Grammy Thoughts I Can't Keep to Myself

I jumped up and grabbed my 3D glasses for THAT? Also, I know what I said about Killer Whales not being scary, but seriously I need some warning before you just throw one of those into my living room.

Mos Def and Jay Z are both adorable. They should rap about how I want to pat them on the head.

Quentin Tarantino...stop that.

Is anyone else as ecstatic as I am that Eminem is back? Between him and Britney, it's like I just traveled back in time to Freshman year in high school, and I am in no way upset about that. As long as I, in turn, do not have to start wearing butterfly clips again.

Here's my shpeel about TSwift: I love her. I have no knowledge about what makes a song technically good. I mean, she's catchy, and I of course appreciate that. But what I love is that there is a female singer that is making songs that young girls can actually relate to. Because I don't care if white middle class tweens ACTUALLY have real problems. The fact is, the girl who sat across from me at lunch committed suicide when she was 13. So it doesn't matter what you SHOULD feel when you're young. It matters how you do feel. And Taylor Swift gives girls a healthy, angsty outlet. And I love her for that.

[Edit after watching some YouTube the next day] Hearing Elton John sing "How wonderful life is, with Lady Gaga in the world" might have been the gayest moment of my life. Amazing.

New Look! Same Great Formula!

A new look for my blog! Yes, gone is the day of that damn lime green background. It was getting to me.

Apologies if any of you checked in on me in the past few hours. You probably got an eyeful of my haphazard first (eighty) attempts to get this right.

I'm not sure that the new look says, "Read this! It's funny stuff!" But...polka dots, guys. Polka dots. And I think every other blog in the world out there is written by mommy bloggers (Drink if she mentions her wonderful husband in her 'about me' section!) So I guess they're the key demographic for pre-made blog backgrounds, and "cute" was all I could find.

Have a marvelous weekend, kids, and I'll catch you all on Monday.

Why I Might Be Fired From Volunteering

I have been a volunteering machine these last few months, plugging along, not complaining and keeping a bright shiny smile on my face.

And really, I do love it. I volunteer with little kids all over the place, and I'm good at it. I swear. But now I need to get something off my chest. This is something that happened on Wednesday while I was tutoring.

So the way that this place works is: the tutors all come in at 3pm and sit at these large tables. As the kids filter in, one of the leaders bring them to a tutor that they think will be a good match.

I was tutoring this silent-but-deadly girl, we'll call her Jacki. Jacki was quiet. Hardly said a word. But she was really amazing at not getting any work done. She was like a freaking Houdini, too. I swear, I turned my back for one second and she managed to wriggle under the table and across the room. Freaking magical, this girl. So for an hour and a half it was me saying, "Okay, Jacki. What's next? Jacki. Howabout this problem? What's 2 times 4, Jacki?...Jacki...Where did you go? Jacki, get down from that light fixture."

When Jacki was almost done, they placed another student with me. We'll call him Alex. Alex is the nicest boy you'll meet. He hated me. Alex was a talker--the boy who always probably gets his name written on the board with a check mark after it. You know what I'm talking about. To Alex, tutors are just more people to talk to! Hooray! Oh, but here's forty mixed fractions I have to do.

So I've got the Talker on one side and Jacki Houdini on the other, and neither of them will sit still for one second without me breathing on them. Thank God I'd just brushed my teeth. I don't want to be THAT tutor.

I promised Alex that if he finished his fractions, I'd go steal him an Oreo from the back room. Because, yeah. I'm that cool. This got him back to work, so I turned to Jacki. When I turned back to check on him, Alex is at another table, talking to a tutor about cat hair.

Eventually, another tutor took it upon herself to try and harness Alex into working. She did this by asking him how to do the problem he was working on (the same problem he had been working on since he arrived, by the way). Alex showed her part of it, and then she finished the rest for him. So he copies her answer down in his workbook and she congratulates him. "Thanks for showing me how to do that problem! Here's a cracker."

WHAT THE HELL, LADY. Here I am, being a normal--albeit stressed--tutor, keeping Alex's nose to the grindstone and trying to get him through one answer. And now YOU come in, give him the answer and then usurp my prize?! Awesome. That'll really give me the points I need to--- Op. Oh, no. Jacki has broken free and is now dangling from a bookshelf.

Eventually it was time to go. Alex had done MAYBE two problems, but at least Jacki hadn't broken her nose?

I'm sorry, I'm aware this post is kind of lame and confusing. I just needed an outlet to share my frustration, since the entire situation was such a failblog dot com. Backslash volunteering.

As I Recall: The Man Who Used Fructis

Alright. I’ve decided not to go in sequential order for my Bible Recaps. Even though the OCD side of me is VERY upset about this, trying to go from front to back is giving me facial spasms.

SO! What story do I do next? Well, I’m sticking with an Old Testament story, which coincides with me being allegedly Jewish. I’m going wiiiiiiith…..(awkward Michael Scott drum roll) Brrrrrrrrrrrrr……

SAMSON!


So first of all, I need to admit something. I’ve never seen Field of Dreams. I’ve never seen The Godfather. I’ve never seen Rocky. And I don’t think I’ve ever actually heard the story of Samson front to back. What is wrong with you?! What kind of life have you led?! I know. I know.

I KNOW.

So now I’m going to read the story of Samson before I review it. *Reading*…*Reading*… *Reading*…

Oh. Ohhhhhhhhh.

So it’s NOT SO MUCH with the peace and love. I always thought, “Oh, nice guy, long hair, strong...lovely woman. What else is there to know?” What ISN’T there to know, Emily Of The Past? What isn’t there?

Okay now. Let’s start with Samson’s birth. As any normal birth goes, Samson’s mother was having trouble conceiving, so the Lord went ahead and took care of that for her, sending an angel down to let her know. He told her not to drink any booze and not to cut the child’s hair...ever, because it was his connection with God or something. Seriously, why was Samson’s mother the ONLY one who was told not to wine it up while pregnant until, like, the 70s? I mean, if Mad Men has taught me anything (and it has), it’s that ladies in the 60s + fetuses + martinis = yes. But Samson’s mother, for “unknown” reasons was told not to drink of the vine. And thank God—literally—because that boy came out STRONG.

We’ve all seen at least four seconds of Supernanny, right? Where the parents are all Oh, I don’t want to discipline my child, I might hurt his feelings while the kid is screaming, “I WANT ICE CREAM FOR BREAKFAST, YOU BITCH!!!!” And the mom is wondering why her child hates her.

That is Samson. He was created by God for special things. And his parents treat him as such. So one day, Samson is putzing around near the Philistines, who currently rule over the Israelites (ooooof course) and he decides that some random Philistinian girl is super hot^max and wants her to be his wife. So he goes home and tells his parents straight up, “I met a girl, now make her mine, assholes.” And his parents are all “But, Darling. Wouldn’t you like to marry a nice Jewish girl? What about that girl Yentl? A nice girl, a good catch! True? True.”

But Samson will have none of it. So he goes back to town to talk to this girl. On the way over, what do you know, a lion jumps out at him. So Sampson “tore the lion apart barehanded as one might tear apart a kid.”

MASSIVE TIME OUT.

a. Holy shit. A lion. Which are like…what? At least twice the size of humans. And one of them is coming at you, so you just go J-Woww on it, attacking with zero thoughts of repercussions. Woww.
b. At first I read this as kid = child and there were so many terrible images in my head, let alone a whole new respect for the Bible, which compares ease of attack with children’s flesh. But then I realized they meant kid = baby goat.
c. WHO THE HELL CAN TEAR APART A GOAT BAREHANDED?!

TIME IN.

So Samson goes down to talk to this girl. And she pleases him. Well, that’s nice. I hope one day I can be “meh” enough for some guy to force me into marriage. So after a while, Samson goes back to marry this girl. Taking the same route, he passes the dead lion carcass (good times) and sees that bees have set up camp inside the lion, and they’ve made a bunch of honey. Normal. So Samson scoops out a handful of honey from the rotting, disgusting carcass and continues on to the ceremonies. When he gets to his parents, he gives them some. (“Hey, Mom and Dad! I’ve got a loose handful of honey! Want some?” “Sure, son! We will by no means find this weird or ask you where you got it. *Lick, lick*)

So then there’s this thing about a riddle that makes ZERO sense and, in the end, Samson kills a ton of Philistines, who in turn burn Samson’s wife to death. It’s some crazy stuff, trust me, but this post is getting lengthy, so I’m gunna move us along.

So now there are all sorts of eye-for-an-eye things going on between Samson and the Philistines. But eventually Samson’s own people are tired of it, and tie him up and bring him to the Philistines. Too bad none of them know about the whole lion debacle from earlier, because a few ropes are child’s play to Samson at this point. He rips off the rope and reaches for the fresh jawbone of a donkey (and, really, who hasn’t seen one of those lying around?) And he kills—-wait for it—-a thousand men. One thousand. Fezzik can only kill 10.

Samson, a little more brawn than brain, says: “With the jawbone of a donkey, I have slain a thousand men.” ...Provoking.

Now comes the parts about Samson that I recognize: Delilah and the pillars.

So Samson falls in love with this girl named Delilah. And the Philistines tell her that if she figures out how to overcome him, they’ll give her a bunch of money. So she asks him straight up, “Samson, how can you be bound?” Of course, Samson lies and tells her if they use this one kind of string, he won’t get free. So in the night, she ties him up with that string and then screams, “The Philistines are upon you!” And obviously Samson breaks free right away.

So at this point, if I know my man Samson, he would snap this girl’s neck and hightail it out of there. But instead, HE gets in trouble! I tell you, women and their wiles. So Delilah pouts, “You lied to me and mocked me! How rude! Now tell me the truth!!” And instead of smacking her across the face, Samson just tells her another lie. So she tries it, it fails, and she yells at him again. This happens like four times. FINALLY Samson is so tired from all the nagging (LOL aren’t we women just the worst?) that he actually tells her how to make him weak: cut off his hair. Double u. Tee. Eff. So, of course, she cuts off his hair and then calls in the Philistines. They throw money at her, and cart Samson away. Oh, AND they gouge out his eyes for good measure. Yay!!

Now the Philistines could finally rest easy because Samson had been defeated. But one day, all the high lords and ladies are celebrating and they call for Samson so they can be entertained by him. Because it ain’t a party until there’s a weak, pathetic guy with no eyes standing next to you, weeping.

Samson asks to be led toward the house’s large pillars so he can lean on them. Then he shoots up a quick message to God, asking God to pulse through his hair once more so that he can take revenge on his enemies. He puts one hand on each pillar, and God gives him the strength to push down both pillars, killing everyone at the party, including himself.

Ta-daa!!!! Now why wasn’t that story in Sunday School?

Best Of?

One new thing I'd like to add to my blog is a list of some Favorite Posts so far. They say it helps increase viewership. And as I've said before, being a middle child means that my goal in life is to get as much attention as possible from those who are averse to giving it.

So I feel like at this point, I've got enough posts to start telling people which ones to read (and which they can skip, let's be honest here.)

I was thinking, based on the reactions I've received from people:

1. As I recall: Moses
2. Feminism
3. Cheese Knives.

What do you think? Are there any more that strike you as good enough that if someone read that one--and only that one--that they'd want to keep reading more random things I say? Help a lonely, deranged, unemployed copywriter out.

I'm looking at YOU,
Sra M.
Laura M.
Erin R.
Kristin R.
Kim L.
Katie G.
Hannah S.
Sara G.
Margaret (Z)N.
and
Adrienne C. & Family

...God, I need to get more guy friends. Maybe I should stop making fun of sports so damn much. Well at least you, TOO:

Keith P.
and
Joe-P C.

Super Bowl 2010 Prediction: Who To Root For

Start placing your bets now, people. I have your scientific Super bowl prediction. With my MASSIVE knowledge of sports, I found it easy to weigh the pros and cons of this year’s Big Game. So here we go. Sports Center, eat your heart out.

PUMP UP NFL THEME:
DUN dun dun dunnnnnnn (BUM BUM, BUM BUM)

The Colts

I have family in Indy: +1

The Colts seem a little too satisfied with themselves: -1

But it’s Indiana. Give them some slack. They have nothing: +1

Which Manning is on this team? Who cares, someone has to stop them: -1

Their mascot is possibly the cutest mascot ever: +1

The Colts beat the Bears in 2007: -1,000,000


The Saints

At first I thought the Jets were playing and I was excited to sing West Side Story during the game. But it’s the Saints: -1

The city’s had it rough the past few years: +1

But still, at least they aren’t Indiana: -1

They have the shinier helmet: +1

Their mascot is a Saint Bernard. Not an actual saint. WTF: -1

Gumbo: +1


Final Tally
Colts: -999,999 Saints: 0

Looks like I’m rooting for the Saints! GooooOOOOOO SAINTS!



(added note: I love her, but seriously I kinda hope Liv Tyler dies right before the Super bowl to bring new meaning to "Super bowl X-LIV." Anyone? No one? Pff.)

The Emily Show

The cat's out of the bag. You can all stop pretending. I've figured it out, all on my own.



I am on The Emily Show, and you are all actors, paid to interact with me. CUT. HOUSE LIGHTS UP, PLEASE. SHE FIGURED US OUT. Yeah, that's what I thought.

Seriously, though, do you guys ever get that feeling? Like the other day, I walked into the gym and just a FEW too many people stopped and looked at me. And, trust me, this wasn't like a "whoah, she's hot" kind of issue. If you've ever seen me at the gym, you would understand this. I mean, I'll admit when I look hot. Last Friday? Smokin'. Every boy in the bar should have wanted to have my babies. But at the gym? Nooooooot so much. I mean, an oversized shirt with sweat stains, bright red nose and dark circles under my eyes? Helloooooo fellas.

Where was I? OH! The Emily Show. So anyway, I feel like this happens a lot, where people are paying just a LITTLE too much attention to me when I absolutely don't deserve it. It's like they know. It's like they just watched me this morning, dancing in my room with Charlie to Bad Romance, but they know they aren't allowed to recognize that fact to me. Because they are only supposed to be the person in front of me at Wendy's who ordered the Baconator Triple so the director can get a good shot of my horrified face.

Or whenever I raise my hand to ask a question, I feel like an absurd amount of people turn to look at me. I guess I know how to make my voice carry, which catches people off guard. OR they are all excited to have an excuse to turn and stare at the STAR OF THE EMILY SHOW.

And, come on now. WHO gets dumped in Paris? Me. I do. I get dumped in Paris. Because it made for a great season finale, perhaps?!?!?!?! You people are SICK. I'm going to steal a boat and float away from you all, despite the fact that my father was killed in the ocean and then brought back to life.

All I have to say is: wouldn't it be a GREAT ratings boost if I got a job? Aren't Sweeps coming up or something?

10 Facebook Faux Pas You May Have Committed

You know people who claim they knew a band before they got big and now everyone knows them and they’re too commercial and The Man and all that nonsense? *Whine, whine* I knew Kings of Leon / Death Cab / Plain White Ts before anyone else! I hate it when bands make good songs and then people recognize their abilities! Waaaaaaaaaah.

Yeah. I am that person with Facebook. Facebook was invented in Fall 2003; the same time I started college. I was a hater for a good solid month, and succumbed while it was still only available to college students on large campuses.

All this to say, I think I know a thing or two about what is—and what is not—acceptable on Facebook. It’s like with fashion, and I take the Stacy/Clinton mantra to heart: just because someone created it does not mean you need to pull it over your head. So here are a few things you should know about unacceptable Facebook actions.

1) Poking:

Poking was the very first Facebook faux pas (The second was deleting someone’s entire wall. Remember that hot mess?) Poking is Old School Facebook. It was what made Facebook interactive. It was basically the first version of “liking” something: It takes one click, you don’t have to type a single word, and you still get to tell someone, “Hey, I know you exist.” But then people started poking back and forth eighty million times. Frankly, I’m of the opinion that Facebook poking is mostly obnoxious because ACTUAL poking is obnoxious.

2) 'Friending' someone who is not your friend:

Everyone has at least 50 friends who they aren’t really friends with. If you saw them at a bar, you might talk to them...begrudgingly. And that’s, well, I personally think that’s acceptable. But what’s not acceptable are the people who you would never in a MILLION YEARS consider a friend. There are a few versions of these:

- Strangers! Lately I’ve gotten a few friend requests from mystery men who I’ve never met and who only have six other friends, all of which are young Asian girls. Yikes.

- People You’ve Never Said A Word To! These are people who you remember...slightly. The truth is, you completely forgot they existed until they friended you. Maybe they were in your Spanish class? Or was it Philosophy? Oh wait, no. It was that play in middle school. You were Townsperson #11 and they were Townsperson #48.

- Enemies! These are people who you remember—AND HOW. What blows my mind are the people who accept enemies as Facebook friends. They usually claim it’s just out of curiosity, or because they’ve “grown up.” WHATEVER. Special note to Rachel A: You were a terrible person in high school. You made my Sophomore and Junior year a living hell. And you were a whore. Will I be your Facebook friend?! *Ignore.* (Burns, doesn’t it?) And special note to all you who are ‘friends’ with her: SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAME.

3) Applications that mimic real life:

“Emily sent Joe a rose!” “Joe just took Emily out on a date!” “Emily just accidentally virtually dropped Joe’s present and it broke into a million virtual pieces!”

4) The Over-Responder:

Now this is a toughy. Because I legitimately like when people respond to things I do and say on Facebook. That’s why I do and say them: so others will see it. But, as Feist says: There’s a limit to your love. A-love, a-love, a-love. And sometimes I wish someone more random would recognize my hilarious status update.

5) Status update abusers:

These aren’t just people who update a lot. I’m fine with that, as long as they’re worthwhile. These are true abusers. My peeves:

- Laying out your day. No way! You’re going to the gym AND shopping AND making garlic chicken with spinach salad AND watching American Idol? Wow, I can’t believe you’ve changed so much since we did that group project on Romeo and Juliet.

- Awkwardly Emo. Eesh, man. There are bad days, and then there are BAD DAYS. And those ones don’t go on Facebook. They go into your Mood Journal.

- Live sports commentary. Aw man! Can you believe Rodriguez just did that crazy thing? What?! A flag?! What kind of RBI touchdown tight end hetero foul ball is THAT?!...Thank God I have your status updates, or how would I know what a terrible coach Lovey is?

6) Status chatting:

My Status: Emily is watching The Office.
Acceptable response: “Me too! *funny quote*"
Unacceptable response: “Hey Boooooo! Let’s chill!!!1 When are you back in town?!?!?!?!?!!?!~*<3

7) Mean Photo Tagging:

You look adorable. I look like a red-eyed turtle. Come on.

8) Poor Grammar and Spelling:

My personal vendetta, I know. But seriously, people. You don’t need to dissect a participle here. Just get common English words right so I can spend the day without my eye twitching. In fact, here. And if you know how to add single digits, you should know when to use an apostrophe. No excuses.

9) Chain Letters:

This one tends to be in the Mom milieu (though I'm blessed with a mother who doesn't do this). But I feel for all you out there with those loved ones. The ones who are still waiting on their check from Bill Gates. The ones who had to pass it on or else they’d have ten years bad luck! The ones who have a hilarious joke for you but you just have to ScRoLl dOwN!!~!~!~!~!!!

I filled out those surveys. I passed along those emails. I laughed at those jokes. But then Pre-Algebra started getting hard and my braces were too tight to care anymore.

10) Forgetting that my wall is public:

Wall writing is for things that are short, sweet, and to the point. They are for things that are appropriate for all audiences. Anything else goes in a “message.” Thems the rules. This rule tends to be broken by: the long-winded, the assholes, and the old.


Finally, I need to say that there is one last faux pas: actually getting offended by what others do on Facebook. I mean, yeah, some people seriously don’t know when to stop sending you requests or posting weird things. But it’s Facebook, and you have the ability to delete whatever you want, all from the comfort of your couch. You also have the ability to go outside. So breathe, release your shoulders, maybe send them this post, and go make a sandwich.

But wait! Keep those shoulders hunched for one more second! I know there are things I’ve missed here. In fact, I secretly left a few out because I wanted a nice, even ten. What haven’t I mentioned? Leave me a comment (and leave your name/first initial/secret code name so I know who you are!)

As I Recall: Genesis. Killing The Gays and Fooling the Blind.

I went on a quest to figure out what story to do next, and discovered something: the Old Testament is completely insane. Which is something I guess I already knew, but seriously, guys. Seriously.

So I decided to just pull some quality samples for you. Trying something new here; these are stories that do actually follow along with the text (er...ish), because I didn’t even know enough to crappily retell them from memory and had to use Old Soggy.

So here are a few more things that go down in Genesis:

The Tower of Babel:

How did we get from Noah’s family to a billion people all over the earth, you ask? Simple answer! Forget Pangea. No science needed, guys. It’s covered. So there’s only a handful of people, they all speak the same mystery language (American English, I’m assuming), and they decide to work together and build a skyscraper. And God’s like, “BAH! Working together? Cooperation?! What is this, Sesame Street? Let’s shake things up around here!” So he takes his tongue of fire and makes everyone speak a different language. Then he picks them up by their scruffs and drops them off in different places around the world. Frankly, if I was the person who got stuck with Siberia, I’d be piiiiiissed.

Abraham:

There is nothing NOT frightening about this reenactment picture.

So Abraham was one of the early guys. At first, his name was Abram. But when he was 100 years old (literally,) God shows up, scares the crap out of him, changes his name to Abraham, and makes a whole bunch of promises to him.

Then he tells Abraham to circumcise everyone—the first of about 80 references to circumcision in this particular book. Someone’s got some Freudian issues, and I think his name is God. Finally, God tells Abraham that Abraham's going to bear a son, which cracks Abraham’s sh-t up. He seriously loses his mind laughing. “Oh, God. You’re a stitch! Seriously, have you considered comedy? Because that is honestly a good one.” And God just stands there with his arms crossed and blinks. Finally God’s like, “Ahem. Anyway, name him Isaac. See ya.” And then Abraham goes out and runs around with a scalpel, swishing it back and forth until he’s taken care of every dude in a 10-mile radius.

Later, when Isaac is a little older (and Abraham is rickety beyond comprehension,) God comes back to Abraham and tells him to burn Isaac as a sacrifice to God. Abraham gives a little heel click and goes off to do God’s bidding. He drags Isaac away, telling him they’re going to sacrifice a lamb. Things get a little suspicious when Abraham has a knife, some fire...and zero lamb. Isaac starts getting all shifty-eyed, but Isaac just brushes him off. “Nah, we’re cool. God’s going to give us a lamb when we get there.” Which Isaac is totally okay with. I guess during a time when God just shows up willy-nilly, I might believe that, too. So I’mma give Isaac that one. So Abraham’s setting everything up, he’s got Isaac tied and his knife quivering in the air when an angel finally shows up (I guess this time God was too busy to make a guest appearance?) and tells him “JK LOL! You don’t have to kill your son. It was a test!” At this point I’d find it hard to not at least grumble “ass” under my breath, but Abraham takes it all in stride, and they go back home.

Sodom and Gomorrah:


So Sodom was the town that was completely sinful. Or gay. I'm not totally sure. (Kinda skimmed it.) Either way, it's doomed. They give a little example of how outrageous this town is. So this nice guy named Lot lived there with his family. One night, two angels come to hang out with Lot, play a little poker maybe, have a few beers. You know, typical angel stuff. But every guy--ALL of them--in the town saw the two angels go into Lots house, and banged on the door, saying, “Hey, you just let two hot men into your house! Bring them out so that we can do them!” (Yeah. I said “do” like that.) Lot gives them a perfectly viable second option: “Please don’t sleep with these angels! Hey, you know what? I’ve got a couple virgin daughters! Take them instead!” And the Dad of The Year award goes to… Luckily, the men were all, “Girls, BLECH!!” So Lot runs back inside and the angels strike all the men blind, and I quote, “so that they were unable to find the door.” I’m sorry. You are suddenly BLIND. Are you seriously like, oh I can’t see. No matter! Sleeping with a stranger THIS SECOND is more important than my SIGHT. Now where is that damn door? *grope, grope*

So I guess Sodom (and then this other neighboring town, Gomorrah) were all covered in sin and yet another hopeless cause. Too bad God had already promised no more floods, so he takes the next route and goes with fire (earth and wind come later). First, though, he tells Lot to take his family and run away and not look back OR ELSE, FOR REALS. Lot’s wife, who doesn't understand the phrase FOR REALS, turns back. BAM. God turns her into a pillar of salt. She may have been stupid, yes, but at least now she's delicious. And useful in preserving sacrificed lamb meat.

Jacob and Esau:

When Isaac (poor, unsacrificed Isaac) grows up, he has twin boys: Jacob and Esau. Isaac is a fan of Esau, because Esau is a great huntsman and Isaac really likes meat. Seriously, that’s why.

So Isaac is old and blind and he tells Esau to go out and get him some meat, and then Isaac will bless him. Jacob finds out about this and goes and does it even faster. Even though he is the lesser huntsman. Whatever. So his plan is to just pretend to be Esau, but since he’s a hairless wonder and Esau is a beast, he needs to make sure he is nice and hairy like his brother. So he covers his hands and the back of his neck with the bloody skins of the goats he just killed. (Hello, Tyra? Yeah, I have an idea for Cycle 13.) Newly Hairy Jacob goes in to see his father, who actually buys the goat fur. Seriously, how hairy is Esau? Is he the original Wolf Man? No matter. So he believes it and blesses Jacob and tells him he’ll be successful and everyone will bow down to him. Jacob gives the thumbs up and leaves. Then Esau comes in with his perfectly trimmed goat and naturally fuzzy skin and they all discover the shenanigans that have just gone down. Esau demands to be blessed too, but Jacob says, “TOO BAD! One blessing per son! I can’t just say words TWICE, boy! I’m no magician. Now you’re doomed. Enjoy!” Esau’s pissed, Jacob flees, Isaac dies.


...or did I just BLOW YOUR MIND?

So those are the big parts of Genesis. Joseph’s in there, too, but it’ll have to wait for another day. I also skipped a story where one of Jacob’s daughters is raped, so her brothers make every man in the town get circumcised and then kill them in the night. It’s up there with Monte Cristo on the revenge scale. Awesome.

So thanks for reading, thanks for comments!

Time...management? What?

I don't understand. I do not understand. How do people work for eight hours and then do things?

I remember now...I remember the night I got laid off and actually being pretty excited about this new thing they invented: "reading."

All this to say...I am new to this blog + working = time management. So it's not looking good for poor little bloggy. *Pats blog* Sorry, little dude. I'll take you to the baseball game NEXT time.

But luckily I have a fairly open-looking weekend ahead of me. So I'm working over time--JUST FOR YOU PEOPLE. There will be laughs, there will be joy. It'll be quite magical.

Until then I say...uh, whatever. I don't know. I need to get back to work. Stop looking at me.

Poll: What story do I do next?

I have a freelance job!

I'm editing stuff for a video game coming out (on Wii...I'm so high tech. I'm like flipping switches and catching laser beams over here) so I get to be a Grammar Queen 40 hours a week for the next month. Yippee!

Added bonus, I get to work from home.

Follow up questions:
Q: Did I get paid to not leave my bed today?
A: Yes.

Q: Did I still get to go to the gym before the Insane Post-Work Rush Of Doom?
A: Yes.

Q: Did I get to make a grilled sandwich with veggies and shredded cheese?
A: Yes.

Q: Was it delicious?
A: Yes.

Q: Was I too busy being a Grammar Queen to write my next biblical blog post?
A: Yes.

So okay...I was planning on doing my Bible posts without the help of the internet or my rickety Bible that I left out in the rain the day I got it (October 16th,1994) but I've hit a wall. And that wall is that I don't know the Bible stories in order at all.
So I might have to use Ol' Soggy afterall. But for now, I am wondering what to do.

POLL:
What should I discuss next?
a) Go back and do Joseph! We'll make it a sing-along!
b) You never mentioned Abraham, hellooooo...
c) Talk about King Og! (Oh, you didn't know? Yeah, there's a King Og.)
d) You FOOL!! Talk about the thing that clearly comes after Moses, which is _____!
e) All of the above, and in that order, please.

Say What You Whale, Cetaphobia is Real.

I'm sure you are dyyying to know. I gave you the little teaser, but with no true explanation. You're baffled. You're suspicious. You're hurt.

Who the hell is scares of whales?

I am, my friends. I am. I have self-diagnosed cetaphobia, or the fear of whales. Let me make something clear: a phobia is not the same as a normal "fear." I'm also afraid of large spiders, sharks, and car accidents. So are you. That's because those things are scary.

Phobias are marked by their irrationality. There are people with phobias of clouds. Of butterflies. Of the color yellow.

Of whales.

There isn't a legitimate reason that I can give you for my fear. You fall from high places, snakes bite you, you suffocate in tight spaces. These are obvious fears that make sense. I understand that you may never fathom my phobia.

Let me get something straight: I'm not in a constant state of panic about whales. I'm not currently afraid a whale will eat me. And I'm not worried a whale will walk into my living room and shoot me. But seeing whales (realistic ones, not cute ones) on tv or in movies nearly always gives me a heart attack. I never suspect it-- they're so damn sneaky!!

Why whales are scary:
The only good reason I can give is their size. Whales are enormous and in my head, they're even bigger. I also get slightly nervous about submarines, but it's not the same. I guess just the fact that whales are massive AND have thoughts is a little nerve wracking. I mean, if a submarine went past you, it's not like it's the sub's fault. But that whale swimming beside you knows you're there and--HOW DO YOU NOT GET SICK THINKING ABOUT A WHALE SWIMMING NEXT TO YOU?! ROBOTS!!

I have a clarification at this point: because my phobia centers around size, I am not afraid of Beluga whales (Hello?! Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea?! What is scary about that?) and I am also not afraid of Killer Whales which, yes. The irony. Ha ha...ha...ha. But Killer Whales are whales in the same way that tomatoes are fruit. You can classify them all you want but are you about to mix them up with cantelopes and strawberries? *shudder*...okay I might have a new phobia now.

I hope you all appreciate how scary this next part is for me. This is up there with Google image searching "large spider" or "herpes"...you know whatever you get is going to be the worst thing ever. But here are the most terrifying whales, in order:

1) Pinocchio.

My theory is that this movie spawned my fear. Specifically, the part where Pinocchio swims past the whale and he opens his eye. HOLY JESUS SAVE ME. You are as big as that whale's eye. AN EYE. AN EYE THAT FOLLOWS YOU. AND IS ANGRY.

2) Finding Nemo.

When Dory starts speaking whale and slowly...slooooowly the whale comes out of the murky shadows toward you. Are you SERIOUS. I was clutching the arms of the movie seat like I was preparing for electric shock therapy. I probably should have had one of those bars to bite down on, too.

3) The Lightning Whale from Prince of Egypt. As already stated here, this whale comes with two terrifying factors: The element of surprise via the lightning and also the element of size comparison via the people walking past it.

4) Fantasia 2000

I have yet to watch this movie, but i remember the ads. Ohhhh do I remember the ads. Whales. Flying. That's all I need to say.

AND THIS COMMERCIAL. This thing ALWAYS sneaks up on me. Last time it was on, I was in a sports bar, where there were enormous screens on every wall. Imagine if "It" was on every wall of a restaurant. This is my situation.

I'm willing to laugh about my fear. I know people find it weird (although I cannot admit in honesty that I think it is. IT'S NOT WEIRD, THEY ARE SCARY.) But I joke about it anyway. Today I bought Adrienne a heart-shaped box of chocolates that says "Whale you be my valentine?" with an adorable whale with big googly eyes. See? I can laugh! I can joke! I can cry quietly when I get home.

EDIT: As I was writing this, Andrea, who is sitting next to me, showed me this video. Congratulations, you now have cetaphobia, too.

COLLABOSTACHE

I swear I had a whole post brewing. But then Adrienne and I decided to do the Mustache-a-thon that my volunteer place is holding. Both men and women can grow mustaches (well, really, girls "grow" mustaches) and have people sponsor them. And all proceeds go to the volunteer place.

I was iffy on the idea until I realized that Adrienne and I could be cohorts. And now I'm pumped. So I spent all night coming up with a tagline. Which is still in the works.

But check out the amazingness that Adrienne created for us:



That's her and I, of course. I have never looked cuter, if I do say so myself. The idea of it being that since our mustaches will be fake, they may or may not be made out of frosting. Also....cupcakes.

Here is our intro for tomorrow:
We are Adrienne and Emily. Together we are...Collabostache. We don't know much about growing mustaches, but we know a thing or two about frosting. And the most important components of frosting are consistency and flavor. Which, coincidentally, may be the most important components of mustaches. Collabostache oh-ten.

Expect an update later when I actually have an idea of how this whole thing works, and when I shamelessly ask you to sponsor me in my frosting endeavors.

As I Recall: Moses Lets His People Go...Past a Whale.

Ahh, home sweet home. Today I returned from a stint dog-sitting for three dogs. Three of them. Let me explain to you something: in the math world, three is one more than two. In the dog world, three is actually about twenty million more than two. It's a complicated world, the dog world.

But now I am home, and my roommate's cat, Charlie, is back to lovingly appreciating my warm lap.


My trek from a foreign land where I was held captive by an evil ruler (Hildy, the jumping beagle) to my home, where God gives me manna from heaven (Charlie gives me arm-hair licks) has reminded me of another story. That of Moses.



I include this picture from Prince of Egypt, because, while I have heard the story many times, let's be honest. As soon as something is turned into a movie, that's how things look in my brain. Example: What does Hagrid look like? ...I rest my case.

And I apologize, for I have never seen the DeMille/Heston version which is a travesty and I shall add it to my Netflix. Right after Fern Gully and Memoirs of a Geisha.

But, in case you haven't seen the story (or would just like me and my admittedly terrible memory to recount it,) here you are.

So last we last checked in on the Bible, We had Noah, his family, and two of everything else. Except that raven that never flew back. He left a widow bird. And that's why today we don't have ravens. Wait...

Cut to roughly 80 gajillion years later. Noah's descendants have grown into God's Chosen People, the Hebrews. And somehow they have gotten themselves into a bit of a pickle. They are now slaves of the Egyptians. WHOOPS! Oh, God, the hijinks you get into time and again. You should write a book.

So okay. Slaves. That sucks. But the things is, these aren't no Woody Allens being whipped and forced to make papyrus. These are some broad-shouldered Jews. And the Egyptians are scared. Or maybe the Pharaoh caught wind of the whole Chosen People thing...I'm not sure. Maybe both. Important thing here is that Pharaoh gets his headdress in a twist about it and, in order to keep them from an uprising, demands every Hebrew baby boy is murdered. Because as we all know, the way into your slave's hearts and keeping them calm is by killing their little newborn miracles.

So in order to save Moses from assured death, his mother submits him to mere probable death by putting him in a basket and letting him careen down the river. As luck would have it, baby Moses floats on over to the Pharaoh's domain, and is adopted by the fine fine people who brought you such ideas as "Hey I know, let's kill all the Hebrew babies!"

Cut to years later. Moses is a grown royal prince and there's a new Pharaoh in town. One who is still not real keen on this whole pack-of-strong-Hebrews thing, and insists they remain as slaves.

So Moses is walking around by himself, probably petting a cat, trying not to get sand in his eyes, when WHOOSH!! The bush next to him catches on fire. This is the middle of the desert so spontaneous combustion isn't uncommon, I imagine. But then--get this--the bush starts talking. THIS, Moses will notice. So once he wipes himself, he realizes that this is God talking to him. And God is telling him that Moses needs to lead all the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt to their Chosen Land. Err, Promised Land. Whatever. To the land that God has been promising them since...um...since somewhere between Noah and Moses, I guess. Moses, like everyone in every Bible story, basically tells the bush that what God wants sounds hard as hell and he'd really rather not. God says, "Too bad! No takesies backsies!" and goes back to Heaven.

So Moses hikes back to the Castle/Pyramid/wherever it is Pharaohs live and lets the guy know that he's going to go ahead and take all his slaves away, lol winking smiley face. No, no. What he says is, "LET MY PEOPLE GOOOOOO!" All overdramatic and with true conviction, so that the Pharaoh will concede. The Pharaoh isn't super pumped about this and tells Moses exactly where he can take the slaves (which I won't repeat here.) So Moses is like, "Alright man. You asked for it. Prepare for some freaky stuff to start happening."

AND OH, DOES IT.

Upon the people of Egypt comes a whole bunch of plagues. In no particular order (because, of course, I can't remember the order) we have:
- Frogs raining from the sky (cutest rain ever?)
- A bunch of locusts (and if you live in Chicago you know those cicadas are NOT AWESOME)
- And I think flies or some kind of bug. Those last two probably ruined the crops, and probably also made for some very lethargic rain frogs.
- Then he turned the river into blood,
- And killed all the livestock (But really, there's no water and no plants. Were the cows going to survive much longer anyway? Really?) and...
- Okay and then there were definitely a few more plagues but I don't remember them. So key part here is: Hell Hath No Fury Like A Yahweh Scorned.

The important thing is the FINAL plague. God tells the Hebrews to kill a lamb (which I guess were not part of the dead livestock thing) and spread the blood over their doors. That way, when he sends the Holy Spirit through the town that night, he'll know by the blood that the house belongs to one of his People. Because nothing screams "JEWS LIVE HERE" like a splash of lamb's blood. So the Hebrews do this, but the Egyptians do not. And that night God goes through the town and kills the first-born son of each household without the blood. SERIOUSLY the Bible is really into killing baby boys.

This final act is what convinces the Pharaoh to let Moses lead the Hebrews out of Egypt. The slaves pack up all their stuff quickly. This whole ordeal is what Passover is all about: "Passover" because God passed over the Hebrews houses. And they eat matzoh because the Hebrews didn't have time to let the bread rise. Okay...my Jewish tradition knowledge gets a bit hazy from here but let me just say: matzoh + horseradish + apple butter = hhhhawesome. So yay for Moses and yay for the slaves. The end.

SIKE!!! Jaaaaaay kaaaaay. While the throngs are exodizing, the Pharaoh has a change of heart and decides to go after them. CRAP! Run, millions of people! RUN!! So they're running and the Egyptians are close behind and there are chariots involved and it's all very exciting until they get to the Red Sea. BAH! WHAT NOW? So Moses finds a rickety hanging bridge and they all get across until the last person and then the bridge falls off and the one guy just barely makes it!

SIKE AGAIN!!!! You guys are seriously gullible. No, Moses takes his staff (if you are going to lead a multitude, you will need a staff. FYI.) and he raises it in the air and he says the magic words and he plunges it into the river and God makes the river part, and the people walk across.

And here is where we must pause. Because here marks an important moment in Emily's life. It is the moment when she came to terms with a great and mighty fear. A fear which clutches her entire being. A fear which she will explain in another post. The fear...of whales.

AVERT YOUR EYES, ALL WHO HAVE A SOUL!


This is another picture from The Prince of Egypt, where the people are walking past the wall of parted water, and the lightning illuminates the water. And a whale swims by. Apparently this is an awe-inspiring image to some. To me, it is bone-chillingly terrifying. If I was a slave walking by when that happened, I would be like, "Welp! That's about as much as I need to see. If anyone needs me, I will be back there, learning hieroglyphics." When I saw this moment in the movie, I think it was the first time I realized how scared I am of whales. It's been downhill since there. I will explain more later, promise.

So, amazingly, none of the Hebrews turns back around. They just keep on walking past the lightning beast. And when they all get out, the Egyptians are hot on their tail and still in the sea bed. So what does God do? Well, as a caring, loving God who appreciates all creatures great and small, he releases the parted sea and drowns every Egyptian in sight. HOORAY! *Our Godddddd is an awesome God, he reeeeeeigns from Heaven above with wiiiiiisdom power and LOVE, our God is an awesome Goddddd.*

So Moses and His People are free! Free to roam that is. Which they do. For a seriously long time. I think 40 years. Probably more? I don't really know why they can't just get over to where they've been promised. Clearly large bodies of water aren't an issue. But they roam, and I guess God gives them manna which is some kind of food. But it's pretty bland, considering he made it from rocks.

Oh, and some time during the Roaming, Moses goes up on a mountain and comes back with 10 Commandments from God. Thou shalt not kill, that kind of thing. And when Moses comes back down, he sees that people have built a golden calf and are now worshiping that instead of God. And Moses screams, "What the HELL people?! Do you realize how hard it was for me and God to get you here!?!? KILL THEM AAAAAAAAAAAAAAALL!!!"

And that (all of it) is why Moses is my homeboy.


Thanks for reading guys. Thanks for the encouragement. Thanks for existing, frankly. May I put in a little request for you--leave a comment here on the blog! It's easy! It's fun! And if you leave your first name, I'll know who wrote it! Exclamation points!

9 Golden Globe Thoughts For Adrienne, Laura, Michelle, and You.

1) Aunt. Meryl.

2) Thank God for Glee and Modern Family. Can we all agree: 30 Rock is great, now let's stop giving them awards.

3) Can I just have a life-sized poster of Reese Witherspoon in that blue dress?


When she showed up on stage, I think I looked at her the same way I look at these brownies. (May I just say, it took me eighty thousand hours to find that picture. Why? Was the dress not froofy enough?)

4) Hello, Mariah Carey's boobs. Haven't seen you in a few minutes. Glad you're doing well.

5) Kate Winslet? You are...I can't...I want to...*pets Kate Winslet*

6) Amy Adams is pregnant? This is the kind of news I feel I should have known, but apparently I haven't been reading the covers of magazines in line at the grocery store for the past few months.

7) Ricky Gervais. Let's have a marriage. Let's have a marriage license.

8) YIKES. James Cameron's wife. The years have not treated her nicely since she was the old lady's granddaughter in Titanic.

9) You can take the Fergie out of the meth lab but you can't take the meth lab out of the Fergie.

Cash Cab: You In?

I’m going to take a break from my biblical retellings for a bit. I have something I need to share with you guys. I think it might change some of your lives.

There are some days when the world is crap and everything is terrible and the human race should all go to hell. And there are days when the world is good, when people are kind and happy and everything is going to be okay. Those days happen because I watched Cash Cab.

I’m not sure that I will be able to express how marvelous Cash Cab is and why you need to be watching it. But I will try. Cash Cab is a show on Discovery Channel. The basic idea is that this man (this wonderful, wonderful man), Ben Bailey, drives around New York City in a normal-looking minivan taxi, picking up unsuspecting people. After they tell him where they’re going, Ben turns on a bunch of lights and tells them they’re on a game show.

They inevitably give this look:


While he drives them to their destination, he asks them general trivia questions and they get money for each question answered. If they get three questions wrong, they get nothing (and I get angry and stomp out of the room), Ben pulls over and they have to get out and find a real cab to drive them the rest of the way. If they get it right, they get to keep all the money. It’s awesome, because at the very worst, you just got a free taxi ride part (or all) of the way to where you’re going.

Those are the nuts and bolts. I’m just getting started. Let me explain to you what makes this show so VERY amazing:

1) The Contestants:


Everyone on this show is happy. Even the people you would never expect to see smiling. Ugly people. People in the rain. Professors. And how can they not? Seconds earlier, they were walking around New York (aka The Money Vacuum) trying to live their lives, and all of a sudden they are on television with the potential to win thousands of dollars.

Everyone on this show is a good person. Sometimes you see someone and you know if you ran into them in a bar or on the street, you would mumble “douche” and keep walking. But on this show, these people are happy. They are smart. They are happy to be smart. And they are good people. And I want to hug them and hold their hand with our fingers interlocked.

2) Old People:


Old people. Old people on Cash Cab will make your day. As soon as an old person hobbles into the Cash Cab I start squealing and clapping my hands. The best part is that whenever Ben throws a pop culture question at them, they are adorably befuddled. But for the most part, old people remind us that they are actually quite wise. Which we forget because they spend so much time telling us to get married and making irrational political statements. But they always go the farthest on this show, and they answer questions faster than it takes me say, “That’s a weird question…” Maybe it’s because any old person in New York is probably quite wily. I mean, I imagine. Cities are loud and fast and dirty. The three downfalls of an old person. So any one of them who lives in a city must be one scrappy creature.

3) Ben Bailey:


I. Love. This. Man. Ben is not only funny, he is funny in a clean way. I cannot emphasize the importance of clean humor in my life. Don’t get me wrong, I can laugh at a good dirty joke with the rest of them. I mean, that part in Team America where the guy pukes for about 10 minutes straight? Tears. There were tears. But comedians who can manage to be funny and not drop a single f-bomb or a joke about their penis….those are the good ones. Ben is also nice to everybody. Every person who gets in his cab is like his new best friend. I am incredibly jealous of people like this. Because when I meet a new person I either mumble something like, “Nice to have the pleasure with your acquaintance,” and then avoid eye contact the rest of the night, OR I accidentally introduce them to Loud Sarcastic Emily WAY too early and terrify them. So, Mr. Bailey, I applaud you for being so natural toward people you have just met. You are a man among men. Unfortunately, Ben looks a lot like my cousin, so I can’t get behind finding him attractive, but I would like to grab a sandwich and go people watching with him. I think he would be amazing at it.

I have yelled at Erin, who lives in NYC, for not trying hard enough to ride minivan cabs and therefore not getting on the show. I mean, she's been living there for two years. WHAT could she possibly be doing with her life, if not focusing on riding in minivan cabs? WHAT I ask you? WHAT?! ...Working? What's that?

As I Recall: Noah Surrounds Himself With Manure.

Next on our journey through the Bible For Pop Culture Survival, we visit a marvelous man named Noah.


Wow. God bless you, Google. God bless you.

Oh, wait. Before we discuss Noah, we have to touch on Cain and Abel.
Cain and Abel were Adam and Eve's sons. Cain killed Abel.

That's really all you need to know/all I can remember. So in summary: God creates two people. They produce one child who lives past puberty.

Cut to Noah's time. Many people live on the earth, but God isn't too happy with how it's all worked out. I'm thinking it's because you left the Earth's colonization up to some dude who'd just killed his brother and that guy's mother, but whatever.

So Noah, his wife, and his grown children are surrounded by a bunch of sinners. I don't remember what it is they do that's so wrong. I imagine laying with pigs was somewhere in the mix, because God is seriously upset with these guys. So he tells Noah "My bad! Do over!" And he commands Noah to build an ark. Which, according to my childhood coloring books, looks like a giant, covered, wooden boat.

Noah has multiple grown children at this time. I know people used to breed young, but seriously this guy had to be up there, age-wise. He must have been the Clint Eastwood of his day, being all wrinkly but muscly at the same time. I mean, the man made an enormous boat. And do you know WHY I know it was enormous?

Because it had to fit a zillion animals. God only wants to wipe out those sinning humans, not the fuzzy creatures. So he tells Noah to gather every animal. All of them. Every single animal. Every disgusting spider, every kind of bear. Polar, brown, black, spectacled...wow, I really know too much about bears. Anyway, God was like, "yeah, just put two of each sex in there. Trust me, I did it with humans before. It'll work out." And as soon as Noah does this and closes the ark door, it starts raining.

There was a cartoon of this story that they used to show us as children, where this ragtag group of teens goes back in time to witness all the Bible stories. And this is the part in the Noah Cartoon that terrified me to my soul. Because it starts raining--AND HOW. This ain't no "sprinkle." This is Vengeful God Rain, people. So the flood waters rise scarily fast. And in the movie, the sinning dude who is making fun of Noah the whole time suddenly finds himself with water rising--rising--aaaaaand he's dead. And I am three and crying.

So Noah, his wife, his family, and two of every animal chill in the ark for forty days and forty nights. When the rain stops, Noah decides to find out what's going on outside the ark. I assume the smell of 40 days of manure from every animal in the world has gotten to his head a bit. Because, even though he looks out the window and sees nothing but water, he sends out a bird to check for land. I think a raven? Some kind of ugly bird no one cares about. And the bird never comes back, that bitch. So Noah waits a bit and then sends a dove. The dove brings back an olive branch. And so now both the dove and "extending the olive branch" stand for peace. Which...makes no sense to me. Shouldn't they stand for "dry land?" Yeah, you got me there. But no matter--Huzzah! There is land somewhere within a radius that the dove can fly! And...we have no idea which way the dove came from!....crap.

Eventually the rain water subsides, everyone leaves the ark and the earth is a lonely, wet place. It's cool, though, because God slams down a rainbow on everyone to prove that he'll never do that again. But after that picture I found for the beginning of the story...I don't know, maybe the rainbow has been destined for other meanings for a long time.

As I Recall: Adam and Eve Lay Around Naked

So last night I remembered an old idea I had for a book: Bible Stories For Pop Culture Survival.

I used to work with someone who wasn't raised in any religion, and he rarely understood biblical allusions. Now, I in no way require this guy to read the Bible or believe in what it says. But I think he (and others who never learned Bible stories) should have an easy way to learn these stories. Then if someone calls him a Judas, he won't have to smile and nod. He'll know he needs to cut a bitch.

Here's my first attempt at one of these stories. WARNING: this is a Bible story as I remember it from my Sunday School days, with no references used. Because I think it'll be more interesting that way. I know I won't get everything right. Please allow me some creative freedom.

We start at the Beginning.


So in the Beginning there was nothing. God said "Let there be light" and BAM. There was light. Day one, accomplished. God dusted off his hands and said, "How do you like THEM apples?" And then he created apples.

God then spends the next six days creating everything ever. Stars, earth, water, animals, and man. This is apparently a very taxing thing to do, even for The Almighty, so on the seventh day he rested. I believe this is why we all rest one day a week.

Eventually, God decides that Adam, the man he created, needs someone to do his dishes and cater to his whim. So God takes a rib out of Adam and creates Eve. Adam recovers faster than someone on Lost, and everything is hunky dory. Adam and Eve live in the Garden of Eden doing who-knows-what. I guess it was supposed to be paradise, although laying around naked in the grass with no internet and squirrels pointing at my bits doesn't sound like paradise to me, but...this was a bajillion years ago. Times change.

So God next invents reverse psychology and tells Adam and Eve that they are allowed to do whatever they want EXCEPT eat the fruit from some tree. Adam and Eve say "cool, got it" and stay away. UNTIL...

One day Eve is walking around, minding her own biz, being naked, when a snake starts talking to her. The snake is actually Voldemort. Err...I mean, Satan. And Satan thinks it would be HILARIOUS if Adam and Eve ate the fruit that God specifically said not to eat. So a little hissing, a little slithering, a little c'mon man, all the cool kids are doing it, and Eve is convinced. She runs to Adam and tells him to eat the fruit, too. Adam, who probably can't be bothered to listen to Eve because she had just come bouncing over to him naked, grabs the fruit and takes a bite.

At this point, I imagine everything goes down like in Aladdin, when Abu takes that big red gemstone in the Cave of Wonders. God gets pissed. He's all "HOW DARE YOU EAT THE FRUIT! YOU WILL NEVER--SEE THE LIGHT--OF DAAAAAAAAAY! *lava*" and Adam and Eve just stammer, "but....but..." and the snake smirks in the shadows.

So Adam and Eve are banished from paradise, and WORSE, they realize they are naked and they are ASHAMED. So they grab some fur and some leaves and sulk off to their place of banishment.

Next time: Noah builds an Ark and God sends a rainbow to say LOL JK

If Old People Had It Their Way:

I would announce my engagement to a doctor today.

The doctor and I would be married tomorrow. All of their friends would be there. A few of mine would sit quietly in the corner.

A week after the honeymoon, my husband and I would announce that I am pregnant.

In a month, I give birth to a healthy baby boy who never cries, with a batting average of .350.

A month later, I announce I am again pregnant.

Another month. A baby girl. And she LOVES ruffles, pink, and hand-made blankets.

A few more months, a few more babies.

My family becomes plump-but-firm because we always want seconds (and thirds!) and we never miss a day of church.

In a few years, I innocently ask my daughter why she doesn't have a boyfriend. My daughter, at the ripe old age of three, announces her engagement to The President of The United States (Not that one, the new one--whose platform is social security and animal adoption).

We celebrate at Cracker Barrel.

Bon Appétit!

Right before writing this post, I looked down at my finger and realized that I had a large (though painless) cut right at the tip. It took me a full ten seconds to remember how this had happened--somehow I had cut myself opening a jar. Five minutes ago. Yes.

This is a typical day in the life of Emily. 1) Hurt yourself doing something simple and everyday. 2) Forget that you did it because you have the memory of a wombat. (Wombat? What is wrong with me? *Sigh*, moving on.) I am constantly covered in bruises, not because I have a disease, but because I run into things. And then I forget that I did. I get at least one rather nasty, deep-looking bruise a year and when people see it I usually hear this: "*GASP!* Oh my gawwwwd! What HAPPENED?!" To which I reply, "Oh, uh...ran into a wall maybe?"

My forgetfulness and clumsiness also wrap quite nicely into another lovely quality of mine: a distinct lack of cooking elegance. And these qualities I blame on my mother. Not that my mom is a bad cook. She makes some KILLER dishes. And have I mentioned the Chex Mix? Ohhhhh, the Chex Mix. My stars. But my mom will be the first to admit, she is no Martha Stewart. Let me tell you about Saturday night.

I went home to spend some time with The Fam before my little sister, Hannah, went back to school. For dinner, my mom wanted to try a dish she had made once before, chicken wrapped in puff pastry.

The box of the pastry said to let it thaw for 40 minutes, but it just wasn't thawing fast enough. I suggested she defrost it in the microwave, because I was sure I had seen that suggestion on the box somewhere. I then walked away from the kitchen.

Next thing I know, my mom is cursing my name to the heavens because she microwaved the puff pastry while it was still rolled (note that I never told her to do THAT) so it had turned into a roll of goo and she couldn't unroll it anymore and what was she going to do noooooow??

So I start laughing and trying to pry the damn thing open with a butter knife, which just ends in further massacre. We're both covered in flour, uncooked chicken goo and (mysteriously) soy sauce, and the puff pastry, which is supposed to be a flat square, looks roughly like the state of Idaho.

While my mom is lamenting, "This would NEVER happen to Julia Child!" my dad comes home and starts mocking us. Lovely, Dad, thank you for the advice. He then pours us both a glass of wine and tells us it'll still taste fine. My mom tries to convince Hannah to go out into the cold and buy us more puff pastry, which she refuses to do because she is useless. Meanwhile, the pets need to be fed, so Wally the cat/horse is at our feet, reaching as high as he can. And yes, he CAN reach the counter top. So on this counter top (which is about two feet wide, by the way), we have the Idaho dough, flour everywhere, chicken/salmonella, vegetables, multiple spoons, sauce, cat food, groping cat paws, and two glasses of wine.

Ahh, home.

Perhaps anticlimactic, but in the end, we rolled it out to an acceptable shape and you couldn't tell which was the batch we'd messed up and which we hadn't. Which makes me love puff pastry THAT much more.

And thus, my family (and my clumsiness) lives another day.

Writer's Block Cure: working the brain AND butt muscles

I think I may have a cure for writer's block, and that cure will also get me rocking glutes. I just might do my best thinking while working out. Blech. Kill me.

I am not a, how you say, "gym rat." I am the girl who does ten minutes on the elliptical, falls over and promises to do weights 'next time.' I am the girl who may or may not giggle every time the cute boy at the front desk remembers her name. I am the girl who started doing crunches four days ago.

I mean, I'm healthy. I am of a healthy weight. I'm not walking down a runway anytime soon, but whatever to that. Gone are the days when I aspire to zero flab. I'm only getting older and there will soon come a day when I look at my skinny jeans longingly and cry. As my mother told me on Christmas Eve, "You're so skinny!...You should take a picture." And take a picture I did.

What I'm saying is...what am I saying? Oh, the gym. So I'm not a super fan of cardio. Sure, there are some days when I get on the elliptical, turn on a little Lady Gaga and run/subtly dance all my stress away. But there are some days when I get on the elliptical and immediately think, "this is the worst thing ever and if I continue for one more second, the Indian kid running in the jean shorts is going down."

But now I have a real reason to get on that spinning death machine: I become inspired. I have discovered that, despite having basic cable on every machine and a device that can pour thousands of songs into my ears whenever I want (God, can you imagine going to the gym with a Discman? Hehhh...) I am always insanely bored while I work out. There are few TV shows or songs that can significantly distract me from the viciousness of exercise. And so, with Cash Cab playing lovingly in the background, my mind drifts away to a happy place where my legs are not jelly and my boobs are steadfastly in one place.

I've only just realized how many of my ideas come to me while working out. I'm a little nervous that being aware of it, the power will be gone and I'll have to add it to the list of Places Where Sometimes But Not Always I Get Good Ideas.

Included:
-Walking to the bathroom, never from.
-Middle of the night (reread later, "what does 'we should be elves' mean??")
-In the shower, right before the water turns cold and I start crying.
-Coffee shops, unless I drink coffee

I'll have to test out my theory next time I'm at the gym. You'll know it works if I write a Super Awesome Blog Post soon. Anyone else have good places for inspiration?

Poetry and Grammar, your two faves

I didn't blog yesterday. Or, really, I couldn't. I couldn't, because I went to a poetry thing. Poetry slam. Whatever. SEE?! I CAN'T WRITE ANYMORE! IT IS PHYSICALLY IMPOSSIBLE!!

So the deal is, I went to this poetry whatever with Adrienne and it was AWESOME. (Check it out here) I know nothing about poetry, but I assume that it has to do with rhythym? And not putting a lot of words on one line? Question mark? Clearly I don't know how to write them. But I'm not going to lie, I am pretty awesome at the 3rd grade version of poems.

There once was a dog named Roof.
Upon his small tail was a poof.

Case closed, I am awesome at it. But these poems with their symbolism and their anger and their humor and their...moving your arms when you read them... it was incredible. It was like Robin Williams in What Dreams May Come when he dies and he's all "What IS this magical place?" and then he finds out it's actually familiar, because it's all from his mind and the hot Asian girl is his daughter and it's weird.

It was like that. And when I got home, I was a bit over-inspired. All I wanted to do was write symbolic poems about gay rights and childhood memories. So instead I watched tbs and went to bed. And now I need to get back on the writing horse.

My bout with poetry yesterday and my other bout with trying to be an editor have made me realize that I am not a real writer. I can call myself a writer. My occupation even has "writer" in the title. But the last time I got a grammar lesson was my Sophomore year in high school, and that's only because my teacher was appalled at how bad our grammar was. Do I actually know where commas go? Clearly, no, I do, not. And when I freelanced over the summer and a REAL editor went over my work, I was mortified to learn all my wretched writing mistakes. Did YOU know there are rules for what kind of hyphen to use, AND what kind of spacing to use around them? I didn't. I still don't really know, which just makes me jittery every time I use one now.

Really, being a copywriter means I'm not good at any kind of writing except writing how I speak. Which isn't always helpful because I say things like, "Okay but no because it's like super awesome and stuff" on a daily basis.

Oh, and copywriters are supposed to be able to write concisely.

*blinks*

So I raise my glass today to the real writers. The ones who know what the hell they are doing. To you I say, will you write a poem about me?

I can Muppeteer and so can you.

I have found no greater joy than in this moment.

You can make a Muppet.

Or, well, you can have one made. But it's authentic Muppet material, by authentic Muppet-making hands. Supported by authentic Muppet frogs and pigs. I'm peeing. Or I might be. I'm not sure, because I think I've lost all feeling in my body due to overwhelming happiness.

So I heard about this a while ago through the podcast Stuff You Should Know (which is awesome, by the way. And free.) and I got very excited until I found out that you actually had to go to the FAO Schwartz in NYC in order to make one. And so this post was going to be me explaining how I need to go to New York again so that I can go make one. But then I went to the website and VOILA!

And, yes, the Muppets do cost $130. PENNIES. Mere pennies compared to the joy it would bring me. I mean come on. You spend that much on a fancy meal for two. And just look at this little puddin' face!!


Look into those eyes and tell me that that guy is not your new best friend.

Maybe I should tell you guys that I'm a bit of a Muppet fan. Oh, you already figured that out? Huh. Anyway, my Muppetlove started with a little wolf named Rosco, and a little cow named Lucy. Walk with me, won't you?

In elementary school Spanish, we were introduced to two puppets: Rosco and Lucy. Rosco and Lucy told us all about the colors of the rainbow and asked us how the weather was today. Hace mal tiempo, Rosco. Hace MAL tiempo. Now, the issue that I had was not really with these puppets. It was with the other students in my classroom. Apparently I was a puppet snob, even then. I just never understood how hard it was to say words and move your hand at the same time. This isn't like rubbing your stomach and patting your head. It is the SAME MOVEMENT. But I cannot tell you how many times I watched in bitter resentment as this transpired:

"Como te llamas?" *moves hand furiously*

WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!

And so I decided to become a Muppeteer and show them all. I went to the public library searching for books about how to get into Muppeteering. And--something that still boggles my mind today--they actually had some. Here was the problem: I was nine. All that I'd ever been told was that I could be whatever I wanted to be. Marine Biologist? Sure! Who cares that you hate fish, sharks and whales! Screen actress? Of course! You'll probably get over your fear of cameras someday! But this book about Muppeteering was for people who were not nine. It was for people who were serious. And the book was honest and said that it was a hard thing to get into, that most people don't, and that you'd have to move to New York in order to do it. Well screw that. I'm nine. My parents still pour my cereal for me. I am not moving.

And thus, my dreams of Muppeteering were squashed. But now they have become reborn! For, if I cannot hang out with Old School 70's Gonzo all day (my true life dream) at least I can create a Muppet and use it to annoy people by giving them Muppet responses to their serious questions.

"Emily, is the house on fire?" "I don't know, I have a banana in my ear!!" Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.

So what I'm trying to say is, can I borrow $130 for a business investment?

My Travel Plans

I’m not partial to New Years Resolutions. I tend to be in the when-I-want-to-I’ll-change camp. But this year, I just so happened to go to a yoga class right before the New Year and discovered how sadly sad sad my abs are. So I’ve resolved (and it just so happens to be at the New Year) to do a couple crunches. You know, here and there. And today as I listened to my Songs I Should Know By Now mix, Free Bird came on. At my first crunch I heard the lyrics, “Lord knows you cannot chaaaaange!”

Screw you, Lynard Skynard. No one asked your opinion.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about that is very New Years Resolution-y is travel. While unemployed, these travel plans are all put on hold. But I also assume that I WILL have a copywriting job in the near future and will not be forced to go back to school to become a Kindergarten teacher (which, despite my surly exterior, I honestly think I would be good at). So once I get back to Corporate America, I have a few places I’ll be flying to. In no special order...

New England:
I’ve seen New York and DC and Pennsylvania, but I have never been to true New England. I’m talking lobster-catching, sand-dollar-finding, old-women-who-smell-of-the-sea New England. And for some reason, I am dying to go.

Reasons Why This Is Ridiculous:
1) I hate all food that comes from the sea. (EVEN CUCUMBER SUSHI?!?! Yes. Stop judging me.)
2) Is my biggest reason for going that I once read a charming tween book about a girl who visits her grandmother who lives in New England and she gets her first kiss from the shy blue-eyed neighbor? Yes. That is my biggest reason.
3) Is my second biggest reason syrup? Yes. That is my second biggest reason.

California:
The fact that I have never stepped foot on California soil is a horrible injustice. Why?

More Lists:
1) Many (if not most) ads are shot in California. I have produced many ads, and have yet to go on an ad shoot. It’s embarrassing.
2) One of my best friends from college is from southern California. Her family is rolling in it, and her mother has told me that if I ever want to come to California, whether to visit or, you know, live indefinitely, I can take up residence in their home. And they would give me delicious food and possibly a Jag. And yet I have never been.
3) My favorite ad agency is in San Francisco, so it is my goal to become worthy enough to work there. Although I am really bad with hills. This might pose a problem; I hear San Fran has a few.

Scotland:
I am more or less a mutt, heritage-wise, but I always just tell people I’m Scottish. My family has a Scottish crest, a plaid, a castle, my great uncle plays the bagpipes, and the only semi-close relative who is 100% anything was my great-grandfather, last name: MacBeath.

So I want to go to Scotland, visit my castle, maybe plant a flag, and then drink Scotch with the locals until I understand what the hell they are saying to me.

I was very close to Scotland a number of times when I dated The Irishman, but he refused to take me there because he didn’t want to spend his money travelling to a country that is basically the same as the one we were already in. So instead we went to Mainland Europe. Which brings me to my next destination—

France:
I am not going over the entire story. But yes, the man dumped me in front of the Eiffel Tower. So I am determined to go back to France and have it not be the worst experience of my life. Because I think France deserves as much. Certainly their cheese does. And their crepes. And their crème brulee. And their scarves.

Greece:
I used to really want to go to southern Italy, just for the fact that it was distant and warm. But I have changed my mind. I must go to Greece. And I will even endure the fact that you can’t flush toilet paper (I hear.) I will endure it for this reason:

CATS EVERYWHERE

(photo courtesy of Erin C)


I know a couple that went to Greece and whenever they sat outside to eat, they were barraged with cats. Just cats, flying in from everywhere to eat their yogurt and baklava.

I know most people are of the cats-are-evil persuasion, so the idea of CATS EVERYWHERE makes them want to curl up and die a little. Not me. Cats are awesome. So are dogs. So are hamsters. So are rabbits. Summary: if you have fur, you are awesome. (Another reason why I'm with Joe.)

So *jump* <-- That’s me, jumping on the Greece train.


These are my top places to visit. Not for 2010 necessarily, but hopefully within the next five years. Howabout all y’all? Where do you want to go?

And then sometimes Facebook ads are creepily, creepily correct.

The Bittersweet Smell of Changing Winds.

The day I turned 25 (which was like ten days ago), people asked me if I felt different. And I told them no, because I've acted like a late-twenty-something for a while ("But why do they have to play their music SO LOUD? Can't a girl chew her antacids in peace??"). Plus I've been calling myself 25 for months, partially because it's a nice, stable-sounding number, and partially because I'm too lazy to remember how old I technically am.

But within ten days, all that has changed. Now I feel like an old, oooooooold person. I feel...thirty.

Two days ago, this conversation transpired:
Jane: "My boyfriend's mother keeps hinting at babies. Blech!"
Monica: "My dad is the same way! All he talks about is grandchildren! I'm like, NO, Dad! Not for a looooong time, IF AT ALL!"
Me: "Thank GOD my sister had a baby, so no one bugs me about it! Phew!"
Carla: "I'm pregnant."
*Screaming*

So Mozel Tov to Carla and her husband! I believe they are 1-part excited, 3-parts terrified, and that sounds about right to me. But the conversations that have transpired since The Announcement have revealed so much change in such a short period of time. Someone call Daniel Faraday, because I'm going to start getting nosebleeds.


This is the ever classic "Faraday Concerned Face." My niece, Libby, is great at it, too:



And this is basically the face I've been walking around with since Wednesday.

In a nutshell, I've realized that nearly everyone is moving out of the city/state. And Joe and I are planning on living together in the spring. So, by this time next year, given that things go well, I'll have a whole new group of friends, a new job, and I'll be living with someone who has to shave their face.

I suppose I'm mostly excited, because I'm really rooting for some quality new friends and job and apartment. But thinking about losing the people who have gotten me out of the Hell that is post-college...well, it makes me want to curl up in the fetal position under a fuzzy blue blanket and blog, specifically. And non-specifically, it makes me feel lost. In the same way I felt when they stopped making my favorite kind of cracker so I walked around aimlessly for months, eating sweet pickles from the jar.

MAN those crackers were good. I don't know who made them, but they came in a blue box and they were covered in magical southwest flavored red powder and they were thin and shaped in Navajo blanket patterns. Anyone? ANYONE?!

Where was I? Oh, sadness. Meh, I think I've said what I need to about current sadness. My new focus is the crackers. You all need to help me find those crackers. STAT.