ZOMG THE INTERNET

SERIOUSLY. SERIOUSLY. I'M NOT SURE I CAN STOP TALKING IN ALL CAPS. THIS IS HOW PASSIONATE I AM ABOUT THE INTERNET AT THIS MOMENT. I NEVER THOUGHT I COULD LOVE PANERA MORE, BUT THEIR FREE WI-FI HAS DONE IT.

MUSt...STop...TALkiNg...iN....CAPS...urge to kill fading...fading...RISING!!!...fading....gone.

Joe and I are still attempting to get internet in our new apartment. Apparently there's a situation with the setup instructions that include Japanese letters and everything being completely wrong. When he called the customer service people, they asked him if the modem was on. When he said it was, she basically said that, in that case (AKA the case that he's not internetarded) we're SOL until they can send someone out ON THE FIFTH OF JUNE.

Oh that's okay. At least I have an iPhone. I've got the basics covered.

OR DO I?! No, in fact. I do not have my phone. It has decided to stop being functioning in every way except Solitaire. Yippee, I might as well own a computer from 1993. Therefore, without internet or phone, I have been walking around for a week looking like this:

Because, really. What is the point of having a computer if not to toggle between Facebook, Hulu, and Ninja Cat?

BUT! Luckily I am starting a job tomorrow. So it looks like my lunch is going to be filled with posting things here and also probably looking up things on Google Maps. I am highly attached to Google Maps. We have a relationship that is pure and true, and NO ONE will come between our love!!

Except the internet company. And AT&T. BUT NO ONE ELSE!

In Regards To The Lack of Posting

Dear Sir or Madam,

I regret to inform you that Emily is an irresponsible blog poster. She gets distracted by silly things like moving and vacations and shiny objects, and she stops telling you things because she thinks she has "annoying crap to do" and "internet to set up" and "something resembling a life." We here at Blog Posting, Inc. appreciate your business and will do what we can to keep you. Please consider staying in contact with us though email you don't expect lengthy responses to, as well as simple well-wishes. Blog Posting Inc. also accepts money orders. Did you know that with a donation of $19.99, you can feed an entire Emily for one day? It's true!

Again, we appreciate your love and correspondence. While we work on rewiring Emily, may we suggest you try this recipe for chocolate cake using fat-free mayonnaise? Because it may just blow your mind.

Sincerely,
Automated Letter Writer
Blog Posting, Inc.

Three Things:

1. I'm getting my hair cut at 1pm this afternoon. I have given you all plenty of warning of this impending chop, and it's finally happening. For. Reals. No tears! (I'm looking at you, Michelle.)

2. I start an internship next week! This means a few things: "My Monday" comic strips will likely return, I'll have money, and I may even get a cat. OH THE SHENANIGANS.

3. We start moving tomorrow. All my stuff! My precious, precious STUFF! It'll be back in my grubby little paws where it belongs. My couch, and my couch pillows, and my couch sores from laying on the couch too long...it'll all be back!

4. BONUS NUMBER I haven't talked to Laura in a million years and I miss her. I know this is not pertinent to any of you (unless your name rhymes with Shmora) but maybe if I write it in blog form, I will finally pick up my deteriorating phone to call her.

Reasons Why I Am Dying Today

Today is one of those days when I'm pretty sure I have a thousand horrible diseases. I find myself fairly convinced of my own imminent death on a regular basis. Today's prognosis:

1. Cramps. I am having cramps and I am not on my period.
What it definitely is: Polyps. Or cancer. Or appendicitis.
What it COULD be...I suppose: Gas.

2. Today I woke up and I was SO tired, even though I had 7 hours of sleep.
What it definitely is: Mono.
What it COULD be...I suppose: I'm unemployed and pathetically tired with anything under 9 full hours.

3. I almost fainted today.
What it definitely is: Heat stroke. Or regular stroke.
What it COULD be...I suppose: It's 90° and I was running. And I was overly concerned that I forgot to put sunscreen on my neck.

I'm just going to have to suck it up and move on with my (ever shortening) life. Specifically, I need to get myself off to the DMV because...yeah, no one cares. Got it. But maybe there'll be some hilarious hijinks while there that I can tell you all about! Won't that be fun? (Fun for you, I mean. Not me. See what I do for you?)

Two Things:

1. My problems followed me to Hilton Head. *Sigh* Oh well. I tried. Updates eventually.

2. Why am I not Marion Cotillard? Why?

Why I Suck At Sports

WELL! It has been quite a successful vacation so far. My problems are far, far away from me back in evil, smelly Chicago (I'm sorry, Chicago. I didn't mean that. I love you. *pet pet* Although you are kind of smelly sometimes.) We've been to the beach, went to a jazz club, I ate fish--THAT'S RIGHT, ladies and gentlemen. I, Emily, ate fish. Grouper. And I only gagged a LITTLE. So suck on that. Ew but don't because sucking on fish is--*ACK ACK*--too late, gag reflex kicking in again.

Anyway, this isn't Emily's Private Diary (as is evidenced by the absence of Mead-brand notebook with KEEP OUT written in sharpie.) This is a blog. And today I'd like to discuss sports. And where is this coming from? QUESTION AND ANSWER TIME!!!

Q: Did Joe and his parents go golfing this afternoon?
A: Why yes, yes they did.

Q: Did I not bother to go with them, knowing my past (one) experiences with golf?
A: True.

Q: Did I instead choose to spend the day lounging and eating a 100 calorie ice cream bar I found in the back of their freezer?
A: Of course.

Q: Is Gilmore Girls softly playing in the background?
A: Oh, you.


Yes, I chose to be a hermitting recluse whilst the rest of the gang went away to whack a few golf balls hither thither and yon. And no. I have never played real golf before. But let's just say, you don't have to go to Indonesia to know they make terrible hot dogs.

Wow, I really need to work on my metaphors.

Here's the thing about me and team sports (and I'm counting golf as a team sport because other people are relying on you to EVENTUALLY hit the damn thing. Therefore, team sport.) We don't mesh. Reasons we don't mesh:

1. I am extremely uncoordinated. I run into door frames on a daily basis.
2. I don't like competition and the animosity that inevitably arises from it.
3. I get easily frustrated by things I am not good at right away.
4. I only like looking like an idiot when it's on MY terms. I'll punch myself repeatedly as long as it's on stage and people are laughing. But smack my face with a volleyball once and that's it. Game over.
5. I hate disappointing people. I didn't do homework for my health, people. I did it because I couldn't grasp the concept of NOT doing something I was specifically told to do. Same with sports. You tell me to hit that ping pong ball OVER the net? Damn me if I can't get that to happen for you.

I did play one team sport ONCE. I was six. It was tee-ball. We were the gold team. They put me over in left field, and any time the ball came to me, I would back away from it as carefully as a left-wing politician questioned about gay marriage. If that didn't work, I'd just chuck it to whoever was flailing their arms the most wildly. It was a pretty good strategy. Afterall, I won a trophy. Of course, everyone on every team got a trophy...but it was shiny. After that, I decided to stick to more fruitful endeavors, like chasing my brother around the yard and learning to quote Titanic back to front with Michelle.

So no. I am not good at sports. I don't like playing sports. I never really got into watching sports, either. Although, I think watching sports is like my realization with coffee. Walk with me here:

My parents drink their coffee black. So when I was young, I thought that in order to like coffee, you had to like it black. Imagine my glee when I discovered that you could dump 8 sugar packets and a gallon of cream into your cup and still call it coffee. Likewise is sports. Growing up, I thought in order to enjoy football, you had to sit there through the whole game, understand WHY they were throwing yellow thingies onto the field, and that you couldn't giggle every time they say "tight end" (tee hee!) But now I realize that you can call yourself a sports fan whilst spilling light beer down your shirt and yelling things like "GET HIM! No! Get HIM!!" and that makes a world of difference in my mind. I can get involved in that kind of spectatorship like WHOAH. Just not the kind where you need to know things.

So when Joe suggested that he and his parents go golfing today, I said mazel tov and good day. I attempted a golfing range once. I was horrendous, and that was quite enough for me. Moreover, it was quite enough for the ladies, if you know what I'm saying. Hell, I've used the excuse before and I'll use it again. These girls don't golf. I mean, look at this stance.

In what world would I be able to stand with my arms like that? I will tell you what world.

A world where I am good at sports.

A Vacation from my PROBLEMS! You BET I Will!

I'm going on vacation! Leaving in an hour! (Due to my lack of guessing ability, we actually got ready a whole hour earlier than we needed to. Whoops! Oh well, now I have time to post this.) Joe and I are heading off for Hilton Head, where his parents live. His mother could not be more excited. There was squealing involved. At first we were going to go somewhere we'd never been, like San Francisco, but it turns out you actually have to plan when you decide to go places. WHATEVER.

So now we're off to South Carolina to lay on the beach. I tell ya, my life is just SO HARD sometimes.

I just want everyone to know that I recognize how ridiculous it is to need a vacation from being unemployed, but as Dr. Leo Marvin prescribed, I need a vacation from my problems. Sitting around every day wondering why even the people who ALWAYS get back to me are no longer responding makes me feel like my brain has been doing crunches and my stomach has been doing some philosophical thinking. And I would just like a week to be as relaxed as everyone else, to not feel like I SHOULD be doing something or emailing people or writing headlines or whatever it is that functioning members of society do.

Things I Hope To Acquire This Week
- A nice base tan
- A liking of at least ONE form of seafood
- Vast amounts of pralines
- The shirt from the Paula Deen restaurant with a picture of a cow saying "Hay Ya'll" to a pig and a rooster.

I figure I'll post a few things next week. I shouldn't be SO busy that there's no time for posting. But if you feel that next week is marked by my absence, now at least you know why.

So enjoy your week! I'll bring you back lots of fresh pralines! (And by "bring you back" I of course mean "eat".)

Hey I Was A Teenage Dirtbag, Baby

I could not fall asleep last night. And do you know why? It wasn't because I was stressed. It wasn't because I had a big day ahead of or behind me. It wasn't because I'd had a Dr. Pepper for dinner and was more wired than a cat on narcotics.

It was because of something I did my freshman year of high school. Let me back up.

I've never explained to you about Teenage Boyfriend. I call him Teenage Boyfriend not because he is a teenager now (weird) but because I was literally in love with him from the age of 13 through the age of 20. I even managed to date him for four of those years. He loved me, I loved him...he was hot...what else is there to say? We were going to get married and have a million babies and no one could convince me otherwise. Those who tried just DIDN'T UNDERSTAND. What part of he-knows-my-favorite-TCBY-flavor-it's-real-love aren't you people hearing??

So TB and I were about 15 when my church did a talent show. A talent show which I wanted to be a part of. The only problem is, I had no real talent. Um, I could play the Apollo 13 song on my trumpet? No...all my trumpet endeavors always ended badly and usually involved clogged spit valves. What else can I showcase for a few dozen people? Oh I know. My undying love for Teenage Boyfriend. This is sure to go well.

God. I don't know WHY I did 99% of the things I did when I was 15, but I really think this one takes the cake. So I decided that my genius idea would be to take the lyrics to this ever-so classic song:


...and I would slightly rewrite it. And then sing it. A capella. In front of my church. To my 15-year-old boyfriend.

*facepalm*

Honestly, the memory of that day will live in infamy in my mind. It is so embarrassing to me now that I literally lay awake at night, tossing and turning at the thought. WHY. WHY did you do that? I had to BEG my boyfriend to come to the talent show in the first place. I'm not actually a marvelous singer, so I'm sure there was off-key warbling in there, too. Then after I sang it, my father (who was of course the MC of the night) said, "Thank you, Emily. That was...enlightening." I turned bright red and sat down. There was polite (and probably embarrassed) clapping, and I'm not sure TB even said a word to me or looked at me. He was completely mortified. I had been so convinced that everyone would think it was so cute, and my boyfriend would find me endearing and think I was just the best girlfriend in the whole wide world. Instead, I got avoided glances for the rest of the night, and a few people lightly clapping me on the shoulder as if to say, "Buck up, Sport."

I just needed to tell you all about it, because holding it inside for one more day was one more day of me showing the world that I think my behavior was acceptable. And it wasn't.

But really, now that I read over it, maybe it wasn't the worst thing to happen in the world. It's not like I sang it naked or something. I was an innocent, hormone-ridden teenager in love. Was it so stupid to sing to her boyfriend that she wanted to grow old with him? *shudder, shudder* Yes it was. Yes it was indeed.

Blech. Does that Eternal Sunshine memory-erasing contraption thing exist yet? I would really appreciate it.

Blog Posts That Will Probably Never Happen.

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

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

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

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


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

Confessions of a Movie Talker

I know what I'm about to say makes me the Kimmy Gibbler of your lives, but I have a confession to make: I talk through movies. And I like it.

*Pause while you all give me evil looks*

*Ow, those are some painful looks*

*Okay stop now please*

*IT BURNS US*

There, are we done? Good, now I can explain myself. I like movies. I like how they make me feel. I like forgetting how boring my life can be and reveling in the idea of marrying Richard Gere in the New England countryside instead. It's not that I don't LIKE movies or like knowing what is going on during them. But I also go to movies WITH people. And I don't just do it so that I look like I have friends. I go with people because movies are experiences that I like to share. And just passively letting a movie wash over me seems like an incredible waste of time and money.

I don't usually talk through an ENTIRE movie. Usually it's one of these common phrases:

1. Oh, it's that guy! From the place!
2. Where is that guy from?
3. REER!
4. Wait...what just happened?
5. Those two should make out.
6. Oh! Friends. He was on Friends. He was Pheobe's boyfr--okay sheesh. Shh yourself.

At least I'm able to hold it back when necessary. Well, in a way. I can hold back talking the way someone holds back milk when they laugh. It ends up coming out in sputters and out of all kinds of holes in my head. Bat-like squeals and silent hand clapping are not unheard of.

My movie talking cohort is Adrienne. She and I discovered our love of talking through movies during Love Actually. That or Bridget Jone's Diary 2: The Edge Of Reason. Some masterpiece staring Hugh Grant, that's all I know. Either way, it was a magical experience and I'm sure we annoyed the people around us but DAMN we had a good time. There was even seat dancing. And honestly, there's nothing better than seat dancing.

It is my goal in life to go with Adrienne to a really bad movie during its last week in the theaters, in the middle of the day on like a Tuesday. Then we'll be there all alone and we can sit on opposite sides of the theater and just YELL comments back and forth at each other. Something staring J-Lo or WhatsherfacetheblondegirlfromGrey's.

Anyway, that's all I really have to say on the subject. I need to get ready to head over to Adrienne's now actually. Lost is on tonight and HELLS YES we will need to rewind a million times to find out what people just said because we won't hear anything the first go around. *Waves Ben Linus pennant for good measure*

God bless Tivo, my home sweet home.

A Case For Disney, or: Belle Was a Badass.

If there is one subject that will get me the most impassioned, it is gender roles for children. And I think I've already stated my point of view pretty clearly over here. In short, I think dumping pink and frills and dolls on little kids forces them into a lifetime of believing they need to be dainty.

But I would like to make a case for Disney.

In college I had this one evil professor. She was the kind of woman who smiled when she said really mean things. "If you're late to class, I will have you expelled and enjoy doing it. *Smile*" I HATE YOU. I HATE YOU. She was also obnoxiously Liberal. Despite the fact that I probably agreed with most of the things she said, it was the WAY that she said it that really made me want to punch her in the face. If she had said "bunny rabbits are cute and we should all pet them." I STILL would have wanted to claw at her.

So one day we watched a movie about how Disney is ruining children and making them believe all the wrong things and turning girls into prince-seeking drones. They showed clips of interviews with kids saying stuff like "I like Belle because she takes care of the Beast and then they get married and she's pretty."

Am I the ONLY one in the world who always took away that Belle was a badass?

Let's look at the facts here.
1. Belle doesn't care what society thinks--she likes to read and will do it no matter how much water is tossed on her head from windows above.
2. Belle refuses to marry the hunky man who only wants her for her looks. He promises her a lifetime of security, children, and puppies. And she says no.
3. Belle takes it upon herself to go looking for her father when he goes missing with no one but good ol' skittish Phillipe to help her.
4. Belle selflessly sacrifices herself for her father whom she loves.
5. Belle refuses to do what the Beast commands her to do. She will not be ordered around.
6. Belle's favorite room in the entire castle is the library.
7. Yes, Belle is rescued by the Beast. Because she is hunted by a pack of wolves, and the Beast is enormous. But who lifts the Beast all the way up onto a CLYDESDALE? Oh that's right, badass Belle. And even when she's tending to his wounds, she yells at him for being a jerk to her.
8. Belle has a snowball fight with the Beast.
9. Belle does teach manners and looks hot in a gown and can ballroom dance. So yeah, she's pretty. And she's a woman. But the Beast is already in love with her WAY before she gets dolled up. He loves her when she's still spunky.
10. Belle says she loves the Beast BEFORE she knows that he's handsome and rich and young and looks like George of the Jungle. These are just happy side effects which create a happy ending which is what everyone wants. I implore you to find a children's story from this century that DOESN'T end happily.

But this professor just smiled her evil smile and told us that if we tried to defend Disney, it was only because we grew up with it, and don't want to believe that those movies were actually bad.

Okay...OR maybe I was just a smart kid who had a brain? I don't know. One or the other. She also argued for racism in Pocahontas because there's some song in the beginning where the English sailors are talking about taking land from the Native Americans or something. And when every girl in the class argued that none of us even REMEMBERED that song, but could still sing "Colors of The Wind" by heart and in two-part harmony, she just smiled her evil smile and said we were clearly just getting upset because we didn't want our precious Disney movies smeared.

How's this:

-Jasmine's waistline is disgusting and hurtful toward women's body issues.
-The fact that Prince Eric need not hear a word Ariel says in order to love her is sickening.
-Why every Disney movie needs to end in love and marriage is beyond me. These movies are supposed to be for kids. They'll be pressured into marriage enough in their twenties. And it's very possible that movies like these are why I have always believed that marriage is an important part of my future.
-Mulan's captain thought she was a boy for 99% of the movie. When he found out she was a girl, he immediately fell in love. Um...what?
-I doubt that Aladdin did anything to help racial stereotypes by Americans toward those from the Middle East. I mean, come on. Is the penalty for stealing really cutting off a girl's hand right then and there? Really?

I'm not saying that Disney movies are all perfect. There's plenty of things to improve--and frankly, plenty of things that have been improved. With Pixar involved, things changed a ton. And they tried their darn-tootenest with the Princess and the Frog (I haven't seen it, so I can't say anything one way or the other.) But what I ask for is to please give Disney--and kids--a little credit. Just because the movie ended happily doesn't mean there weren't plenty of things in the middle there that we noticed and appreciated.

Asshole. :)

Acceptable Pet Name Categories

GOOD:
Human names that would be hilarious for a pet because no one has them in real life anymore.
-Gertrude
-Jeffery
-Walter

BAD:
Human names that people still have, making it awkward and making you wonder just how close the owner and the pet are.
-Katie
-Lauren
-Jason

BAD:
Descriptions of the pet's appearance that clearly took you four seconds to figure out.
-Smokey
-Socks
-Fluffy

GOOD:
Combo pet names that are even better when both pets are introduced.
-This guy here is Wayne. Oh, and over there is Garth.
-May I introduce Braxton and Toni?
-Here's Snap. Here's Crackle. Here's Pop.

BAD:
Pets named for your favorite ivy-covered baseball field
-Wrigley

GOOD:
Pets with multiple names at all times.
-Elizabeth Taylor
-The Artist Formerly Known As Prince
-Robert Downey, Jr. ("Something's wrong with Robert Downey Jr!"..."I'm sorry, I need to stop and get food for Robert Downey Jr." "Robert Downey Jr, look what you did to the couch!" "BAD Robert Downey Jr! Bad!")

GOOD:
Other
-Carpet.

Oh and now I need to tell you a story from high school. I was in a theater class and we were searching the piles of old scripts for monologues. We found one play called Mr. Whittington And His Cat. None of us could be bothered to really find out what the play was about, but we tried to imagine a play that used a cat. Ultimately, we decided that you couldn't use a real one; it would have to be stuffed. Like so:

So then we imagined a one-man show solely about the problems of a British man and his (stuffed) cat, Mr. Whittington. You know, "My, you sure are hungry, Mr. Whittington!" "Mr. Whittington, don't run in front of that bus!" "Mr. Whittington, would you mind terribly drawing the blinds?" etc etc etc. And it just tickles me. So...

GOOD:
-Mr. Whittington


Any more thoughts? I need a good pile of options for when I get a cat. Which I will.

Under the Influence of Awkward

Who got a Prom Hanks shirt today? I got a Prom Hanks shirt today. THAT'S RIGHT.

There was a volunteer thank you lunch today at Piece (also the site of me and Joe's first date. Joe and I's first date. Joe and my's first date. NOTHING IS RIGHT!!) And they were handing out free T-shirts to everyone for the event, with a chance to trade for a Prom Hanks shirt if desired. OH I DESIRE, sir. I desire.


The volunteer lunch in and of itself went...fine. I don't really know anyone so well as to start sitting down and having a convo. I mean, I recognized people. But I'm just not the kind of person who starts up conversations willy nilly. As you may recall, I am usually talked TO. Not the other way around. So when confronted with a large group of people I don't know, I AM that girl from a 50's prom who came alone to stand in the bleachers and look sad. That is me.

Eventually I managed my way into a group conversation by mentioning that being unemployed is actually great at first until you realize you're spending your days watching Gilmore Girls. Which then turned into a conversation about Lauren Graham, which then turned into how much boys like her, which then turned into how hot Zooey Deschanel is, which turned into me coming across as SLIGHTLY more lesbionic than I am.

The conversation spiraled out of control from there and I again found myself alone and staring silently at a few limp pieces of salad on my plate that I had decided weren't worth stabbing with my fork. So I decided to go. I stuck it out for over an hour. I think that's pretty good for me.

OH! I didn't mention, too, that Dave Eggers was there. He's a writer and he wrote the screenplay for Where The Wild Things Are and Away We Go (which I stupidly packed away for the month! GAH!) So once I decided to leave, I accosted him with my damn Wild Things DVD and an enormous permanent marker (the only one I could find) to get him to sign it. And that's when things get awkward. GOD, why do I get so clammed up around Z-list people? What hope do I have of becoming one myself some day?! Anyway, I walked up to him and shoved the DVD in his face. He shook my hand (Oh right, that's what you do when you meet someone, I thought.) Then I handed him the marker and said, "Sorry all I have is a huge thing."
"What's that?" he said. And for a second I considered That's-What-She-Saiding Dave Eggers, writer of Where The Wild Things Are screenplay. But instead I just stumbled over myself.
"All I have is..this...uh, uh...whatsit. Marker." GOD. For once I would like my brain to remember the names of COMMON HOUSEHOLD ITEMS. So he signed it, and I'm pretty sure I made him anxious because he almost misspelled the word "stay" in "Stay wild, Dave Eggers" He handed it back and I bolted.

So I think that's all the awkward I can handle for today. OH BUT WAIT!! I'm meeting more z-listers today! I'm seeing Avenue Q and might get to meet the puppeteers afterward. Yikes, it's going to be deadly.

I need to watch more Gilmore Girls to calm the nerves.

I Hate Running. There. I Said It.

GOD!! DO I ever learn anything EVER?! How many times do I have to jinx something before I STOP TELLING PEOPLE ABOUT STUFF?! First rule of jinx: don't talk about stuff. (Second rule: make sure the soda machine is not sold out of Coke.)

So the apartment we were hoping for yesterday was denied. Wah wah wahhhhh. It's really fine. There were things about it that we weren't crazy about. So now we don't have to deal with those things. But now, in honor of jinxing things, I'm not telling you people NOTHING. So suck on that.

So now I am sulking and eating salsa like Rupert Grint's life depends on it. (It might.) And sometimes the salsa is a little spicy but it's okay to feel pain because at least then I feel SOMETHING.

I'm sorry. That joke was not okay. HEY! You know what else is not okay? Running. Running, my friends. Who decided that running was an "activity" and not something reserved for life-saving situations only? Also, who decided not to renew her gym membership for this month to save money? I want to kill both of those people right now, and then spend my life worshiping the elliptical gods.

4 Reasons why Running Sucks:

1. Running is medically bad for you.
Okay, technically it has its benefits. Heart, lungs, all that nonsense. But your joints and bones do not appreciate it. And who decided that your heart is more important than your bones anyway, hmm? You know what your bones would appreciate? A hearty glass of chocolate milk and a nice recliner. And I have to say, I agree.

2. Throat Issues
Why, as soon as I run more than a block, does my throat decide that now would be a good time to close itself off/fill up with mucus? What kind of defense mechanism is THAT? "Oh you're trying to be healthy/save lives? Here, let me help you by hurting a lot and giving you all kinds of gross things to cough up while you run."

3. Lowered Attractiveness Level
Some girls look good when they run. They're all lean and standing tall and their sports bra matches their iPod and their elbows are pointed in the same direction and it's all well and good. I, on the other hand, have on a college t-shirt with sweat stains and am leaning forward, hacking and gagging on my newly acquired phlegm. And somehow I get the feeling that I really more shuffle than run for the most part.

4. Boobs.
I'm just going to throw this one out there: Boobs. I have them. AND HOW. And it's lovely most of the time, because I get to be oggled by douchebags in bars/yelled at by homeless men on the street (some girls get ALL the luck.) But running? Yeah, it's a problem. Mostly, it's embarrassing trying to figure out how to run without folding your arms in front of you.

I'm not against aerobic activity. I'm all about being healthy and working the heart and giving your deodorant its chance to shine. But really. The odds are stacked up against running. I'm sorry, but it's science.

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!