A year and a half is just too long. Man, it's good to be home. 
12/25/10
12/24/10
Feeding Inner Martha: Graphic Designed Christmas
Let's pause the attack on my home for a moment while I show off some of my holiday cheer, shall we?
What's blogging for if you can't show off your cool stuff to all your thousands and thousands of fans, right?
I have basically been Santa this Christmas season and my house, the North Pole. Mostly because Adam keeps it so beep beep chilly in here. But also because I'm single-handedly bring Christmas to the masses. You see, Christmas has the audacity to nip at the heels of finals. Adam "wakes up" on December 20th and realizes that it's nearly time to hang his stocking by the chimney with care. He then starts panicking until I grab his face between my hands and show him that all gifts to family members abroad have been purchased and shipped, all neighbors have been treated, all co-workers have been snubbed, and his presents are wrapped and under the tree.
Then he freaks because he doesn't have anything for me.
And I end up with a new bathrobe. Which was mostly for my fans away.
On the one hand, I feel a little like Max, pulling a sleigh 50 times my size and weight. On the flip side, I'm really going to enjoy using his absence as blackmail for the next 65 years.
Get on with it, Emily!
Ok, Ok. Sheish. I was just having a little fun.
The gals I visit teach all got a hand this Christmas.
Pretty easy. I bought the gloves from Target (2 for $1.50!), designed the tags in InDesign, and printed them on cardstock. Then I used a safety pin to both hold the gloves together and affix the tag. 
I basically killed two birds with one stone: the gals got a Christmas gift AND a reminder that I'm here to help.
I usually make the yummy cookie balls for my neighbors but I'm really trying not to stretch myself too thin. Yes, even grinding up Oreos and slapping them in gift boxes was just too much for me this year. So, I whipped up these little beauties in InDesign. I am thrilled with how they turned out.
Then, I attached them to the cookie dough I found on special with some twine and whaalaa!
Dough. Dough. I'm so clever sometimes. I also pat myself on the back sometimes.
I got my sister-in-law a subscription to Glamour magazine. Unfortunately, there's was no telling when the first issue would arrive so a coupon was totally in order. 
I failed to snap a picture before mailing it but I printed it on textured, white cardstock and cut it to 4 by 5[ish]. Simple, simple. I love typography almost as much as I love breathing so I was in hog heaven creating this.
My father is a new blogger and I wanted to do something to spur his creativity along. So I got together with the entire Creative Suite to design a little note paper. Four to a sheet, printed on nice paper, and cut with a slicer.
I started to follow these directions but then Adam stepped in because he's our residential bookmaker. 
Now I need one for myself because I just thought of 6 incredible blog posts.
More projects coming your way because Martha is really hungry.
What's blogging for if you can't show off your cool stuff to all your thousands and thousands of fans, right?
I have basically been Santa this Christmas season and my house, the North Pole. Mostly because Adam keeps it so beep beep chilly in here. But also because I'm single-handedly bring Christmas to the masses. You see, Christmas has the audacity to nip at the heels of finals. Adam "wakes up" on December 20th and realizes that it's nearly time to hang his stocking by the chimney with care. He then starts panicking until I grab his face between my hands and show him that all gifts to family members abroad have been purchased and shipped, all neighbors have been treated, all co-workers have been snubbed, and his presents are wrapped and under the tree.
Then he freaks because he doesn't have anything for me.
And I end up with a new bathrobe. Which was mostly for my fans away.
On the one hand, I feel a little like Max, pulling a sleigh 50 times my size and weight. On the flip side, I'm really going to enjoy using his absence as blackmail for the next 65 years.
Get on with it, Emily!
Ok, Ok. Sheish. I was just having a little fun.
Pretty easy. I bought the gloves from Target (2 for $1.50!), designed the tags in InDesign, and printed them on cardstock. Then I used a safety pin to both hold the gloves together and affix the tag. 
I basically killed two birds with one stone: the gals got a Christmas gift AND a reminder that I'm here to help.
Then, I attached them to the cookie dough I found on special with some twine and whaalaa!
Dough. Dough. I'm so clever sometimes. I also pat myself on the back sometimes.
I failed to snap a picture before mailing it but I printed it on textured, white cardstock and cut it to 4 by 5[ish]. Simple, simple. I love typography almost as much as I love breathing so I was in hog heaven creating this.
I started to follow these directions but then Adam stepped in because he's our residential bookmaker. 
Now I need one for myself because I just thought of 6 incredible blog posts.More projects coming your way because Martha is really hungry.
12/16/10
The Proper Way to Leave an Exam
With finals season upon us (I only say "us" because this year, Adam's dragging me down with him), I pause to reflect on another test taken in a previous season our lives.
Adam got what any normal person would call "a good score" on the law school entrance exam. He, of course, is a classic "over-achiever" and deemed this score filth. It was decided that a retake would be in order so he signed up for the next available date.
This date took place at the local university. The morning of the exam, I dropped Adam off, gave him a pat on the bum (I can't help myself!), and told him to call me when he was finished, whereupon, I went home to eat bonbons and read Us Weekly.
Not.
One measly hour later, I get a phone call. From Adam. Who tells me to come and pick him up. Giggly from all the bonbons, I go, "Done already? You're so fast! You totally took state."
A tiny voice on the other end replies, "Well, the test isn't done. But I am."
Oh my. I stashed the bonbons and smutty literature under the couch, went and put on my anti-suicidal helmet, practiced a few of my lines (read: "You'll get through this, honey" and "Want to go to Barnes and Noble?"), and zipped out the door.
Driving like Meat Loaf (i.e. A Bat Out of Hell), I raced to the university, frantically searching for both a parking spot and a puddle of human flesh resembling my husband.
It started raining as I deemed the situation an emergency, illegally parked, and ran into the building I had last seen him entering. No Adam sobbing on that bench, no Adam crying by that window, no Adam seeing visions of wrists and knives in that classroom. I can neither confirm nor deny that I kicked open the men's bathroom door to see if Adam was huddled in the corner rocking back and forth. I can, however, confirm that he was not.
At this point, I'm getting a little frantic so I dart back outside into the rain whereupon, I see a tiny human coming toward me from the other side of campus. He sorta looked like my husband but he had this weird spring in his step. As the figure got closer, I noticed that he was smiling and, while the smile didn't characterize Adam, those teeth sure did. Ain't nobody got pearly whites like Adam.
Closer still and I saw that yes, it was in fact my husband and what's that he's eating? Are those goldfish crackers?
I run toward him a la Armageddon but found myself screeching to a halt when I heard him say, "Did you know that Utah State has an ENORMOUS library? It's beautiful."
"What were you doing in the library? I thought your test was in (I point backward) that building," I say.
"Oh, it was. But I just went to the library," Adam replies. Cryptic.
"Why? Why aren't you taking the test? And why are you so happy? And can I have a goldfish cracker?"
Turns out, Adam wasn't feeling it at all. As in, his mind was everywhere but on figuring out which place Mary took at state if Jim came in behind her but before Judith and Judith was fourth to cross the line after Charles blah blah blah, I'm boring myself (but mad props to me for working in taking state in a second time, no?!?).
At the beginning of the second section, he was completely sure that this retake was going to do nothing but bring him down so he stood up, walked to the front of the room, and announced to the proctor (and everyone else, from what I understand), "I'm done with this test. Please take it from me."
In my mind's eye, Adam has an English accent and is wearing a cravat.
He then marched out the door, called me, and went to check out the rest of Utah State's campus.
How many times have I thought about doing that? How many times have YOU thought about doing that? And HE did it! The kid who panics about A minuses, packs his backpack the night before, and hasn't missed a class since kindergarten WALKED OUT of the most important test of his educational career. With style. And then laughed about it.
I'm seething with jealousy because I can never top that. That time I wrote "Funny you should ask this question because I don't know the answer" on my Art History final? Child's play.
Adam got what any normal person would call "a good score" on the law school entrance exam. He, of course, is a classic "over-achiever" and deemed this score filth. It was decided that a retake would be in order so he signed up for the next available date.
This date took place at the local university. The morning of the exam, I dropped Adam off, gave him a pat on the bum (I can't help myself!), and told him to call me when he was finished, whereupon, I went home to eat bonbons and read Us Weekly.
Not.
One measly hour later, I get a phone call. From Adam. Who tells me to come and pick him up. Giggly from all the bonbons, I go, "Done already? You're so fast! You totally took state."
A tiny voice on the other end replies, "Well, the test isn't done. But I am."
Oh my. I stashed the bonbons and smutty literature under the couch, went and put on my anti-suicidal helmet, practiced a few of my lines (read: "You'll get through this, honey" and "Want to go to Barnes and Noble?"), and zipped out the door.
Driving like Meat Loaf (i.e. A Bat Out of Hell), I raced to the university, frantically searching for both a parking spot and a puddle of human flesh resembling my husband.
It started raining as I deemed the situation an emergency, illegally parked, and ran into the building I had last seen him entering. No Adam sobbing on that bench, no Adam crying by that window, no Adam seeing visions of wrists and knives in that classroom. I can neither confirm nor deny that I kicked open the men's bathroom door to see if Adam was huddled in the corner rocking back and forth. I can, however, confirm that he was not.
At this point, I'm getting a little frantic so I dart back outside into the rain whereupon, I see a tiny human coming toward me from the other side of campus. He sorta looked like my husband but he had this weird spring in his step. As the figure got closer, I noticed that he was smiling and, while the smile didn't characterize Adam, those teeth sure did. Ain't nobody got pearly whites like Adam.
Closer still and I saw that yes, it was in fact my husband and what's that he's eating? Are those goldfish crackers?
I run toward him a la Armageddon but found myself screeching to a halt when I heard him say, "Did you know that Utah State has an ENORMOUS library? It's beautiful."
"What were you doing in the library? I thought your test was in (I point backward) that building," I say.
"Oh, it was. But I just went to the library," Adam replies. Cryptic.
"Why? Why aren't you taking the test? And why are you so happy? And can I have a goldfish cracker?"
Turns out, Adam wasn't feeling it at all. As in, his mind was everywhere but on figuring out which place Mary took at state if Jim came in behind her but before Judith and Judith was fourth to cross the line after Charles blah blah blah, I'm boring myself (but mad props to me for working in taking state in a second time, no?!?).
At the beginning of the second section, he was completely sure that this retake was going to do nothing but bring him down so he stood up, walked to the front of the room, and announced to the proctor (and everyone else, from what I understand), "I'm done with this test. Please take it from me."
In my mind's eye, Adam has an English accent and is wearing a cravat.
He then marched out the door, called me, and went to check out the rest of Utah State's campus.
How many times have I thought about doing that? How many times have YOU thought about doing that? And HE did it! The kid who panics about A minuses, packs his backpack the night before, and hasn't missed a class since kindergarten WALKED OUT of the most important test of his educational career. With style. And then laughed about it.
I'm seething with jealousy because I can never top that. That time I wrote "Funny you should ask this question because I don't know the answer" on my Art History final? Child's play.
12/14/10
'Tis the Season for Vanity
Adam and I went on a small recon mission to locate a pair of much wanted boots 'tother night. I would say "much needed" but let's get real about wants and needs, folks.
Except this. I need that.
On our way home, I BEGGED Adam to let me run into Ulta. He relented, though I suspect he was quite sick of me and would have given into anything that got him away from me.
I was rushing around the store, soaking up the delicious goodness as fast as I could when I saw it. OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer. Yep. That's angels you hear singing.
I've been crushing on it for quite some time.
Actually, I've been crushing on these heels from Arden B. for quite some time.
Just when I had convinced myself that I would not look like a hooker, needed them in my closet, and was ready to purchase them, they sold out. I sobbed. And then I found an alternative. OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer [angels up and over]. If I can't wear gold glitter on my tootsies, then by dang, I'll wear it on my nails.
So of course I bought OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer [sing, you angels of music]. My goal in life is to own every nail polish color in the world. Oh, and solve world hunger. I'm all about impossible goals. It keeps things real.
But get this: as soon as I got back in the car, Adam STOLES THE PRECIOUS from me and said I'd find it in my stocking Christmas morning (and for the children, he means he'll give it Santa to give to me). I pitched a fit that would have made every three-year-old in the world beam with pride.
It didn't work, of course. So instead, I painted one nail when he wasn't looking.
OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer [angels, I can't hear you!] made my thumb look good enough to barter with. Where are you Christmas? No really, where are you and why aren't you getting here? I got bidness waiting for me.
Except this. I need that.
On our way home, I BEGGED Adam to let me run into Ulta. He relented, though I suspect he was quite sick of me and would have given into anything that got him away from me.
I was rushing around the store, soaking up the delicious goodness as fast as I could when I saw it. OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer. Yep. That's angels you hear singing.
I've been crushing on it for quite some time.Actually, I've been crushing on these heels from Arden B. for quite some time.
Just when I had convinced myself that I would not look like a hooker, needed them in my closet, and was ready to purchase them, they sold out. I sobbed. And then I found an alternative. OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer [angels up and over]. If I can't wear gold glitter on my tootsies, then by dang, I'll wear it on my nails.So of course I bought OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer [sing, you angels of music]. My goal in life is to own every nail polish color in the world. Oh, and solve world hunger. I'm all about impossible goals. It keeps things real.
But get this: as soon as I got back in the car, Adam STOLES THE PRECIOUS from me and said I'd find it in my stocking Christmas morning (and for the children, he means he'll give it Santa to give to me). I pitched a fit that would have made every three-year-old in the world beam with pride.
It didn't work, of course. So instead, I painted one nail when he wasn't looking.
OPI's Limited Edition Holiday Exclusive "Gift of Gold" Nail Lacquer [angels, I can't hear you!] made my thumb look good enough to barter with. Where are you Christmas? No really, where are you and why aren't you getting here? I got bidness waiting for me.
12/13/10
Feeding Inner Martha: Paint the walls
Paint is the easiest face lift. Hate your decor? Paint the walls and it's Pier One up in heya! You've got a hole the size of a watermelon in wall? A little plaster here, a little paint there, it feels like The Ritz! Wish your husband was better looking? Paint the...wait. Paint can't help you with that.
After I raised the roof a la 1997,
I chose which walls got the frosting and went to work. 
That is my determined face. And my cranky pants.
Here's what that little splash of color did to the room.
Before (pardon this image; it was taken in yesteryear):
After:
At this point, Adam threw off his cover of indifference (it's his coping mechanism) and decided our bedroom needed a boost too. So back to the gettin' store we went where Adam picked out a deep, plum color as my eyes BULGED out of my head.
PLUM PURPLE????
Plum purple is beautiful in the form of hand bags, suede pumps, and nail polish. But you know what plum purple also is? It's reminiscent of black. The closest thing one can get before diving into the abyss.
My mother said when children are helping, it's best not to correct them or they'll be scarred for life. Now stay with me here; this digression actually has a point. Unlike so many others. I have no children and very few maternal instincts but just as I was getting ready to shut the purple situ down, my mother's face appeared in my mind, hysterically yelling, "HE'S HELPING! DON'T GET YOUR PANTIES IN A TWIST OR HE'LL NEVER HELP AGAIN AND THEN HE'LL TURN INTO A SERIAL KILLER AND END UP ON DEATH ROW!!!!"
I tried to reason with my mother's yelling face that Adam wasn't a child but then she reminded me that he can't seem to learn to close the kitchen cabinets and we both agreed that that was very childish. She also reminded me that reasoning with a figment of your imagination is a sign of mental instability.
The real kidney shot came when Adam announced that he couldn't actually do the painting of the wall because he had a man date to a church conference.
Before (again, old picture):
After: 
It's just an accent wall but I'm still not at all sure how I feel about it. At least it's something different. Emphasis on different.
Now, all these throw pillows are killing me slowly. Luckily, I have yards and yards of the most amazing fabrics waiting for me (and you!).
After I raised the roof a la 1997,
I chose which walls got the frosting and went to work. 
That is my determined face. And my cranky pants.Here's what that little splash of color did to the room.
Before (pardon this image; it was taken in yesteryear):
After:
At this point, Adam threw off his cover of indifference (it's his coping mechanism) and decided our bedroom needed a boost too. So back to the gettin' store we went where Adam picked out a deep, plum color as my eyes BULGED out of my head.PLUM PURPLE????
Plum purple is beautiful in the form of hand bags, suede pumps, and nail polish. But you know what plum purple also is? It's reminiscent of black. The closest thing one can get before diving into the abyss.
My mother said when children are helping, it's best not to correct them or they'll be scarred for life. Now stay with me here; this digression actually has a point. Unlike so many others. I have no children and very few maternal instincts but just as I was getting ready to shut the purple situ down, my mother's face appeared in my mind, hysterically yelling, "HE'S HELPING! DON'T GET YOUR PANTIES IN A TWIST OR HE'LL NEVER HELP AGAIN AND THEN HE'LL TURN INTO A SERIAL KILLER AND END UP ON DEATH ROW!!!!"
I tried to reason with my mother's yelling face that Adam wasn't a child but then she reminded me that he can't seem to learn to close the kitchen cabinets and we both agreed that that was very childish. She also reminded me that reasoning with a figment of your imagination is a sign of mental instability.
The real kidney shot came when Adam announced that he couldn't actually do the painting of the wall because he had a man date to a church conference.
Before (again, old picture):
After: 
It's just an accent wall but I'm still not at all sure how I feel about it. At least it's something different. Emphasis on different.Now, all these throw pillows are killing me slowly. Luckily, I have yards and yards of the most amazing fabrics waiting for me (and you!).
12/11/10
Feeding Inner Martha
Hi. It's me. Again. I can't take a hint, can I? No one cares about this blog, yet here I am, day after day, week after week, banging it out on this keyboard. Persistence. That's what it comes down too, my friends.
Anyway, I found this unpublished post from many, many moons ago and thought, What the hey? I really want to get on with documenting the changes in the physique of our apartment so it's now or never. Off we go!
Written by Adam. Dated October 2.
First, this is Adam posting.
Now, a little back story. My wonderful mother, bless her soul, is and has been a warrior. The woman raised me and my two siblings, continues to raise my father, has taught other people's bratty kids for almost 30 years, and has remained a beacon of faith in my life. But, every now and then, I think she "snaps" and does some pretty crazy stuff. Once, she decided it was too hot outside and took after us kids with the hose (much to the chagrin of my father, who had been using it to water the lawn). Another time she, alone, took on the responsibility of shoveling the snow off the roof of our house. And I don't think I can count the number of times I've come home to find a "different house" when she decided to move all the furniture.
And then...there was the pink wall. My childhood home expanded as I got older, with different additions to the original two bedroom, one bath. One of those additions involved the knocking through of an east facing wall, with a huge bay window, and adding a family room. However, because it was a supporting wall, part of it was left as a kind of "pseudo-entry way" between the two sides of the house.
That wall saw many changes: different pictures, mirrors, paintings, etc. Looking back, I get the sense that my mother was probably exasperated by the fact that the wall was (a) the first thing people saw when they walked into our home and (b) couldn't be really called "a part" of one room over the other. One summer, her exasperation got the best of her. My mother had decided that, among our cream colored walls, this one alone should be a kind of salmon pink/purple thing. And, in one afternoon, she'd double-coated.
Now, it wasn't so much the color or the fact that the wall underwent such a drastic change that made this a memorable experience.
Now back to me: Adam wrote that much and then stopped. I'm not even kidding you. How can he live with all these untied strings in his life? I guess we'll never know what it was that made this story stick with him. Well, we won't know until after His Lordship's finals are over.
So here's my side of the story. I'm graphic designing for only my freelance clients right now (as opposed to all day long at my former employment) so I'd been feeling a need to find creative outlets.
I took that need out on my poor living room walls. I woke-up, told Adam I was going to go buy some paint, and come home within 15 minutes with a delicate shade of sky blue.
For the record, Adam did not help me more than demonstrating the proper "cutting" of the trim. Also for the record, I have lost 10 pounds since this picture was taken eating nothing but peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and drinking raspberry herb tea with Splenda. Adam, seeing that Emily was back in her skinny pants, took up the "Emy Diet" and is now also 10 pounds lighter. And one more for the record, that picture is the best descriptor of "mom bum" that I can find.
Back to the point: After the wall incident, this entire flood of projects came pouring out of my psyche. It's like my inner Martha has become Audrey II and now needs food all night long.
And thus we begin a series of posts wherein I discuss all the changes that my apartment is experiencing right now. Excluding a vocal drop. I might even throw in a cool project or two. You've been warned.
Anyway, I found this unpublished post from many, many moons ago and thought, What the hey? I really want to get on with documenting the changes in the physique of our apartment so it's now or never. Off we go!
Written by Adam. Dated October 2.
First, this is Adam posting.
Now, a little back story. My wonderful mother, bless her soul, is and has been a warrior. The woman raised me and my two siblings, continues to raise my father, has taught other people's bratty kids for almost 30 years, and has remained a beacon of faith in my life. But, every now and then, I think she "snaps" and does some pretty crazy stuff. Once, she decided it was too hot outside and took after us kids with the hose (much to the chagrin of my father, who had been using it to water the lawn). Another time she, alone, took on the responsibility of shoveling the snow off the roof of our house. And I don't think I can count the number of times I've come home to find a "different house" when she decided to move all the furniture.
And then...there was the pink wall. My childhood home expanded as I got older, with different additions to the original two bedroom, one bath. One of those additions involved the knocking through of an east facing wall, with a huge bay window, and adding a family room. However, because it was a supporting wall, part of it was left as a kind of "pseudo-entry way" between the two sides of the house.
That wall saw many changes: different pictures, mirrors, paintings, etc. Looking back, I get the sense that my mother was probably exasperated by the fact that the wall was (a) the first thing people saw when they walked into our home and (b) couldn't be really called "a part" of one room over the other. One summer, her exasperation got the best of her. My mother had decided that, among our cream colored walls, this one alone should be a kind of salmon pink/purple thing. And, in one afternoon, she'd double-coated.
Now, it wasn't so much the color or the fact that the wall underwent such a drastic change that made this a memorable experience.
Now back to me: Adam wrote that much and then stopped. I'm not even kidding you. How can he live with all these untied strings in his life? I guess we'll never know what it was that made this story stick with him. Well, we won't know until after His Lordship's finals are over.
So here's my side of the story. I'm graphic designing for only my freelance clients right now (as opposed to all day long at my former employment) so I'd been feeling a need to find creative outlets.
I took that need out on my poor living room walls. I woke-up, told Adam I was going to go buy some paint, and come home within 15 minutes with a delicate shade of sky blue.
Back to the point: After the wall incident, this entire flood of projects came pouring out of my psyche. It's like my inner Martha has become Audrey II and now needs food all night long.
And thus we begin a series of posts wherein I discuss all the changes that my apartment is experiencing right now. Excluding a vocal drop. I might even throw in a cool project or two. You've been warned.
12/6/10
Piece of Cheese? Anyone?
Christmas is awesome. We've already established that. But there's something else Christmas is and that's cheesy.
Allow me to illustrate by drawing your attention to The Christmas Shoes by Sheltering Tree. That song oozes Cheese Whiz. And that part where the children sing in unison, "Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my mama, please..."? Organic, cave-aged Swiss cheese. Oddly, that song wouldn't be so "powerful" if Mama were sick on the 4th of July, now would it?
Josh Groban does this rendition of I'll Be Home For Christmas that belongs at your holiday party. On a platter. With toothpicks in it. Next to the Hormel. Messages from the troops and their families are dubbed in: "I just want to wish my daughter a very Merry Christmas. I will miss seeing her open presents and..." or "Daddy, we'll miss you this year. Keep our country safe!"
Roll it up and put it in a tortilla, it's cheese.
The Santa Clause 1, 2, 3, and 8? Cheese balls. Sitting on Santa's lap? Children, would you like some string cheese while you wait? Blow-up lawn snow globes? Tonight's dinner will be cheese ravioli, cheesy biscuits, and a side of corn.
But you know what's even more disgusting that all that rhetoric?
I'm riding the same stinky cheese train too!
EVERY BEEPING TIME Groban comes on the radio, I sob like a little girl who didn't get a Polly Pocket. I long to sit on Santa's knee and I freak kids out by asking if I can buy Mommy a pair of shoes (or maybe it's because I tell them that she might meet Jesus tonight.). I have to get off this train or I'm going to be shooting Easy Cheese out of my bikini top a la Katy Perry by New Years.
I'm lactose intolerant,
-e-
Allow me to illustrate by drawing your attention to The Christmas Shoes by Sheltering Tree. That song oozes Cheese Whiz. And that part where the children sing in unison, "Sir, I wanna buy these shoes for my mama, please..."? Organic, cave-aged Swiss cheese. Oddly, that song wouldn't be so "powerful" if Mama were sick on the 4th of July, now would it?
Josh Groban does this rendition of I'll Be Home For Christmas that belongs at your holiday party. On a platter. With toothpicks in it. Next to the Hormel. Messages from the troops and their families are dubbed in: "I just want to wish my daughter a very Merry Christmas. I will miss seeing her open presents and..." or "Daddy, we'll miss you this year. Keep our country safe!"
Roll it up and put it in a tortilla, it's cheese.
The Santa Clause 1, 2, 3, and 8? Cheese balls. Sitting on Santa's lap? Children, would you like some string cheese while you wait? Blow-up lawn snow globes? Tonight's dinner will be cheese ravioli, cheesy biscuits, and a side of corn.
But you know what's even more disgusting that all that rhetoric?
I'm riding the same stinky cheese train too!
EVERY BEEPING TIME Groban comes on the radio, I sob like a little girl who didn't get a Polly Pocket. I long to sit on Santa's knee and I freak kids out by asking if I can buy Mommy a pair of shoes (or maybe it's because I tell them that she might meet Jesus tonight.). I have to get off this train or I'm going to be shooting Easy Cheese out of my bikini top a la Katy Perry by New Years.
I'm lactose intolerant,
-e-
12/4/10
Crowd Walking 101
I'm full of fake advice. And by that I mean, I give advice all the time but rarely does it have any substance (Unless I tell you to steer clear of bosses who resemble Meryl Streep. Then you'd better listen.).
I recently gave Adam a bit of advice. I just passed it out flippantly because I like the sound of my own voice. Imagine my surprise when 'tother day Adam told me that that piece of advice had changed his life for the better!
And so I said to myself, "Self, when you come on something that is good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out to where no telling it will go."
I can not tell a lie (That's actually a lie.). That quote wasn't mine. It was Little Tree's (P.S. If you've never read that book, it's worth your time. Take my advice, dang it!). But I worked it in so seamlessly that I'd be forever in your debt if you'd gave me credit for it. A temporary ®? A provisional ™? Have you no heart? Where are you Christmas?
Ahem.
So here I am: spreading my advice out where no telling it will go. Are you ready to have your life changed? I can't hear you! ARE YOU READY TO, oh never mind.
When crowd walking, do you ever do the awkward "back and forth?" *You lock eyes with the person coming toward you. You see them leaning left, so you go right. They go right, so you go left. Rinse and repeat about 5 million times until you're ready to punch yourself in the kidneys. Finally, you decide to "just make a decision" and usually, you each decide to go the same way which leads to all parties having to stop, laugh awkwardly, and pass a few excuse me's around.
I used to have that happen to me 10 to 15 times a day during college. It was getting really annoying especially because half of the people I was having this exchange with were fellas I should have been macking on. I was getting so let down by humanity. I had to make this spiral of fatuousness stop!
And so, after searching, pondering, and praying, I found a solution.
Go back to the (*) and read that sentence. Then come back down here ready to discuss it.
That's your problem. Stop locking eyes! Yes, you'll feel like a jerk the first time or two but trust me. Just quit cold-turkey and you'll have the upper-hand! Crazy people are avoided because folks don't know what they'll do next. So too will people avoid you. Avert your eyes, plow forward, and watch the crowds part like the Red Sea.
I realize I just single-handedly changed your quality of life but I insist you hold your applause until the day of peace. I want nothing in exchange for my charity. Just your first born child.
Disclaimer: Once or twice I've run into a fellow crowd walker who knew The Secret. Literally. Ran into them. Face in chest, bags go flying, RAN into them. It's not good. But it's the price we pay for our knowledge.
And if you comment and say that you knew this trick all along and I'm a day late and a dollar short, I WILL spread a rumor about you (I'm talking to YOU, Barb!). No, I've never been called egocentric. Why do you ask?
I recently gave Adam a bit of advice. I just passed it out flippantly because I like the sound of my own voice. Imagine my surprise when 'tother day Adam told me that that piece of advice had changed his life for the better!
And so I said to myself, "Self, when you come on something that is good, first thing to do is share it with whoever you can find; that way, the good spreads out to where no telling it will go."
I can not tell a lie (That's actually a lie.). That quote wasn't mine. It was Little Tree's (P.S. If you've never read that book, it's worth your time. Take my advice, dang it!). But I worked it in so seamlessly that I'd be forever in your debt if you'd gave me credit for it. A temporary ®? A provisional ™? Have you no heart? Where are you Christmas?
Ahem.
So here I am: spreading my advice out where no telling it will go. Are you ready to have your life changed? I can't hear you! ARE YOU READY TO, oh never mind.
When crowd walking, do you ever do the awkward "back and forth?" *You lock eyes with the person coming toward you. You see them leaning left, so you go right. They go right, so you go left. Rinse and repeat about 5 million times until you're ready to punch yourself in the kidneys. Finally, you decide to "just make a decision" and usually, you each decide to go the same way which leads to all parties having to stop, laugh awkwardly, and pass a few excuse me's around.
I used to have that happen to me 10 to 15 times a day during college. It was getting really annoying especially because half of the people I was having this exchange with were fellas I should have been macking on. I was getting so let down by humanity. I had to make this spiral of fatuousness stop!
And so, after searching, pondering, and praying, I found a solution.
Go back to the (*) and read that sentence. Then come back down here ready to discuss it.
That's your problem. Stop locking eyes! Yes, you'll feel like a jerk the first time or two but trust me. Just quit cold-turkey and you'll have the upper-hand! Crazy people are avoided because folks don't know what they'll do next. So too will people avoid you. Avert your eyes, plow forward, and watch the crowds part like the Red Sea.
I realize I just single-handedly changed your quality of life but I insist you hold your applause until the day of peace. I want nothing in exchange for my charity. Just your first born child.
Disclaimer: Once or twice I've run into a fellow crowd walker who knew The Secret. Literally. Ran into them. Face in chest, bags go flying, RAN into them. It's not good. But it's the price we pay for our knowledge.
And if you comment and say that you knew this trick all along and I'm a day late and a dollar short, I WILL spread a rumor about you (I'm talking to YOU, Barb!). No, I've never been called egocentric. Why do you ask?
12/1/10
Does anyone still watch The Office?
I think Adam and I are the only people left of the Earth's face who care about The Office. We came in late in the game, though. As in, we started watching when we moved to DC a year and a half ago.
We've since made up for lost time tenfold and are willing to challenge anyone claiming to be the World's Biggest Office Fan to a "Scene It off." Bring it! *kisses right bicep and then spits, followed by a lip curl*
I do not deny that that The Office is a sinking ship as of late but Adam and I are clutching tightly to the bow yelling, We'll never let go, Pam! We'll never let go!
Yep. I did it. I made a Titanic reference on my blog. And I couldn't be prouder than if I had birthed Kate Winslet myself.
ANYWAY.
It seems shameful to admit that we actually planned our roadtrip around Scranton, PA. But we did. Knowing full well that The Office is filmed in Hollywood, we mapped out a pitstop in The Electric City.
Like I said before, there was no stopping the torpedo that was our Ford Taurus on the highway so I snapped pictures like a crazy woman and kept my abs tight while Adam steered through the city like a bobsled driver. 
I think I even saw Dwight and Angela crossing the street by the...wait. What? That show isn't real? Aw, man. Thanks for spoiling the magic. Next, you'll try to tell me that my mom has a box of teeth in her jewelry box.
We've since made up for lost time tenfold and are willing to challenge anyone claiming to be the World's Biggest Office Fan to a "Scene It off." Bring it! *kisses right bicep and then spits, followed by a lip curl*
I do not deny that that The Office is a sinking ship as of late but Adam and I are clutching tightly to the bow yelling, We'll never let go, Pam! We'll never let go!
Yep. I did it. I made a Titanic reference on my blog. And I couldn't be prouder than if I had birthed Kate Winslet myself.
ANYWAY.
It seems shameful to admit that we actually planned our roadtrip around Scranton, PA. But we did. Knowing full well that The Office is filmed in Hollywood, we mapped out a pitstop in The Electric City.
Like I said before, there was no stopping the torpedo that was our Ford Taurus on the highway so I snapped pictures like a crazy woman and kept my abs tight while Adam steered through the city like a bobsled driver. 
I think I even saw Dwight and Angela crossing the street by the...wait. What? That show isn't real? Aw, man. Thanks for spoiling the magic. Next, you'll try to tell me that my mom has a box of teeth in her jewelry box.
