BRB, Having a Meltdown

This is how I feel about moving to California in a month:





This is how I feel when I remember Joe is visiting next weekend:





This is how I feel about my professional future:

Why I Don't Like Big Dogs

PEOPLE OF THE INTERNET! PLEASE! *hammers gavel multiple times* PLEASE! SETTLE DOWN. LET THE WOMAN SPEAK.

It's true. I had an epiphany recently that, despite my previous statements of liking anything fuzzy, I kinda dislike big dogs.



Clarifications:

This is not a post about how cats are better than dogs. If you are looking for such a post, you will never find it here. I believe in the lyrics of that classic children's song:
"All God's critters got a place in the choir
so quit getting your pants in a bunch about it
and let's be friends, for Christ's sake."

This is also not a post in which I try to convince you to dislike big dogs. This is an epiphany all my own, with my experiences and biases.

I came to acknowledge my dislike the other day while walking home from the grocery store. I went to turn down a street and saw a large dog about a block away. I did one of those "Blurg! *shuffle shuffle" things, backed up, and kept walking down the original street, deciding to turn at the next block instead.

I started thinking: Why? What has that dog done? Nothing. Nothing except look large. What was it that made me want to avoid it? The reason, I realized, is twofold:

1. I'm scared of a lot of large dogs.

Dogs you don't know are unpredictable. You don't know if it is a Beethoven or a Cujo. And big dogs' jaws are designed to rip apart small to medium animals. My childhood friend's son was attacked by a large dog. And I have had a few run-ins (injury free but still terrifying) with large dogs myself while babysitting. And if you know me at all, you know there was no egging on for my part. (I mean, come on. I call Great Danes "puppies".) And yet I've seen my life flash before my eyes multiple times thanks to large dogs.

2. The big dogs that don't scare me...kind of annoy me.

Okay now here is where I'm sure I'll get some eye rolls, but big dogs that are nice are also often slobbery and overweight. And they LOVE to smell people's crotches. I don't know about you, but I enjoy nothing more than trying to shake my boyfriend's parents hand while also shoving a Labrador away from my crotch. Really leaves a good first impression.

So fine, maybe I have angered you. And for dudes, this opinion certainly doesn't make me a "cool" chick (see also, my disdain for sports)(But on the other hand please see my love of beer and occasional Star Wars references?) But I need to be honest with myself. I'm just not the biggest fan of large dogs.

I know, I know, big dogs save people from burning buildings and they're loyal and sweet and answer the phone for people who have no arms. And I'm sure most of them are lovely, wonderful creatures. But you have to admit it, they can't ALL be Shadow.

Ohhhh, Shadow! You were old and hurt and in a ditch and we thought you were too old and it was too far but you made it out! And you were so worried about Peter but really WE were so worried about YOU! SHADOW! Sha-ha-ha-dow! ARRRGGGALARRAAAHAAAAHHHH!--Wait, let me say something! Let me say something!--BLLRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Okay, everyone immediately go hug your pet. If you have a large dog, please give it a ham bone for me. God, this is like the Toy Story fandango all over again.

New Life Goal, And It Involves Me Becoming A Crazy Pet Lady. Which I'm Fine With.

I need to ultimately own four pets, purely for the names I have devised:

Regina Phalange (check)
Arf Vandelay, Vandelay Industries
Bob Vance, Vance Refrigeration
Anastasia Beaverhausen

And if any of you can tell me which one of these things is not like the other, you win the prize of my adoring affection.

Whoops

I had a whole post written for today and then realized right before bed that it would probably get me fired. NO POST FOR YOU. Sorry.

Box of kittens?

WHY, TOM? WHYYYYY?

OH MY GOD.

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

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

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

In conclusion:

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

Oh Right. You People.

Oh, heeeeeeeeey everybody. I know I've been essentially gone for a week. I would really like to give you a spectacular reason, like I was writing a book or I came down with the mumps.

Truth is? 90% of things happening in my life worth discussing are all work-related, so I basically can't tell you about my life. Which is WAY more annoying for me than it is for you, because I have SO MANY THINGS I WANT TO TALK IN ALL CAPS TO YOU ABOUT. AND I CAN'T.

The other problem is, I want to tell you about A Wrinkle In Time. I reread it for the first time since the 4th grade, and I was going to compare it to the journal entry I KNOW I wrote about it back then. But it turns out, I don't freaking have that journal like I thought I did. So next time I go home, I'm scouring our crawl space for a Kelly green journal with erasable pen scribblings, and you shall get, at the VERY least, an awesome drawing. And at the very most, some insight into how much I loved Michael D. (Because boy howdy DID I.)

I've also wanted to write an entry about why I still love Rosie O'Donnell despite the general public's disdain for her. But really I just want to say, "She's real, she's hilarious, and she's kind of a bad ass. Done and Done." *brushes off hands*

But I'm here. And I promise to post worthy things, which may be as soon as tomorrow. Who knows?!

Sigh, I'm sorry. I'm terrible. Bulldog puppy?



I grew my skin FIRST.

There Are No Need For Words Right Now.

The Most Important Book You'll Ever Read

I have in my possession The Holy Grail. And, like Charlie's golden ticket, it is the kind of thing that one can only discover when one least expects it.

There I was, standing in an obscenely long line at the pharmacy. As my mind wandered, my eye caught sight of something strange. It was a book in the clearance bin. As I could see it, the title read, 'MEN WHO [$5.99] & THE DOGS". I stared, trying to figure out what the price sticker was covering up. Because, of course, my mind started going to all kinds of places.

Ahh, times were so simple back then (two days ago). So simple.

I reached for the book and removed the sticker. And this was what I beheld:



Sweet, sweet Lord. In case there was a question, God exists. God exists, and he is especially fond of me in particular. And by association, he probably likes you, too. But mostly me.

I flipped through this book with tears welling in my eyes, giggling and gasping at every page. I knew from the moment I read the title that this was the perfect gift to give someone. But when I opened the book I realized it wasn't a gift for someone. It was a gift...for the world.

I have been bequeathed a very real, very necessary item. And it would behoove me to share such an item with as many people as possible. Frankly, I can't think of a better way to reach the masses. So I give to you a sampling. If you'd like the entire thing, you'll have to come visit me, or buy it yourself. I highly suggest doing both. Because I'm not giving this bad boy away.

Here we go.

Are you ready?

Wait for it.....

Here we go for real. First picture.



Here is this book at its most basic: Man, sweater. Dog, matching sweater. "And, look, Barkley! Here's all the numbers I got from hot babes who love men that knit dog sweaters! Pages and pages of them!...what do you mean 'this is my mother's number written over and over again?' THAT IS NOT WHY I TAUGHT YOU TO READ."




Another great part about this book is the intro. I have this to say: Is my new dream to own a yarn/wine shop in small town Michigan? YES. ALWAYS.




This dog is such a trooper. Doing tricks in a knitted 'kerchief, and for what? A hand without a treat from a goony-looking man who is most assuredly in Dad jeans? You keep chugging along, lil guy. Don't you give up. Not on my watch.




Nothing like staring into the distance, surveying the land, and contemplating your two-level sweater.




Seriously, how ADORABLE is this picture? How adorable...and yet, how sad?




POLL:
A) A man with a sleeve tattoo would absolutely knit his own socks, just as assuredly as he would wear one of those 90s hemp sweaters.
B) A man with a sleeve tattoo would rather die than be caught knitting just as assuredly as he would rather die than drive a tan Volvo.
C) I can't decide but how hilarious is it that they very clearly included the sleeve tattoo to try and make the book seem more edgy?




What? WHAT? .....WHAT?!! I can't even...I don't even...This doesn't even....




I'm sorry, but there is no chance in the history of America that this man knit himself this sweater.




I'm sorry, but there is a high probability that THIS man knit himself this sweater. And that last guy's. And every sweater in this book. Twice.




"Ha ha ha...We are laughing and we are very good friends. Good buddies sharing a special moment. Laughing and enjoying our friendship, and someday we'll look back on this with much fondness."
"Dude...why am I on a chair in the middle of the house?"




Really? Does EVERYTHING in your life need to be knitted? How about a knitted food bowl?




Emily: "Huh. This guy's not terrible-looking. I mean, despite the fact that he's wearing the Christmas sweater his great aunt made him--wait. WAIT. WHAT IS THAT DOG WEARING?"....




OH MY GOD. KNITTED. MUSCLE SHIRT. FOR YOUR DOG. When Joe finally adopts Arf Vandelay Vandely Industries, I WILL learn to knit and this WILL be my first project and it WILL be amazing.




Sir, sitting in a Jeep Wrangler with your sunglasses on your head does not make up for the fact that you KNIT YOUR DOG A MUSCLE SHIRT OUT OF MULTICOLORED YARN.




"Come on, man. Pull yourself together. You can do this tonight. You can DO THIS. You're a strong, confident, totally rad Maltese in a sweater. Why WOULDN'T she date you? Come on. Suck it up."




Boy, DO I?! Do I EVER!! (Here comes the picture in 5...4...3...2...)




I remember the time--this was after 'Nam, see--when I would go fishing. Just me and the guys, you know? We'd sit along the lake, them with their dogs, me with little Bubbles...they'd spend their time cursing over lost fish and touching unsanitary worms. But me and Bubbles? Why, we'd just sit and knit, sit and knit. All weekend long. Good thing she was in charge of carrying the extra yarn, or I don't know WHAT we would have done.




If you take away the matching hat and the dog sweater, this isn't such a terrible picture. Just a guy whose sister made him a warm scarf. But you CAN'T take away the hat and dog sweater. YOU CAN'T. And therein lies the majesty of this book.





How much money are you willing to put down that Ted would win the Most High Maintenance Gay Man Ever Award? Because I am willing to put down quite a bit.




At first, you may look at this picture and think, "Well this guy isn't so bad." True, he has that once-nerdy charm about him. But then you remember that the sweater he's wearing doesn't come from Kohl's, but from his own needle-bearing hands. And then you really take a good look at his face and you notice that it has a bit of a creepy come-hither-so-I-can-kill-you look. And that reminds you of the nice man in Grey's Anatomy who turned into a mass murderer and OH MY GOD, MIRANDA BAILEY, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE HE IS ON YOUR FLOOR RIGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!1




Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer but you're still creepy, dude.




"You know what I need? A hat with deadlock-inspired yarn coming out from the top."
"But Gerald! That technique hasn't been invented yet! You'd be CRAZY to try that!"
"You just watch, Francine. It'll be big someday. HUGE."
"That's what she said."
"Touché, Francine. Touché."
Oh, I'm sorry. Were you guys wondering about the matching dog sweater? Well, wonder no more.




Soak it in. Soak it all in.




And finally, here is one of the two authors. I'm curious...what does tongue-in-cheek mean?

Regina Phalange. PHALANGE.

Apparently I need to clear the air about something.

Yes. I made a Facebook photo album of my last roommate's cat.

But he was a strange, strange cat. Who liked to jump on my shoulders and lick my face.

However, people have gotten the impression that I am some insane cat person. Just because I wrote a blog post about how they're great and just because I want to fly to Greece solely for CATS EVERYWHERE and just because I fantasize of being covered by a box of kittens and just because ON OCCASION I make inaudible squeals at Purina commercials.

The thing is, I just got my own first cat, and she is as low key as my microbrew-drinking, potluck-tv-watching 7-hours-of-sleep lifestyle. And people are SHOCKED that I haven't gushed about her with a million pictures and stories. JUST BECAUSE I have a Facebook photo album dedicated to a grey tabby who was not mine and SOMETIMES threw in a few pictures of my family's cat for good measure does not mean that I am thinking about pictures of cats 24/7. It's not that I'm against talking about her, obv. But these things take TIME, people. I lived with Charlie for a year and a half and was home most of that time due to The Troubles. Now I have had Regina for only a few weeks, I only spend a few hours with her, and she spends most of that time laying sweetly nearby. There's just not that much to tell, except for the fact that she yells at me whenever I'm mobile and does a hilarious thing with her leg (picture once I capture it...it really is awesome, though, I promise.)

Of course, the day we got her was a bit of a story.

We went to this amazing shelter in Chicago (I won't say the name here because I don't want them to read this but if you are looking for a good one, email me and I will tell you.) that has cage-free, free-range, cats.

We got to the shelter, which has a doorbell you have to ring to get in. I announced that I wanted to adopt a cat and the girl led me upstairs. Once upstairs, amongst the cats laying around, there was a woman who looked like she had seen more than a couple Jimmy Buffet concerts. She had a flowy shirt, long necklaces (plural) and blue-tinted prescription glasses. She was scowling at a young gentleman and clearly unhappy with him. The boy seemed perfectly nice. I was being talked to (and also in a room full of cats) so I was distracted, but the only thing I caught from their conversation was that he wanted to adopt a kitten, but was possibly not fully prepared to do so. I put my purse on the floor and immediately, a calico cat sat on it. I tried to pet her, but she hissed. This was not Regina Phalange.

The girl who had led us up the stairs handed me a 3-page form to fill out. It included my employer name, what kind of food I planned to get my cat, what I would do with my cat if I moved, what kind of voice I was planning on giving my cat, etc etc. Five hours later, I was done filling out the form and the ill-prepared guy had been ushered out, cat-less. Hand shaking, I handed the form to the woman. Still frowning she looked over it.

"Copywriter, hmm?"
"Yes?"
"You live in Printer's Row?"
"Yes?"
"Hmm..."

But as she looked through my list, the woman became more and more excited with each step. I'd lived with so many cats, I had to add extra lines. I didn't want to declaw. I didn't want a kitten. I had a job. I had my landlord's name and phone number. I was prepared. Oh, was I. By the time we were done going through the form, the woman practically swooped Joe and I up into her arms and gave us one giant bear hug.

She led us around to the different cats, pointing out which ones were friendly (which I had said on the form was what I wanted.) The first one she led us to was Bubblegum, who was sleeping on a pillow on a high shelf. She was black and white. Seriously? A black and white cat named Bubblegum? REALLY? Joe and I held out our hands for her to smell, and she started licking our fingers and nuzzling us. Good start, cat. Good start. THIS was Regina Phalange.

The woman led us to other cats, knowing each of their names and personalities, and with anecdotes about the cats they've had in the past, and other cats she had at home. "You know I had a cat just like this one at home. Her name was Stormy and she had just gotten ringworm...." Smile and nod, Emily. Smile and nod.

Occasionally, I'd stop and pet the kittens and she'd frown. "Kittens are overrated. Let me show you Snickerdoodle. She's sixteen. OH! Patsy! OH PATSY! She is 45 pounds but she is JUST the SWEETEST THING you've ever seen. OH PATSY IS JUST THE BEST."

We walked on through, pet a lot of cats, but eventually came back to the first room where Bubblegum had been. I pet her again. She nuzzled. They explained that Bubblegum was a solitary cat who didn't really like other cats, but loved people and just needed a good home away from the others. A kitten cams sauntering over like he owned the place and, sure enough, Bubblegum had a bit of a tizzy. Joe and I hemmed and hawed...came seriously close to stealing all four of the little mini tiny little baby little snookem kittens, but eventually decided that Bubblegum was just perfect. The woman, and the two volunteers started cheering and clapping. I think there might have been tears in their eyes. They said the poor thing just needed a good home. And that perhaps her off-centered push-broom mustache had deterred people.

Finally came all the paperwork and signing and contracts and everything. MAN there are a lot of contracts involved in getting a cat. Including one which said that the people from this shelter (I.E. the hippie cat lady) were allowed to make house calls. "I like red wine," she told us. Joe and I laughed nervously. We THINK that they would only do that if there was a problem with the cat. We THINK.

Finally we had everything ready to go. Litter box, toy, food, Jewel bag of clean litter...oh, and a cat. We brought her home, let her explore little by little, and that was that.

She's a good cat. She is currently watching me from a pillow on top of our fireplace.

Here she is, on her first day home, sleeping on a pillow on my lap (PS, she likes pillows.)



And now that I have finally told you guys about her and the experience I went through, I ask that you think of the woman we interacted with, and consider exactly how much of a crazy cat lady I am. (Insert "OH EMILY. THERE'S STILL TIME" joke here. HAAAAR.)

Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry.

OH MY GOD I AM THE WORST BLOGGER EVER.

I recognize that this blog has been stagnant as of late, and I promise that I plan on rectifying that soon. I have all kinds of ideas, and all kinds of CAPITAL LETTERS and unnecessary punctuation!!!!?~ that need an outlet.

But today I had an 11 hour work day. And tomorrow starts early.

Things you guys will soon hear about:
1) I got a kitty!!!!!!!!!!1 meow.
2) I have some deep-seated glass-is-half-empty issues that need to be blogged out.
3) I want to give teenagers some advice
4) My summer Happy Place, which I promised you last winter.

So, for realz, blog posts are coming. Don't give up on me. This has just been a particularly busy time at work, so my time spent at home has been rather anti-computer screens.

I have two ways to make it up to you. Both are courtesy of Adrienne, of course.
1) Selleck, Waterfall, Sandwich
2) Pinup RDJ

The Job Saga: Tentative High Fives All Around

Let me preface this by telling you that I just ate some old spaghetti sauce and since Joe is gone this week, if no one hears from me for a while, I may or may not have just given myself food poisoning. Just a head's up.

So for today I give you an update on my employment status. SO MUCH FUN, I know. I know. The thing is, they love me at this internship. I am the best freakin' intern they've ever known to exist (paraphrasing.) They want to hire me. But--

*HERE'S SOMETHING NO ONE'S EVER HEARD BEFORE*

--they're on a hiring freeze. Wah wah waaaaaaahhhh. Is anyone else getting really tired of this whole economy thing? I mean, it was all fun and games a year ago, but come on now. Let's all go out and buy a pair of jeans and kick-start this puppy on up, hmm?

Anway, they DID manage to keep us (me and my partner) on for two extra weeks. And we'll see what happens after that. Gunna try all I can to keep myself there. Because, honestly, I really like it. Everyone is awesome. I'm learning a LOT. I'm selling a sh*t ton of ads. And, let's face it. If I get to be there full time...

THIS GETS TO HAPPEN



meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer

....eeeeeeeer.

...eer.

So I'm keeping my fingers crossed, bowing toward Mecca, getting in some girl time with Mary, fasting a little extra during Rosh Hashanah, shaking my fist at religious billboards (or whatever an Athiest would do to make good things happen...try?) because I'm serious about doing all that I can about this.



Sorry for another short post. I'm in the process of writing one tentatively called To The Class of 2003: A Rewrite. It might take a little while. In the meantime, won't you be my Facebook fan? then you'll know when I actually post something! And get bonus Sesame Street clips! Good times all around, and that's no jive.

OH! And I'm also enlisting Adrienne to help stop this blog from being such an eye sore, so watch for that.

10 Reasons You Never Considered Why Cats Are Awesome

With the looming promise of getting my very own cat (I'm waiting until I feel financially stable again. Kitty's gotta get fed, son.) I've been thinking about what attracts me to those frisky felines.

Now, as I stated here when discussing the idea of going to Greece in order to experience CATS EVERYWHERE, I'm pro-fuzzy things. I like cats AND dogs. And chimps and chipmunks. Not so much horses, because they are mildly terrifying...but that's another story for another day.

What I'm saying is, I am not trying to convince anyone that cats are BETTER than dogs. I'm just saying, y'all have to learn to appreciate.

We've all heard the they're cleaner and easier to take care of mumbo jumbo. You know that. You can see that by looking at them. But if you've never taken the time to really get to know a cat, you wouldn't see those little things. And those, my friends make all the difference.

1) Their Meows sound like questions. Questions you can answer.
"Meow?" "I don't know. What do YOU think Mel Gibson will say next?"
"Meow?" "We might. Check the refrigerator."
"Meow?" "HOW DARE YOU, SIR. You know I'm sensitive about that."

2) There is nothing funny about a person sitting in the middle of an empty room. There is EVERYTHING funny about a cat sitting in the middle of an empty room.



3) They are cuddle-factories.
I think some people are anti-cat because they've really only experienced the kind of cat that just sits in a corner and hisses. Those cats are lame. But I can tell you right now, Monica's cat, Charlie is renowned for breaking down those stereotypes. He is like Martin Luther Kitty. And when you find yourself in the middle of a snugglefest with the likes of him, you might find it a lot harder to fight against their power.



4) Pest Control.
A few years ago, Sara and I fostered two cats for a summer. We had a good amount of bugs just from living on the first floor. One day, there was a TERRIFYING spider in my bathroom. The foster cat took one look at it and *WHOMP!* One paw came down on that son of a b.

Conversely, my family's dog, Sugar, once befriended an entire army of ants.

5) You know the phrase, "You always want what you can't have"? Well, cats know it, too.
They know how to keep you wanting more by being aloof. And that's a good thing. I mean, have you ever thought that someone was really attractive and mysterious, and then when you actually talked to them, you found out that they weren't actually a cultured Italian man, but another stupid Chicagoan with a nasally accent and all that time you spend oggling him at the train station was totally wasted?

No? Just me then?

Okay well you know what I mean. Sometimes a little mystery and distance is a good thing. Sometimes your cat doesn't want to hang out with you. And you know what? Sometimes your best friend doesn't want to hang out with you, either. But at least your cat has the decency to be honest and hang out in the dining room.

6) The adorable noise they make when they drink their water.

lick lick...
lick lick lick lick....
lick lick lick lick lick lick lick.....

[Editor's note: #7 and 8 comes from Laura]
7) I will never accidentally send an email again.
As many of us know, cats enjoy computers. They especially enjoy computers/laptops when you are using them. I have come very close to sending some very weird emails to people with 900 Ws and 70 backslashes. So I started waiting to put the recipients name in until after I've typed and edited the email. I also do this at work even though I'm pretty sure my cat has never been there. Either way, I consider it a good thing. My cat was just protecting me from embarrassing myself.

8) They remind you to pick up after yourself.
I'll admit it. I don't enjoy cleaning. And I also have ADD. So often when I do clean or try to organize something I get about halfway through and then wander over to something else. Recent example: I recently realized that I'm an adult. And being an adult means you have important documents. So one afternoon I sat down to organize all those documents. When I was done, I straightened them into a nice pile, and left the pile in the middle of the living room floor because I decided that was the exact moment I needed to go take a nap. (Organizing is hard.) When I returned to the living room I was faced with the following scene. So now I know not to leave anything in the middle of the floor unless I want it messed with. She was just being helpful.




9) Being licked by their tongues is like receiving a free sand exfoliating mask.

Seriously, my arm hair has never been smoother.

10) They keep you on your toes by stalking you wherever you go.
And when you look back, they freeze as if by staying still you won't notice them. Like perhaps we have the brain and eye capacity of a Tyrannosaurus Rex. And it's never not hilarious to watch.



SECRET REASON #11! is this.


Special thanks to Laura, Adrienne, and Hannah for their contributions to the list.
Comments welcome! Any other reasons why cats shall not be overlooked?

Reer City, Population Reer.

No time for a real post today, although I need to write later about how I don't hate account people (Advertising nerd alert!), and another one about organ donation.

But for now, this.



Reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer.

That is all.

It Was a Dark And Stormy Rush Hour

Sorry about that outburst yesterday, folks. But I was holding onto that anger for a solid 3 hours and my face was getting red and there was smoke coming out of my ears--and not in a Bugs Bunny way. In a dry ice way...like smoke seepage.

So tonight was fun! And by fun, I of course mean terrifying and horrible.

For those not in the Chicagoland area, there was a teeeeeeny storm. Some might call it "Satan's Revenge." I call it "WHERE IS MY FAMILY WHAT ARE THEY DOING WHAT ABOUT THE DOG WHERE IS JOE IS HE ALIVE WHY DOESN'T MY PHONE GET RECEPTION FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!!!!!!!!1"

Honestly, my largest concern was Joe driving home with barely-existent windshield wipers. My second was my mother living in the town where The News had decided was ground zero, and my third concern was the nerves of my family's dog. And don't even tell me that you wouldn't be concerned about this puddin' face:



Note that I'm not in any way concerned about Wally, the family cat. The thing is roughly the size of Massachusetts. He probably spent the storm outside like this:


I had my own mini adventure during the storm. It was ALMOST enough for a comic strip.

So right when I decided to hunker down in my room (away from the windows,) the sirens started going off. And hi, I'm on the top floor of my apartment building. It's only the 8th floor, granted, but still. When the rain on the roof doesn't sound like rain so much as straight-up flowing water, you listen to the tornado sirens. So I went to the underground parking lot. Except being downstairs, I couldn't get reception. And God forbid I go four seconds without Gmail. So I found a stairwell and worked my way up. And, well, yadda yadda yadda, I ended up locking myself outside under a doorway awning. And I got majorly splashed with alley water by a passing car. Eventually I had to run around in the crazy rain until I got to an open door. It was a whole thing.

But I survived, slightly wet and smelling like muffler fluid (is that a thing?) and all ended well. I think. I mean I haven't gotten an official word back from my mom to tell me that she's okay (and that the dog hasn't imploded from nervous shaking.)

So Joe and I are officially drinking red wine and watching Gilmore Girls (I'm not saying it was his choice. Did I say that was his choice? I don't think I said it was his choice.) so I'm going to go ahead and stop typing because the wine is officially kicking in.

Hope you're all okay! Unless you didn't get hit with Satan's Revenge, in which case, hope you had some other horrible thing happen to you. What can I say? Misery loves company.

I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I love you all. Vote for me! EJS '010

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!

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.

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.

LOL...creme.

Okay, I'mma get something off my chest righthererightnow. This is what I would like to know: What is WRONG with you people?

Yeah. I said it.

Seriously, why is it that when my boyfriend's guy friend comes in from out of town and I say "Sure, go have a good time!" That makes me an "awesome girlfriend?" How many of you are out there that legitimately have a problem with your boyfriend going out, drinking some beers, and stumbling home? Am I the only one who believes her grown-ass significant other is capable of holding himself responsible? (Also, why do I ALWAYS want to shorten significant other to "sig fig?" Is it because it's the only thing I learned in Chemistry? SO MANY QUESTIONS!!)

The real question here is: is it the ladies' faults for being overly protective? Or is it the dudes' faults for being assholes to so many of us, we no longer trust a-single one of you?

HMM?! I want answers.

In other news, one of the members of the band, 10cc is named Lol Creme.

Just hang out with that last sentence for a little bit. Cuddle with it. Hold its hand. I know I did. Now, because I am in a bit of a blogging slump at the current present, I'm just going to leave you with this:


And I'll catch you all back on Monday, when I am re-energized and ready to post about crazy things and crazy people and maybe a man getting swallowed by a whale. We'll see.

Strings of Thoughts, Loosely Pulled Together Into Sentences.

Are we all familiar with the story of the cheese knives? Well I'd take the time, if you're looking for something to fill your day with sunshine and rainbows.

I bring it back up because I used the Dreaded Knives. Not the ones Joe got; those are in my possession. The other ones. The ones purchased by the Man Boy. And after using said knives, I immediately cut myself on them. THEY'RE CURSED, I TELL YOU. And I even cut myself on a terrible spot- right on the tip of my thumb. What kind of band aid adheres to the tip of your thumb, you ask? No band aid. The answer is no band aid. So thank you, ex-whatever. A year after I so ruthlessly decided I wanted a relationship with someone who actually acted interested in me, you have still managed to annoy the hell out of me. Fantastic.

Anyway, now that that's off my chest...

Sorry about no post yesterday. Blame Jane; she needed me to act like I enjoy dogs (difficult) for an ad-type thing with an ad-type agency for a client-type place.

Yeah, if I ever become employed again, expect that kind of obnoxious anonymity on a daily basis.

I also managed to break one of Joe's mugs yesterday (I was seriously on a roll yesterday. I haven't even gotten to how I spilled red wine all over Jane's food...am I allowed to blame clumsiness on PMS? Because I might. Is that one of the symptoms Midol covers? I should look into this.) so today we're going to a pottery studio to make new ones, which feels very barfy couply, but also will hopefully be cathartic. Not actually because of the clumsiness, but for another reason:

I haven't been to decorate pottery since I took the boys I used to nanny during the summers in college. And it was TORTURE then. Because I didn't get to paint anything, only they did. And what a lovely job they did, too, as 4 and 5 year-olds. I'd be in the corner, biting my nails and trying to control my eye twitching as they colored the rabbit's ENTIRE head--eyeballs and all--black. That's...you can't...that looks....*breathe, Emily, breathe. Don't stunt their creativity as your teachers did you...*

So now I get to go and paint something myself with my very own hands. And it will NOT all be black. So there. Take THAT, 5-year-old boy with a heart of gold who is only trying to make something nice for his mother! TAKE. THAT.

Wicker Park Is For Babies.

Babies, guys. Babies.

No. I am not pregnant. JEEZ! FRICKEN BREATHE.

This weekend the sun was shining, the douchebags were in shorts, and people were frollicking outside. It was awesome. And I totally forgot...I want a baby. Not my own baby. Not a baby I need to take care of. Not one that requires that I be pregnant and get no sleep and breastfeed and all that nonsense.

I just want a quiet 1-year-old to walk around with. Possibly the baby can wear a sun hat. Maybe baby glasses. See, now that it's nice out, the babies are out in full force. Wicker Park is chock-full of first-time parents with adorable, alternative babies.

OH MY GOD. TIME OUT! I FORGOT TO TELL YOU ABOUT THE BEST BABY OUTFIT I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE SO MUCH SO THAT IT REQUIRES ALL CAPS AND INCORRECT PUNCTUATION!!>!>!K"?!1.

It was an adorable young couple with a little Asian baby on the dad's shoulders wearing the outfit from this book.

She quite literally looked like this doll:

Including the foot-tall red peak standing straight toward the sky. I have never been so close to stealing a baby. And I have come seriously close before.

Anyway, in the winter I totally forgot how many babies and dogs there are in the world. But this weekend was a giant reminder that there are quite a few. And I want them all. If it weren't an issue of cruelty and cleanliness, I would become a baby and dog hoarder. I can see myself on A&E, trying to wade through the multitude I have built up. ("Emily, have you even SEEN this dachshund in the past year? Do you think you can let it go? Come on, Emily. Let's put down the dachshund." "But, but...I might NEED it...")

Joe is aware of my latent hoarding tendencies. It hasn't scared him away yet. I've done some pretty weird things around him, so screaming "REEEEER!" every time I see a dog smaller than my fist is probably the least of his concerns. And come on. Who DOESN'T make faces at smiling babies in strollers? It's human nature. There was a baby on the bus the other day who thought I was a comedic GENIUS. And I really was, I'm not going to lie. I mean, I'd look away--and then back. I should be some kind of baby stand up comic.

For now, my plan is to get my own cat. It will be my first pet since the time I sold my turtle to pay for a doll. We'll see if I can survive owning an animal whose primary life goal is to lay in the sun and lick his own thigh. Then I'll think about other possibilities.