What Ever Happened To Predictability?

Okay, I thought I'd share with everyone what I've been up to since arriving in San Francisco. But since we are a visual people, let's do it in PICTURES! YEAH! PICTURES! LESS! READING! MORE! SEEING! LESS! READING! MORE! SEEING! WOOP WOOP WOOP WOOP!

I don't know...I'm in a weird place right now. A weeeeird place.

So just a bit of overview: I haven't been doing anything extremely touristy. One, because I did those things when I was here the first time. Two, because I'm unemployed and have to conserve my money. And three, because I have a life to live and internet to catch up on, and I can't spend my days riding a trolley all day.

But if you are curious about what my life is currently looking like, here it is:

First and most importantly, I discovered that I live about half a mile from Robin Williams during my run this morning.

....

I'm just giving you all a little moment to let the majesty of that sentence grip your hearts.

I made a nifty little map for you. The orange star is where I live. The kooky neon green star is where Robin Williams lives.


And yes, you heard right. I am running again. I have to run now. I'm a runner. Way far away from the dock, with the, with the wind and the sky and everything. Ahoy. I am not amused. There are no gyms near me because APPARENTLY it's nice weather all year and there is a giant park nearby and SOME people think that is reason enough to forego my precious, precious ellipticals for "fresh air" and "free exercise" and "scenery." WHATEVER.

So anyway, yesterday I ran south to Golden Gate park. There were hills involved. It was not awesome (The hills, I mean. The park is, in fact, quite awesome.) Today I decided to run north to the ocean and see what that was all about. Now, I knew Sir Williams lived in San Francisco, but I didn't know where. Once I got into the neighborhood I started thinking about it, though. Every house was gorgeous, and if you were in the right place you got a view that looked something like this:


I wasn't actually looking for his house or anything...but then I saw this one.


Bigger than the others, with actual space around it (rare in this city), an enclosed basketball hoop, and the best view of the Golden Gate Bridge. THEN, across the street from the house was a bench with this on it:



Whoa. When I got home, I googled it to be sure and YEP. That is the one!

Question: Do you now play out different scenarios in which you run into Robin Williams to varying degrees of interaction, from hand wave to “You’ve got a lot of spunk! Why don’t you play my daughter in my upcoming feature film?”
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question: Do you realize how silly that is?
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question:…But you can’t stop, can you?
Answer: OF COURSE.
Question: Also, that's not how Robin Williams talks.
Answer: Quiet, you.

So that happened. Anyway, here are a few more things about where I live.

This is my apartment building.



Here is what is directly next to it.


Here is the sole piece of furniture in our apartment right now. It is a borrowed air mattress.


Here is Regina sitting awkwardly in the sunshine. She will be even happier when our furniture arrives than I will be.


OH! Speaking of Regina, here she is in her carrier (BEFORE she wriggled out.)




These are the two canned meals I had bought in preparation for easy, cheap dinners. Then I remembered we don't have a can opener yet.


Here is how we eat our meals. On the floor. Next to a cat toy because...of course.


Once we get furniture I will take you all on a virtual tour of our apartment. Until then, there's not much to see, obviously. Although there are a lot of windows and closets, which is pretty awesome.

Anyway. San Francisco composts. Like, as a thing. Hippies.


My first day I went on a grocery store hunt. I found one, which sold these. I obviously thought of Michelle.


Then I went past this. I obviously thought of Adrienne.



Then I walked past this church. I obviously thought of Jane. JUST KIDDING. I thought of Monica. Who is St. Monica? The patron saint of being a badass? I’m pretty sure.


This is an authentic Irish bakery that I think Joe will enjoy, next to a pub. I'm excited to bring his family there when they visit. (Oh, and I forgot to take a picture of the burger joint called Bill's Place which I will OBVIOUSLY take my father to when they visit. Because it is absolutely "Bill's place".)


And finally, apparently San Francisco is littered with Whomping Willows.



So that about sums it up. Everything I haven't pictured is me sitting in various coffee shops looking for a job or watching Hulu+ on my phone (Mother Necessity, where would we be?) or Joe and I running through our endless To Do lists. We spend the majority of our relationship compiling lists and schedules. It's our way.

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

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

That is me with junk food.

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

I have a problem.

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

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

Here we go. Ready?

1. Chocolate can be your friend.


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

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

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

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

2. Choke down that carrot.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Keep It Lean



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

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

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


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


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

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


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

6. Find the substitutions that work for you.

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

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


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

8. Keep a food journal for a few weeks.


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

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

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

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

9. Go to restaurants with a plan.


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

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


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



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

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

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

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

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


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

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

The Gym Saga: Happy Endings All Around

On Saturday, Joe and I went to our "new" Bally's at 5pm, hoping to get in one more crappy work out before we finally left that crappy, crappy place forever. And guess what? It was closed.

And this was, I'm pretty sure, my exact word-for-word reaction:


So Joe and I marched on over to XSport Fitness, slapped a few dollars on the counter and demanded a shot of whiskey and a tour.

They have a climbing wall. And TVs on all their cardio. And SUNLIGHT. Because, guess what? Their gym isn't actually just a moldy dungeon cellar with a sign that says "Bally's." We were sold.

On our test run of the place, I finally got to watch tbs again (yay!) Except apparently it's now the Tyler Perry channel (boo.) So I watched The Kids Are All Right starring Tyler Perry as a man named "Terry." Yeah. Feel it. Feel that in your soul.

But the point is, I got to watch SOMETHING that wasn't The Bally's channel, with a static screen suggesting that blueberries are healthy (ARE THEY NOW?!)

While we were walking home, Joe said "The only downfall is that there are still old men in the locker room walking around naked." I told him, "Yeah, but that's not the gym's fault. That's humanity's fault." Because, really. If you can go one locker room trip without seeing some old person's bits, you have performed a miracle.

So we've got a new gym now! And it's great! And I'm excited to work out again (I mean, as much as you can be excited to work out, really.) So hopefully this means that the saga has ended. We shall see.

Bally Total Fitness Can Suck My Ovaries

A) Ew.

But you know what? B) You deserve it, Bally's. You deserve that mental image. And I hope you all think of that image each and every time you hear mention of Bally Total Fitness Centers.

Here's the thing. Technically, Bally's is...FINE. They didn't murder my grandchildren. They didn't tell me they'd be at my home between the hours of 8 and 8 and then not show up (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, AT&T, YOU SON OF A BITCH.) They didn't eat all the Drumsticks out of the freezer without so much as leaving me the bottom of a cone where all the chocolate collects.

No. Bally's is.....fine. Their gym doesn't really feel top-notch, but hey. I'm not paying top-notch prices. But tonight they went too damn far.

Here's the thing. The Bally's I go to is in the basement of a building. A building that is right next to a river.

Let's let that sink right into the ol' noggin there.

Who puts anything--ANYTHING--into the basement of a building that is next to a river? A river in a city that is NOTORIOUS for its terrible weather patterns? Shouldn't all buildings be on some sort of STILT system?! I mean come on, Shelly. THESE people figured it out, for Christ's sake!


All this to say, yes. My Bally's has flooded. I don't know the extent of it, but I know there were firetrucks (plural) and at least one animal control truck (I'm sorry...did the ducks get out of hand? Were there otters floating around your free weights?)

At first I speculated that we might get some money back. No problem. You prorate us or some nonsense, and Joe and I will run around the block for a week instead.

Until we got the email.

"Your Bally's in closed. But lucky for you, we have 80 million OTHER Bally's locations that are all inconveniently located from where you live!" ....Yippee.

Guess what, kids? I finally got my butt over to the next closest Bally's. It is also in a basement. It sucked.

1) I got there at 8:30, since my Bally's closes at 10. Well THIS one is downtown Chicago where no one lives, so it closes at 9. Huzzah.

2) I jumped on the elliptical. In front of me was Larry King. Sans subtitles. It is the only television within eyesight. So I got to lip read Larry King talking to that gymnast girl about how she apparently had a stalker. Mostly I got to ponder the effects of blonde hair dye on a girl who looks a squirrel. Anyway, there is no one around to ask to change the channel. So I opt to watch myself in the mirror and imagine fake conversations (which is my most common day-to-day activity.)

3) At 8:40--TWENTY MINUTES before close--the guy comes down and turns off all the TVs AND all the fans.

4) So now I, who HAVE PAID for a membership, am sweating my ass off in the gym I never intended on patronizing, with no visual to focus on and no fan to circulate the basement air. I can feel my claustophobia setting in AND I can feel just how deeply I am not wanted at this gym. I get the hell out and decide that my calories are better spent walking home.

And OF COURSE I can't cancel my membership right away; I have to give a full month's notice. And by then, my flood-center gym will probably be back up and running.

Basically what I'm saying is, I unknowingly paid to be screwed over. And now I'm going to go get some cheese to go with my white whine. A-thank you.

What I Did Today Instead Of Writing You A Post Worth Reading On Tuesday

1. Finally watched Alice in Wonderland, the New Class
And you know what? I LIKED it. So take that. The hero was a girl in a suit of armor and she didn't end up in love at the end. That's enough to get all those little feministic pieces of me all fluttery. Now if only Helena BC and JDepp would get together with Cameron Diaz and Glenn Beck and agree to stop saying things ever, all would be right with the world.

2. Worked out
Except since we moved I have to go to an inferior gym coughBALLYcough and they don't have individual TVs, only the ones in the front.

GOD my life is SO HARRRRRD.

No, but seriously it's a pain in my ass (literally--zing!) because they set half the TVs to special gym channels that are useless, and the others to ESPN and CNN. And I'm sorry. I am sweating my ass off over here on your slimy machines. Is it too much to ask for a little prime time? Seriously. All I need is a decent plot line to distract me from the suffering happening in the inside of my body. I do not like my choices of Some Team versus Who Cares, or an interview with that bald southern alien man.

3. Fretted over the lack of eggs I own in my Facebook flash restaurant game
Yeah. You want to fight about it? What.

4. Tried and failed to come up with a decent headline.
Headlines are also harrrrrrrd. Why do I have to wriiiite themmmmmm??
Oh, right because I'm a copywriter and that was my conscious choice and it's basically what I get paid to do all day. *Sigh* GOD, the things I do for you, expensive Nordstrom bras. THE THINGS I DO.

5. Successfully cooked chicken that didn't make me feel like gagging
I'm a freaking culinary genius over here. Thursday is homemade sloppy joes and YEAH. You're jealous.

And that is all. Special shout out today to my little brother, John, who I dreamt got hit on the head when a car flew over him and instead of ducking, he video taped it. Thanks for automatically making my day feel sad and terrible. I hate you. Please don't die.

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.

Cupcakes With Mustaches. It's For The Children.

So the other day I was walking to my gym and one of THOSE people was standing in my way. Looking at me. With a clipboard.

Oh, GOD.

Usually, these people are standing in groups in the middle of downtown, and they are easily ignorable because I am listening to my headphones and walking eighty billion miles an hour. But not this time, for I was fumbling to get out my membership card, take off my hat (so as not to appear unattractive to Cute Gym Worker Man) and turn off Britney Spears' Drive Me Crazy.

Suffice it to say, I was powerless. And then she caught me with a double whammy. She said, "Hello, do you have time to support same-sex marriage?" Why yes, ma'am. I always have time to support same-sex marriage. Especially because supporting same-sex marriage is something I usually do while also doing other things. Why, just the other day, I was eating a sandwich, watching TV, and supporting same-sex marriage all at the same time!

So I stopped. I figured: the woman had a clipboard, she wanted my support, I believe in all the same thing she believed...why, we may even become best friends. At best, I'd sign her little doohickey and then be on my way to Elliptical Hell.

This woman starts talking a mile a minute, and when I take a look at her little clipboard I notice--wait a minute. There is no list of signatures here! What have I gotten myself into? Oh my god, they're going to try to scare me straight. But I AM straight! Oh no wait...she just wants money.

I said, as nicely as I could, "Oh, do you want money?"
And, if I remember right, her response was something along the lines of "Blah blah at least $20 blah blah blah. PS. Blah."
And my response was, "Oh, heh heh....I don't have...well I mean I have, but I don't want...but I mean I support...but I just can't afford, but again with the support...well-wishes...proposition 8...my gym...money...unemployed...OKAY BYE! *Zzzzip!*" (That last part was me frantically running into my gym to get away from her.)

All this to say, I hate when people ask me to donate money. Even places where I know things are going to a good cause. Because on the one hand, giving money to people who need it is a good thing. Salvation Army at Christmas. Boys and Girls Club Toy Drive. Red Cross. ASPCA. This American Life podcasts. All good places to donate money. But with my bank account on a constant spiral downward, I just can't help that much--unless you want me to actually be one of the people ASKING for the money in about a week.

Thus, I give my time instead. Hence all the posts about volunteering. And lately, Adrienne and I have been involved with one such activity: a mustache-growing contest. Now, clearly since we cannot grow mustaches ourselves (if only...) we are given a weekly creative challenge while the natural growers do their thing. And the point of both is to get people to support your mustache growing/creating endeavors. This week, we were challenged to make a mustache out of any material we wanted and take pictures of it.

Adrienne and I are weird.

Let me get that out of the way right there, if you didn't pick up on that here. So instead of just cutting a mustache out of cardboard and taking pictures of it on statues, our cats, etc etc, we created a whole challenge for ourselves. We made little mustached cupcakes, and then sent them on adventures around the world.

Check it out.

Our goal is to be the most creative mustache team, have some fun, and also--you guessed it--to raise some money.

Any money donated to our cause goes to the place I tutor at. It's a non-profit writing and tutoring center. It's the place where a boy wrote this:


Which is, undisputedly, the single best piece of writing in existence.
These kids are from inner city schools, working off the public school system (which does not always do super well for them.) I've tutored a few kids now who come because they literally don't WANT to go home. Including a seven year old girl who had had a rock thrown through her living room window by a gang member. And yes, I tell you all that for pure and utter guilt factor.

What I'm telling you is this: I hate donating money. And I hate when people ask me to donate money. Because there are just so many good causes out there, I can't possibly give to them all. And anyway, I can't give money because I am piss-poor broke.

But maybe you are different. Maybe you have money. Or like to donate. Or just really like mustaches. Or cupcakes. Or...cupcakes with mustaches perhaps?

To donate money (any amount) you can go here. Scroll down, find Adrienne and I (second row, fourth column) and donate away! And remember: it's for the children.

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?

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?

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?

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?

Thoughts Written While at The Nutcracker

What was ballet like in the Chinese foot-binding era?

Am I a straight woman? Or a gay man? I can't remember anymore.

What if you have a foot fetish? Would finding out she's a ballet dancer be a deal breaker?

Oh God. This guy who plays the brother was supposed to be a small child and now he's in tights and I feel vastly inappropriate looking at his business.

This ballet is just one giant reminder that I don't stretch enough.

Are you a man who likes to be naked solely from the waist down? Consider the ballet.

If anyone set me down on just one tip toe, I would 100% immediately fall over.

When any of these boys turn, all I can do is analyze their butt muscles.

Say what you will about girls being complicated. At least we don't have mysterious bulges.

AaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH THERE IS A GIANT CLAPPING PUPPET WITH CHILDREN UNDER HER SKIRT AND SHE'S GOING TO EAT THE BABY IN FRONT OF ME!!!

Tutus represent everything I stand against.

Does 'bravo' mean 'good job' in Italian?

I also want to share with you that as we were leaving, this man appeared from the heavens to grace us with his amazingness:

The question is not "Is this man wearing a floor-length mink coat?" It is, "Does his wife have a matching floor-length mink coat?" And I can answer you with a resounding YES. YES SHE DOES.