad memory, but I've also made my way around a Mold-A-Rama before. And I couldn't remember ever seeing the wax come out the bottom of the mold. Confused but hopeful, we waited for the mold to open so we could see what would happen.

Abe was there, all right. But it looked like the mold had filled with twice the amount of wax, and it had plastered him to the bottom. The little arm came out and tried to shove him into the hole (ooer) but only got him slightly loose, thus moving him off his track but not far enough for him to drop.




I'm a true Illinoisian so I have to say, it's the first time I've ever been disappointed in Abraham Lincoln.

Refusing to give up hope, I sent Joe to get help as I stood guarding Honest Abe. I had to explain to quite a few tourists why it was broken and why I was keeping them from attempting to get their own.

Joe came back with some 20-something ticket vendor kind of guy. The guy scratched his head, shook the machine (genius thinking at its best with this one) and confirmed what I said, he'd have to call the Mold-A-Rama people and they'd refund us our $2.

NO! NO. This was simply not good enough. I was invested in my Abe now. I wanted my mold. At the very least, I wanted to see the machine squish my Abe and remelt it and see what happens, because I think melted wax is ever-entertaining. (I'm often called a pyro because I play with lit candles all the time, but it's not actually because I like fire. I fear fire, unless Tom Hanks is stranded on a deserted island and desperate to create it. [Oh my God, Wilson.][Oh my God did anyone else see Bridesmaids where Kristen Wiig is watching Castaway and it's only about 5 seconds long but it's the part where he realizes Wilson is gone and he's sobbing and screaming "I'M SORRY WILSON!" and Kristen Wiig is crying and I'M crying because I remember that part in the movie VIVIDLY and it is seriously more heartbreaking than when actual PEOPLE die in movies and you just want to cradle Dirty Tom Hanks in your arms, even though technically you are watching Bridesmaids and then you remember how every time you see that part in Love Actually where Liam Neeson watches Titanic, they play it for just long enough that you forget you're watching Love Actually and when they stop it you get really upset because you were kind of getting into the scene and you kind of just want to watch Titanic now?])

Whoah. Where am I?

Oh, right. So Lincoln is off-kilter and I wanted to know what would happen if we put in two more dollars. I'm not going to lie, I was really hoping for doubled up, conjoined twin Lincoln. So we asked the guy if we could do it and see what would happen. Of course this guy wasn't about to say no. He was two bakes past half-baked. He said he'd turn his back.

So we put in the money, and of course what happened was this:



The already formed figure was keeping the two sides of the mold from coming together, thus none of the wax stayed in the mold and it all started dripping everywhere. When it opened, it looked like this:



"NO! NO! OH MY GOD, LINCOLN!! WHAT HAVE I DONE? Joe, we need to go. No, we need to get out of here right now. Run. Leave the money, I WILL NOT STAND AROUND AND BE FORCED TO PAY FOR A BROKEN MOLD-A-RAMA MACHINE."



We left the Sears--SCREW IT. SEARS.--Tower with nothing more than a flattened penny and a shamed look.

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.

5 Things I Learned About Los Angeles

Hey guys! I'm back from LA! Had a great time. Saw a lot of stuff. Took pictures next to Tom Hanks' AND Aunt Meryl's hand prints obv, and did a lot of nice-weather kinds of things. Drove past the Scientology...compound. CRAZY.

So now that I know a little more about LA than I did, I thought I'd share my thoughts with you.


1. It's Always Summer.

I cannot explain it better than that. I mean, I knew it was nice all the time. But it's a whole new thing actually seeing it in action. Everything is...clean. And not because they actually bother to clean it. No. It's clean because the city is not covered from skyscraper to sewer drain in rock salt once a year. The roads seem newly-paved and smoother than a baby dolphin. Which I imagine are VERY VERY smooth.

Also, people just have this air about them like...like they do this kind of thing every day. Like 75 and sunny ISN'T God's greatest gift to humanity (which, hi, it is) it's just another day. Do you have any idea what people do in Chicago when it's 75 and sunny? They stand around outside, marveling at how nice the freaking weather is. In fact, I think 99% of any given Chicagoan's time is spent talking about the weather. It's not a small talk nicety here. It's a way of life.


2. Driving isn't so bad.

That is, as long as you don't accidentally get into random, non-sensical rush hour traffic. Joe and I spent four days driving around LA and we were never particularly inconvenienced by bad traffic. BUT there were a few times that we just got lucky. We'd look over to the other side of the highway, packed with cars. Going into downtown mid afternoon. Like...where are you people going? Go home. Go longboard.


3. Celebrities are not that easy to find.

In our whole trip, Joe and I noticed one celebrity, and it was a That Guy that neither of us can place. All I can say is he's white, curly brown hair, middle-aged, possibly an angry comedian? Damn it, now I have to go back on Google and see if I can find him again. GAH, NO IT WAS NOT GARRY SHANDLING, GOOGLE. GOD.

OH MY GOD I just accidentally spent 40 minutes looking at pictures of photo bombs on College Humor after searching for pictures of "that guy". WHERE AM I?!

4. The Venice Boardwalk is full of crap I would have bought in Middle School.

In the movies, the boardwalk is an open, populated area full of blond women in neon bikinis rollerblading. But in real life, it's just a big paved road with shops on one side and burn outs on the other, playing the only Hendrix song they know and selling things ranging from "palm leaf art" to "hemp hats" to "give me weed and I'll let you pet my dog." The entire outdoor area smelled like patchouli and vegetable oil and there were multiple booths selling chauvinistic novelty tees. I had been warned, of course, that the boardwalk was not All That, but I guess I had to see it to believe it.


5. LA is where 'Nam era hippies go to live out their days.

If you think your parents were former hippies, guess what? They still could have been, if they'd just COMMITTED TO THE ROLE. The only thing we saw more than Priuses (We invented a game, btw, called "If you don't see a Prius in five minutes, you lose.") were old hippies. These are people who have not changed a single thing in their life since Lyndon B. Johnson was president. And why should they? The weather doesn't change from day to day, so how is anyone to know for certain that time itself isn't just standing still? It's like Groundhog Day over there, seriously, except instead of a horrible Punxsutawney February, it's just like...June 10th. June 10th, 1968. For the rest of your life.

And whether or not it really is, hope you like Hendrix.

A Short Blog break

Joe and I are going to LA for the rest of the week, so I won't be around on the ol' bloggy blog. Not that it would be that noticeable considering my posting has shortened as of late (I'm trying to be a No Excuses kind of girl, but to be fair, I got an extra-ten-hours-a-week-for-no-extra-money project tacked onto my job in the past month, if that helps explain the lack of posts. So unless you guys would like to talk about branding strategy up in here [up in here], you've gotta give me some slack for a little bit. I have a lot less time to make jokes about how often I run into things. WHICH I STILL DO, DON'T THINK I'VE IN ANY WAY MATURED JUST BECAUSE I HAVE MORE WORK TO DO. Although I did wear heels for the first time in a year and I didn't fall down ONCE a-thank you. Wow this is a really long parenthetical aside. I probably should make this a new paragraph. BUT WILL I? No.)

Moving on.

So anyway. We're going to LA. I'm pumped for a vacation, but I've had two things dampen my spirits in the past hour and they're really harshing my mellow.

1. The weather is going to be in the 60s. Which, considering it actually snowed in Chicago this morning, is pretty great. But I was planning a week of beach laying, flowy skirts and flip flops. Now I'm going to have to stalk Tom Hanks and Aunt Meryl in pants and a light jacket and I'm BITTER.

2. I didn't know they jack up car rental prices the day before I need them. I'm not SURPRISED, I just didn't know it. I am a stingy old miser and am therefore disproportionately pissed that I missed my opportunity to pay $15 a day for a car. RUDE.

So yeah. That's all. Finally getting my ass to LA. Um...I have no way to end this post. So I'll leave with this.

Here is the reason I am taking a vacation.

WHY, TOM? WHYYYYY?

OH MY GOD.

I missed YET ANOTHER Tom Hanks-themed event in Chicago. EVERY YEAR, people. EVERY YEAR. How is it that someone can utter the phrase "Tom Hanks-themed event" and I'm not all, I feel a disturbance in the Force and then am IMMEDIATELY by their side with a volleyball and permanent marker? Hmm? HOW.

This time apparently it was International Tom Hanks Day, celebrated at Fizz Bar & Grill and endorsed by Tom Hanks via aution items and a tweet.

I discovered the news after my brother informed me that Tom Hanks will be guest starring on 30Rock (Possible roles? I'm hoping someone's brother. Jenna's, Jack's, Grizz's...I don't care.) which only slightly makes up for having missed the second Hanks event in a year. Tom Hanks and Liz Lemon. The names just fit, don't they?

In conclusion:

You look good with a puppy, have I told you that?

Date Night Lessons: Tacos Are Bad, Pixar is Good.

This Friday Joe and I had our first Date Night as a cohabiting couple.

Question: Don't you see each other every day?
Answer: Um, yes?

Question: Ohhh, but going to the gym and making curry chicken and falling asleep does not a romantic couple make?
Answer: Correctamundo.

Question: What if you watch a few episodes of Gilmore Girls while you eat? Is it a date then?
Answer: Oh, YOU.

So! First we decided on a restaurant: a nice Mexican joint with a name that is similar to "zapatos" but is not. I keep calling it Zapatitos, which really just means "little shoes." Which is ADORABLE and the future name of my awesome Mexican restaurant for toddlers. It'll be a hit.

But once we got to Zapatitos, we discovered it was INSANE. I mean, yeah. Friday at 7, I guess you can expect that. But it was craziness. Our waitress explained that there was a group of 80 off behind the curtained area, hence the added chaos. Whatever. We ordered fancy tacos. Later, a bunch of emergency trucks pulled up and casual firemen (suspenders, muscles, that kind of thing) walked in. The waitress decided we were cool enough to let us know that the party of 80 was ACTUALLY Ashley Simpson and her husband, Fallout Boy. Or whoever. And the emergency vehicles were because one of her friends passed out and had to be hooked up to an IV.

And OF COURSE she did.

I'm sorry, but is there anything surprising to you about the sentence, "Ashley Simpson and her posse are creating a low-key annoyance on my life."

No, there is not. I can tell you right now that there is not.

So whatever. The steak/bacon tacos were good, the chicken ones were eh, we paid and made our way to the theater for the most mature date night movie ever: Toy Story 3.

NO SPOILERS TO BE ALERTED FOR. I PROMISE TO BE GOOD.

I don't have to tell you that the movie was amazing. I mean, Pixar. Come on. And I don't have to tell you that Stepdad Tom Hanks turned in a magnificent performance. Don Rickles was hilarious, Ernest Becomes A Slinky Dog was confusing (BUT! BUT! You died?!...wait, right? No wait, you're alive. No wait....you're dead.)
Really, the whole gang was great. And oh, the hijinks!

The important thing was, like after ANY Toy Story movie, I completely freaked out that I didn't appreciate my toys enough when I had them, that I didn't treat them well when I became older, and that whatever happened to them, they are sad to feel unloved and without their friends.

Which, I understand, it's all a made-up concept by the people of Pixar. And there are plenty of other people whose idea was to make toys come alive and kill you in the night. But I grew up with Toy Story. When the first one came out, I was at the perfect age. I was in the fifth grade. I was becoming jaded and growing up. And my toys were becoming less of a play-thing and more of a pile in a corner. HOW COULD I?!?!?! I remember the day I saw that movie, I took all my stuffed animals and set them up with me in the bed. There was juuuuuuust enough room for me.

This is what Toy Story has done. Okay, maybe I have an extended imagination. Or maybe that's why I'm a copywriter. Either way, Joe and I are currently up to our necks in He-Man, Ninja Turtles, and teddy bears (the Turtles are mine, by the by.) All of whom I feel the need to apologize to, just in case I took away all their friends--OR MY MOTHER DID--*glare, glare*

So yes. That was my weekend. I spent the majority of my time making sure that all my toys were comfortable and among friends. The rest of my weekend was spent in the bathroom, as a direct result of those damn Ashely Simpson-ruined tacos. Something ain't right at Zapatitos.



PS. I encourage comments. I GREATLY enjoy them. Always. Please leave some and be my friend. But please no TS3 spoilers. Especially don't mention the *wink wink* or the *nudge nudge, say no more, say no more*.

How To Cancel a Free Subscription (Because You Just Found Out Your Boyfriend Owes the Government Enough Money To Buy Iceland)

Let's get one major thing out in the open here. Tom Hanks has a Twitter account which he updates with behind-the-scenes of his current project. You're welcome, America.

So! What have I been up to lately? Let's see it in list form!
-Staying at my boyfriend's apartment
-Making every meal using my slow cooker for some strange but delicious reason
-Reading Harry Potter 7 again as if Rupert Grint's life depends on it (It might.)
-Looking for an apartment for next month

Joe and I saw two apartments yesterday that we loved. I don't want to jinx it before the paperwork goes through but we are very hopeful about one in particular. SECRETS!!

Spending the day talking about finances and moving in and paperwork may have been the least romantic day in my entire life. By bedtime, I was starting to have a bit of a panic attack. Joe had to calm me down with a thorough eyebrow massage (Oh I'm sorry, you've never had one? I pity you.) I've never really known exactly how much money Joe has. All I knew was "not a ton + student loans" and that was fine. Obviously I am not one of those girls who requires a man with money. As long as we can afford $3 bottles of wine and the occasional cheeseburger, what else can a girl ask for?

Well after a credit check and an application asking exactly how much money is in our checking accounts (Hi. That is a terrifying thing to put on paper.) We now know the ins and outs of one another's financial situation. And it is grim. Hence the necessary eyebrow massage. Christ, I may need another one just thinking about it.

What I'd really like to talk to you about is the monstrocity of Free Credit Schmeport Dot Com. For one of our applications, we had to get the report ourselves. I went to this site because I felt like it was legit, and didn't want to just be giving all my info around willy-nilly. I want some stupid guy with curly hair, a guitar and a jingle to look at my credit score.

FUN FACT! There is nothing free about Free Credit Schmeport Dot Com. Here's how they get you:

Step 1. You actually have to pay 1 dollar to get the report for some bullshit reason that is legally not a lie, but for all intents and purposes, is actually a lie. Something about the government. The dollar goes to charity. Whatever. The real reason they charge you the dollar is...
Step 2. So that you give them your credit card info. It's just a dollar. It's for charity. Right? WRONG!
Step 3. You are signed up for a free 7-9 day trial (which makes no sense already and I smell a bigger pile of bullshit off in the distance) which, once that is over, will automatically become a paid membership of $15 a month unless you CALL and cancel.
Step 4. Oh you better believe I will be calling to cancel. Ring Ring! Ring Ring!
Step 5. Hello, welcome to Foreign Call Center Where People With Accents Are Frustratingly Hard To Understand And Make You Want To Say F*ck It And Pay The Damn $15 Instead, may I help you?
Step 6. Yes I'd like to cancel my membership.
Step 7. Why did you get your report in the first place?
Step 8. None of your freakin' beeswax, LADY.
Step 9. Did you know that with our service, you get a million awesome things?
Step 10. I do? Gee! What about--NO! Stop trying to confuse me. I want to quit the gym/bank/website.
Step 11. Okay, we can do that. But you could also do this other thing for $15.
Step 12. NO!!! I WANT TO QUIT YOU!!!
Step 13. Alright Ms. Sheffar [???]. We've cancelled your membership.
Step 14. You hang up. You worry.

And that's it! If you, too, would like to know your credit score, just go to the site and get your score for "free" in just fourteen easy steps! Don't delay, call now!

Tom Hanks. Prom Hanks. Blarg.

I am so sad at this moment.

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

Prom.













Hanks.

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

It's better this way.