Team Obama

Breaking News: The President has more power than Twilight.


I'm watching the Ellen show and she has Robert Pattenson on (i.e. Edward Cullen) and the interview so far is basically the audience screaming and Robert pretending to hate it. And then, President Obama breaks into the program to discuss the recent attempted airline bombing. And I'll be damned if it wasn't timed just right because after Obama finished, it cut back to the Ellen show right as she was saying goodbye to Robert.

This is good news! Well, not that someone tried to bomb an airine, but that the President trumps Twilight. We can all sleep a little easier tonight.

First Lunch, Then The World

I have a dilemma. I am at work and I’m hungry and I don’t know what to do.

Since I’m a temp, I work in a conference room at a big table with 2 other people. It’s really quiet in here. I brought Cup of Noodles from home for lunch, but I don’t want to be slurping it in front of everyone. And there is no way to eat Cup of Noodles quietly. It’s just not a quiet food. And I certainly don’t want to be that co-worker. You know, the one who always eats lunch at their desk and then asks to borrow your pen and gives it back all smelling like tuna fish and you’re like, you didn’t even have tuna today, why does this smell like that, but you can’t say anything because far be it for you to deny someone their lunch? Anyway, by slurping Cup of Noodles today not only will I drive my co-workers crazy but no one will ever let me borrow a pen again.

That leads us to option 2: get lunch at the restaurant downstairs. Why not, you ask? Well, because I go there almost every day. And I just know that as soon as I walk in the door they’re all “Oh great, here comes ‘Half Chicken Salad Sandwich Girl who Sneaks in Her Own Water Because She’s Too Cheap to Buy a Drink.’” And then they say “Hey, let’s mess with her again and not call her number when her sandwich comes up. Last time she waited almost 4 minutes staring at the sandwich on the counter but not knowing what to do with it. That was fun.” So I obviously can’t go back in there ever again.

So I called Mike and I explained my situation. He said “You know, there are starving children in Africa.” And I said “Yeah, but don’t you think it would be kind of rude for me to ask them what I should do? I mean, they’re hungry and all.” He sighed and said “Why don’t you go downstairs and order something besides Chicken Salad? Like, get a Cheese Sandwich to throw them off.” But what if they don’t pay attention and make chicken salad anyway and then I have to actually talk to them and make a scene about making a cheese sandwich. Isn’t that exactly what they want? Mike then mumbled something that I didn’t quite hear - something about how much he loves me or about needing therapy, I’m not sure. Then he said he had to go and hung up.

What am I to do? Maybe I’ll wait it out. See if I can just make it until dinner.

P.S. I just checked the package; apparently, it’s “Cup Noodles” not “Cup of Noodles.” I think someone should tell Nissin to add an “of” to be more correct in the English language. I texted Mike to let him know. He thinks I’m being culturally insensitive.

P.P.S. Found out Cup Noodles are packaged in the USA. Now who’s being culturally insensitive?

Update: I decided to eat the Cup Noodles. Mainly because I like saying that now and I wanted to tell other people that it’s actually Cup Noodles not Cup of Noodles. No one seemed very impressed. In fact, they all acted like it was no big deal. Plus, they refused to sign my petition to change it to Cup O’Noodles, even though I clearly explained that it would be revolutionary and break down boarders everywhere. At least in Ireland and Japan. And I'm sure that if I'm able to change the name, they’ll make me an honorary princess or something. Because that’s what princesses are supposed to do. And, as a princess, I bet everyone would lend me a pen. Win-win.

Maybe I Can Take Up Windsurfing

Well, I completed my last class this week. I now come with an MBA.

It will come in real handy while living in my parent’s basement.

For graduation, Mike and my parents threw me a Seinfeld-themed party. It was awesome. It was all the black-and-white-cookie-eating, candy-bar-lineup-solving fun you could have. It was spectacular.

I realized though that I am out of excuses now. I can’t turn down any more family parties or lunch with friends. It used to be that I would say “I can’t. I’ve got a lot of homework to do.” Now when Mike asks me can I “please make dinner just once this month?” I can’t say “I really need the time to study.” Or when he says “well, can you at least let me have the remote? You’re supposed to be doing homework, not watching Snapped re-runs.” And I would say “Oh, I’m doing homework alright…” And then he would make a note in that strange book of his that he calls “evidence” and walk around leaving his DNA all over.

Even this blob has been giving me a hard time since I don’t write as often as I should. Well folks, I’m out of excuses. Here I am all grown up and ready to take on real world responsibilities. And social events.

Hmmm…

I wonder if I should enter a PhD program just to get out of doing the dishes for a few years?

It's Never Them, It's Always You

Looking for a job is hard. It's physically and emotionally exhausting. I liken it to being broken up with. Here's my relationship with available positions:

Job: I'm sorry, it's just not going to work out between us.

Me: I don't understand. You didn't even give us a chance.

Job: I'm just looking for something different.

Me: I can change.

Job: I don't want you to change. You are smart and talented and..

Me: Right. I'm great. We'd be great together.

Job: You will find the right fit someday.

Me: But I want this to work out. I think you are the right fit.

Job: It's not you, it's me.

Me: But...

Job: No buts, now don't make this any harder.

Me: Think about all the great times we had together.

Job: *Blinking* Huh?

Me: Remember that time when we put on that amazing Baroque Art Exhibit and we were praised by all the local newspapers? Even the Deseret News? Or remember all those late nights we'd stay up. You'd be all artsy and I'd be brilliant and inspired and we would come up with the best ideas together?

Job: *Blinking*

Me: Okay, that may have all been in my head, but I had plans damnit!

Job: That all sounds great, and you will make some other museum very happy someday. I better go now.

Me: Wait! I wanted to tell you that...I'm dying.

Job: Oh my God! What's wrong?

Me: Well, the doctors don't know what it is yet. Something undiscovered. Something tropical, I think.

Job: But you've never been to the tropics.

Me: True, but I did accidentally step on a pineapple once. I think that's where I got it from.

Job:

Me: Really! It was at the grocery store and I was wearing flip-flops. It totally punctured my skin.

Job:

Me: It hurt pretty bad.

Job: *Sigh* I need to go now.

Me: I think you're making a mistake. You shouldn't make this decision now. You should sleep on it.

Job: *Turning back* Oh, and before I forget, can you please stop calling so late at night and hanging up?

Me: That's not me.

Job: I have caller ID built in.

Me: Oh right, I forgot. Okay, that was me. But I was just checking in to make sure you're okay.

Job: But you hang up right after I answer.

Me: Well, I don't want to bother you. If we starting talking, we would never be able to get back to sleep. Because I care about how good you sleep.

Job: Yeah, I'll see ya. *Turning away*

Me: *Snip*

Job: Did you just pluck a piece of my hair?

Me: No.

Job: Goodbye.

Me: Will you at least call me when you get home so I know you made it safe?


And that's what I've been up to lately.

Important Notice That Only the Unemployed Would Get

Yesterday morning I turned on the TV to watch some great mid-morning talk shows and I found Montel! I love Montel. I was hoping he would have Sylvia Brown on (you know, the psychic?). She'll tell you straight up in her raspy smoker's voice that she doesn't see your sweet old grandma, but someone with an "A" name is trying to communicate. You run down the list of people with A names and realize Allejandro, your brother's general contractor who died 3 years ago is trying to tell you he's okay. And we were so worried. But what about grandma!?!

Anyway, Montel is talking to a pudgy little boy about eating his vegetables. The little boy is grumpy and says he doesn't like vegetables. Montel says "well, what if I make you a great tasting drink with vegetables so that you won't even know you're eating them?" And the little boy brightens up, shrugs his shoulders and says "okay." Isn't that just like Montel? Always making people feel better. He can even work his magic on the teenage girl who doesn't know who the baby's daddy is. She may be in for a long, hard life, but Montel is going to hug you and make it all better. At least until Judge Judy comes on. He's just cool like that.

But then, they stand up from their cushy chairs and walk over to a kitchen and Montel starts using a blender! A BLENDER! And he's talking about how great it is and all the neat features it has. And suddenly I realize: it's not Montel's talk show, it's Montel SELLING BLENDERS!!

Oh the humanity! What has happened to you Montel?

Childhood Memory - Or, Why I Love Indoor Sports

Now that I'm moving back into my parent's basement (recap: I'm a 27 year-old college grad with an MBA moving into my parents basement), I've been thinking about the history I've had with that house. We moved in when I was 8, so really all my formative years were spent there. I learned how to doorbell ditch and toilet paper in that house. I learned how to hop fences and put fireworks in the sewer. Really, really important stuff here folks.

But only one memory is crowding out the rest. It's funny because it's not the greatest story and was just a tiny blip on the radar but it keeps coming to the forefront of my mind. So here it is. I'm sure my mom will deny the whole thing.

My brother and I used to sled down the main staircase. With sleds. Sleds.



I know kids like to slide down the stairs, perhaps even using a sleeping bag, but we used top-of-the-line, super-fast sleds. We have 13 carpeted stairs from the upstairs to the main level and boy can you catch some speed on those babies.


Luckily, my mom was at the bottom to catch us before we slammed our heads into the glass table merely inches away. Why didn't we ever think of moving that table?



But here's the kicker - it WAS ALL MY MOM'S IDEA. I swear. If it were up to my brother and me, we would still be using clumsy old sleeping bags. My mom is nothing if not efficient.



I can't remember why we stopped doing it, but it was probably in some horrific accident that I am forcing out of my memory because, well, we were SLEDDING down the stairs. With sleds.



Unfortunately, my parents have since put in hardwood floors so I won't get to show Mike when we move back in. Except the basement stairs are still carpet. And there's 11 of those...

The Post Without a Clever Title - Unless "Bleeding Arts" is Clever - No? Okay, No Title

I think I'm pretty employable.

Yes that's a word. I know things.

Anyway, I have this dream of working in a museum. Problem is, there are not that many openings for museum jobs in Utah. So as I scour the job websites and find a dearth of availabilities (big words = smart), I start to convince myself that I can do other things. Case in point, I just pondered submitting an application as an administrative manager for the Utah Blood Bank. Then I remember that I am totally squeamish and would probably not be the best manager they've ever had.

Blood Bank: Emily, can you carry these bags of blood to the second floor lab for testing, stat?

Me: *Giggling* Wow, do you people really say stat?

Blood Bank: Now who interviewed you again?

Me: Um, that girl with the long brown hair. I'll take it up right now.

2 minutes later the Blood Bank finds me passed out on the floor. Because I hate blood.

But it's not just blood that freaks me out. It's anything medical. When I first started college I was a pre-optometry major. My dad took me to watch a Lasik eye treatment on one of his patients. We're not talking watching it on a monitor or through a window or gallery, we were actually in the room. With hair-net thingies and everything. Things were going okay until they pulled the lens back off the eye. Suddenly everything started to go black from the bottom up. I told my dad I wasn't feeling well and the next thing I knew I was sitting in a chair and my dad was patting my cheeks. The whole procedure had stopped and the doctor and nurse were looking at me and asking if I was okay. I was all "yeah, I'm fine. Go ahead and continue." I tried to play it off like I just walked to the chair and sat down. Could it be possible that they didn't see my dad drag my body to the corner? I'd like to think so.

So the next day I promptly walked into the student services office and changed my major from pre-optometry to art history.

(And my parents promptly changed their hopes of having a successful daughter to hoping she "marry up")

And since I haven't fainted from looking at a painting yet I consider myself a success and should be rewarded by becoming the director of a museum.

So if any of you reading this own a museum and need a kick-ass director who only faints during medical procedures, call me.

Run Ken, Run!

Does anyone else think that dripping pipes sound a lot like people knocking on the walls? Scary people with chainsaws. Obviously, the chainsaws are not running because that would be a dead giveaway but they definitely have them. In the non-knocking hand, that is. So these chainsaw-wielding people live in my walls ala "The People Under the Stairs" and knock just to see if I'm paying attention and to ensure I get no sleep and write nonsensical blobs the day. And they won last night.

But not tonight.

Tonight I will pretend it's just My Little Ponies galloping around behind my bed. And that hissing sound? That's just Malibu Barbie's new pet cat. It's trying to get used to the ponies. And the clanking is just the gold falling in the pot at the end of the rainbow. And that scratching sound? That's definitely just a puppy running on the hardwood floor...or a chainsaw. But the thump-drag, well that sounds like Malibu Ken's leg is broken and he's trying to run away but he's not getting very far. And the screaming. And the howling. And the face melting. Oh God, what's going on in there!?!

I Hate Reese's Peanut Butter Cups (Unless I'm Eating One)

Well, Mike's gone and I'm officially on my own. At least until he comes back. It's hard but I'm hanging in there. I shopped away some sadness. I did some laundry and made macaroni and cheese for dinner (and by "made macaroni and cheese" I mean "put the frozen tray in the oven" - but I did have to pre-heat the oven). And everything was going fine until I saw the commercial.

The Reese's Peanut Butter Cups Halloween commercial.

You know, the one where there's creepy music and a sudden flash of lightning and then there is a scary face in the chocolate.

It's spooky.

And so it began. I re-checked all the locks about 600 times, came up with a plan if the Reese's monster broke in my front door or my back door and slept with my shoes on in case I had to make a run for it.

I don't think I'm overreacting. I'm just being prepared. You've never heard of a boy scout being eaten by a Reese's monster. And you know why? Because they take an oath to always be prepared.

Wait a minute, I just looked up the boy scout oath to see what other sage advice I should follow and "be prepared" isn't even in it! What kind of "organization" is this anyway? Don't they know they could be eaten by ghosts and monsters and spiders? They should sleep with their shoes on.

Uromysitisis

Bladder Update: I'm at work and I've had a lot of water to drink and I really have to go to the bathroom but there is this big spider/mosquito thing on the ceiling. I saw it this morning. It's right over the door. It has the legs and wings of a mosquito and the body (and probably soul) of a spider. It's the worst when they are on the ceiling, too. They can drop down on you any second. When I first went in there this morning I debated whether I should chance it and walk out or if I should wait it out until the thing dies of natural causes (or attacks me in a bloody final battle). After spending way too long in the bathroom I took a chance and dashed out. I escaped...barely. But now what to do? I have an hour and a half until I leave - can I hold it for that long? If I don't go, will I get uromysitisis?



Update Update: It's been an hour. I go to Mike's desk to talk to him.

Me: Have you read my blob yet?

Mike: No, I've been busy.

Me: It is very important that you read it.

Mike: Okay, I will. I just need to finish this.

Me: Um...I kind of need you to read it now.

Mike: Fine. I will stop processing this hugely complicated order (or whatever it is we do) just to read your blob.

Me: Thank you.

Minutes later I hear a loud sigh and Mike gets up from his desk and walks to the bathroom. I then hear a little tap of his shoe against the ceiling. He comes back to my desk.

Mike: There. Now you can't get uromysitisis and blame me.

So I dash in there and of course I don't double check before I go in because, well, I trust my husband, and as I'm washing my hands I look up and IT'S GUTS ARE DANGLING FROM THE CEILING. Seriously. Just dangling over the doorway waiting to drop on me. And everyone knows that once you get the scent of the creature, all it's buddies will come looking for you to exact revenge for killing one of their own. Great. Once again I am faced with the decision to permanently move in to the office bathroom or tempt fate a second time. You know, Stephanie Tanner moved into the family bathroom on an episode of Full House once. It didn't look so bad. But then again she grew up to be a drug addict.

So I chanced it...again...

I think I made it out unharmed. I walked up to Mike's desk with my hands on my hips and you know what he did? He laughed. Oh he's so funny. So I rubbed my head on his shirt to spread the scent on him. If I go down, he's going down with me.

Possibly Offensive Post, Though Not Intended

I am about to say something that could be considered morally or politically incorrect. *Warning. Warning.* I don't mean it to be incorrect or offensive though.

Breast Cancer has given me two great things this week.

1. Pink Shoes on linebackers
2. A giant chocolate chip cookie for only $2.00

I guess I should say Breast Cancer Awareness. That sounds better.

Correction: Breast Cancer Awareness has given me two great things this week.

I could go back up and edit the start of this post to say "Awareness" but I'm not going to. Because I'm lazy like that.

Oh yeah, something else it gave me: a cute story to share about Mike. On Sunday he was kind of offended about the whole Breast Cancer Awareness thing and said "How come Breast Cancer gets a month? Why doesn't Prostate Cancer?" And I said "Dude, men can get Breast Cancer too." And he's all "Ohhhh, right" and then happily continued eating his cookie. Like he was glad he could get Breast Cancer. What an optimist.

Disney Totally Ripped Off Toblerone

Ghost update: Mike and I thought a ghost had visited us last night. Turns out it was just our upstairs neighbor on speakerphone.

Since Halloween is the scariest of all months, except maybe March - that whole "in like a lion, out like a lamb" thing always makes me nervous - I will post scary things that happen.

Do you hear what I'm promising? I will be alone for a couple weeks and have a great sense of hearing and a high-functioning imagination. This could be good. You're welcome in advance.

Here are some thoughts I have today:
1. I don't like when people use nicknames for their husbands or children on blogs. Unless it's an awesome nickname, like "Worst Mistake I Ever Made" or "Idiot" or "Dingledork."

2. Someone should make a documentary about copy guys. They really love their jobs. At least, the two copy guys that fix our office machine do. They also think they are super funny. And usually try to use their knowledge of copy machine parts to hit on my coworkers. I think it would make for a good movie.

3. There's this board on the game Peggle that really bums me out. It has a pirate ship in the background and all the pegs are square. It just puts me in a bad mood. I always quit when I get to that level and restart hoping it won't come up again. Dingledork knows which level I'm talking about.

4. There is a bear and a fish hidden in the Toblerone logo. Except the bear is afraid of the fish. It's like the fish jumped out of the water and totally took the bear by surprise. Hope the other bears weren't watching, otherwise he'll be labeled a weenie. And the lady bears will stop coming around. He'll probably have to join a different pack of bears, but you know how bears gossip so they will probably already know about this and not let him in. So he will have to find two other reject bears and live in a house and complain about porridge all day. It's kind of awesome really.

5. I looked up the word sluiced in the dictionary today. I've read it quite a few times but never knew what it meant. Now I can't get it out of head. I want to use it in a conversation.

That's it. Insert clever ending here.

Update

I just found out that the hospital-turned-insane-asylum-turned-hotel-turned-jackpot is closed for renovations. The hell?

Stayed tuned though. I am determined to find something scary that I will totally regret come action time.

Just Another Ordinary Weekend

Moving, moving. Slowly moving.
Boxes are filled but nothing is packed.

*Hey, is that a haiku?

We're starting to work out the details of the move. Hopefully we will leave October 31st and be home November 1st. And I have 2 important things to tell you:

1. I found a haunted hotel in LeGrande, OR
2. Mike says we can take the route through Portland

Which means Powell's Books and a scary Halloween

Which means Emily salivating over hundreds of books and being too scared to get out of the car

Which means Mike apologizing to security and carrying Emily into the hotel

Which means Emily getting her picture posted in Powell's and crying to the bellhop

Which means Mike becoming an accessory and enjoying scaring the crap out of Emily

Which means Emily reading Jane Austen by flashlight and spending the night in the car



All in all, looks like a great weekend!

Things I Need to Learn (Part 1 of a 34,875 Part Series)

It's official. We are moving back to Salt Lake City.

Something else official: I will be a college grad with no job who moves into her parent's basement.

At least I come complete with a husband and nifty mini laptop! I'm like the new breed of underachievers.

Seriously though, I'm excited. We won't live with my folks for too long. Only until they start charging rent...or leaving the bathroom door open. I've heard old people do that. Note to mom and dad, that is how you get your child to move out.

Mike starts his job in a few weeks, but I will stay here for a few weeks after that until the office can function without us.

This got me thinking about all the things I need to learn to do on my own. Like cook. And pump gas. And get things out of the disposal (I swear I don't know how that got in there).

Here's what I'm most scared of not being able to do - kill spiders. I remember long ago when Mike and I worked different hours I was home alone and there was this huge spider the size of a small cat in the hallway. I froze. I think it hissed at me. I backed away slowly and got a Tupperware bowl from the kitchen. I've seen people on TV trap spiders under cups and I thought I could do that - it would be there when Mike got home to take care of. I got as close to the thing as I possibly could (and by "close" I mean "at least 6 feet away") and I threw the bowl at it. Guess what happened? It didn't land perfectly trapping the spider, oh no, it bounced off the wall and just pissed off the spider-cat thing. It started to move at incredible speeds and so I yelled at it. You know how when you're confronted by a bear, you're supposed to act all big and scary? I did that.

So there I was waving my arms and jumping around and yelling at the intruder and you know what? It stopped moving. Yep. The bear trick works. On spiders at least.

But now I have a problem. I can't do these calisthenics until Mike gets home. Not only because I was naked (I think I forgot to mention that I had just taken a shower and it was blocking the way to the bedroom) but because I had to go to work. And I definitely couldn't tell them a spider was holding me hostage and I couldn't come in. So I called my friend Kylie who calmly talked me through getting some hair spray to try to freeze the spider in place. But instead of hairspray, I got the industrial strength roach kill I found under the kitchen sink. And I sprayed that sucker like I was in the final scenes of a Rambo movie. I held the bottle in both hands and swept it back and forth as the spider was trying to evade me while yelling at the top of my lungs. And I may or may not have had one of Mike's ties around my head.

But finally I did it. I killed it. It crumpled up into a little ball and died.

The carpet and I were never the same.

The only problem now was that its carcass was lying in front of the bedroom door. What if it was faking its own death in an evil plot to destroy me?

So I went downstairs to the laundry room, found some semi-clean stuff, put it on, went to work and never spoke of the incident again. At least until Mike got home and found the crime scene.

So, yeah, there's a few things I need to learn before he goes.

The Influenza

Well, I'm at home sick today. I am sure it's the swine flu. Or the West Nile virus. Or maybe it has something to do with all the rain in the south. Southern flooding influenza!

What are my symptoms, you ask? Well, I'm a little stuffy. And Ricky Gervais is on Ellen today. So...there you go.

Guess I better make some lunch. It's starve a fever, feed a cold, right? But what do you do for the southern flooding influenza? I bet drinking Southern Comfort is in the remedy mix. That sounds right. And probably eating jambalaya. But since I don't have any jambalaya handy, I'll substitute pumpkin cookies. And poptarts.


P.S. Mike, if you are reading this, I actually had a turkey burger with salad and a side of brussel sprouts.


Psst... is Mike gone? Do you think he bought it? Good. Now, I need to finish my sundae and wait for Maury to tell me who is the baby's daddy.

Honey, The Sink Doesn't Work

Who here has survived a visit to Ikea on a weekend? How about on a weekend before back-to-school? Go ahead, raise your hands.



Aha, I see. Now put your hand down before your boss notices. Aw crap, she noticed. Just say you had a high school flash-back, or that you recently discovered you have this auto-immune disease where you involuntarily raise your arm, or that the rash on your arm pit has really been bugging you lately and you needed to scratch it, or tell her you're just rubbing it in to John McCain that you have full-range of motion.

I guess you could've just said you were stretching. That woulda made more sense.

And probably kept you out of trouble.



Especially if she's a republican.



I apologize if you have now lost your job. Lesson learned; do not physically respond to blog surveys.


Unless they ask if you can lick your elbow, that's always funny. Try it right now. What have you got to lose? You no longer have to answer to your conservative boss. Go ahead. Lick your elbow.



Anyway, where was I? Let me scroll up and see...ah yes. Ikea on a back-to-school weekend. Dumbest. Idea. Ever. Do you know how many new college students get their dorm furniture from Ikea? I don't. But I bet it's a lot. In fact, I know it's a lot because I was there. I witnessed it. I survived. But barely. I broke 3 fingernails and I'm pretty sure I pissed off 2 foreign exchange students and 1 employee, but at least I'm here...blogging.

I'll spare you the nail and student story - it's probably better in your head anyway. Let me just forewarn you that if you leave your cart in the middle of the aisle and walk away on BACK-TO-SCHOOL weekend, other shoppers/sale-thirsty vipers totally have the right to move it out of the way. I'm definitely not condoning knocking it over and I am certainly not suggesting taking stuff out of their cart as punishment. I'm not.

I'm not. I'm not.

I'm just saying there are certain rules to Ikea.

Rule 1. Drop off unruly children in the padded cell with the colorful balls. They'll like it. The more they scream, the happier they are.

Rule 2. When the ride lets you off at the cafeteria, eat the meatballs. (By the way, I think Disney's engineers designed the floorplan.)

Rule 3. Stray shopping carts are fair game to be moved out of crowded aisles. And if one chooses, one may take personal liberties with deciding on a fair punishment for causing LA rush hour gridlock-style backups in the lighting department

Rule 4. Pretending you live in the model homes and that all your appliances are broken is always funny

Rule 5. Pretending to use the fake shower is not

Rule 6. Okay it is - especially if you repeatedly yell "close the door, you're letting all the steam out!"

Rule 7. At time of checkout, don't ask for a price check. Trust the Ikea computer. It is all-knowing. It is omnipotent.


Got that? Raise your hand if you have a question.

Ha! Just seeing if you were paying attention.

Well Hello Old Friend

I love this time of year. It's back-to-school, sweatshirt-wearing, leaves-changing time. But you know what the best part is? I can have my heating pad on at my desk without too much criticism. Now that it's chilly outside, it's not so strange that I need an extra heat source.

I love my heating pad.

It's on right now.

It's probably reading this post. *whispers I love you too*




I had to stop using it on my lap because my legs were permanently red. Seriously. I saw a doctor. She diagnosed me with get-a-grip-it's-90-degrees-outside-I-think-you'll-survive-without-additional-heat disease. I think she even rolled her eyes at me. Just because I asked for a second opinion...I was sure it's much more serious than that - if that's even a real disease... I'll go home and look it up, I swear. I know how to use WebMD. Heck, it's how I diagnosed myself with intractable singultus, or in layman's terms, chronic hiccups. Remember that boy who had the hiccups for like 7 years straight? I was totally on my way to being him. I mean, really, 20 minutes of straight hiccups? Had to be a sign. So I was preparing my outfit for the day I would meet Matt Lauer when Mike jumps out from behind the closet door and boom! they were gone. And there I was, no hiccups, no Matt Lauer, and a husband who thinks he's hilarious.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yah, the doctor. She said I should not put the heating pad on my lap and also that I should cut back on my hot, hot showers (thanks for telling on me Mike). So I put it on my back and prop the door open a tiny bit when I shower. But NOW I feel a lot less guilty. Major props to the earth's rotation!

Portland Part Deux

Okay, so we get to Portland safe and sound. We visited the Saturday market and wandered through downtown. Then we came to the most glorious, wonderful, we're talking shooting-rainbows-and-unicorns-out-its-windows-it's-that-freaking-great mecca of a book store.

Powell's Book Store.

Let me write that in the font and color in which it should be written:

Powell's Book Store

(I'm going for a heavenly glow here folks)

Suddenly the heavens parted and it stopped raining on us and we're standing there in our own circle of sunlight with a choir of aaaahhhhh! singing in the background. (okay, the singing may have been me and I may have embarrassed Mike a little, but the occasion called for it. It did! Where are you going? Come back, I promise not to sing again).

We enter this temple and I am instantly hooked. The smells, the sights, the sounds. It's so great. It is just how a bookstore should be. Plain bookshelves weary from the hundreds of novels they house. Shelves reaching so high even Inspector Gadget's go-go-gadget arms can't reach without a ladder (or I guess his go-go-gadget legs, which he probably never leaves home without). And the books! My God the books! Paperbacks and hardbacks crammed in next to one another with no real order except the author's last name. New and used books sharing the same breathing space. Literary giants next to small, quirky writers. I laid down on the floor right there and did snow angels.

And the best part? Digging through stacks of books to find the right one. Finding that special book whose pages are worn with reading and re-reading. The one with the simple covers of years ago. We loaded our arms with as many books as we could hold. And, after several hours and multiple reminders over the PA: "the store is now closed, please leave" and "we mean it, we're closed" and "please lady, we've got families to go home to" we made our way to the cashier and blissfully floated out of the store.

We wandered around with rainbows and unicorns shooting out our ears for a while after that. Starry-eyed and dazed at the experience we just had.

We finally emerged from our Powells coma and found VooDoo Doughnuts. We got a box - a box - of doughnuts and made our way back to the car. Side note: my favorite doughnut was called the Old Dirty Bastard; it was a regular doughnut with Oreo cookies and peanut butter on top (which brought on another coma).

We stayed the night at the Kennedy School - an elementary school built in 1915 which is now used as a hotel. We stayed in Classroom #23, or "The Fox Room." Perhaps named after me since I am so foxy. Wonder how they knew I was coming though... Anyway, it was an awesome place.

The next day we visited the Grotto, which is a Catholic sanctuary, Pittock mansion, the world's smallest park and...wait for it.... wait for it....

We visited Powells again! I am now among the league of addicts. Seriously. If I could snort the whole store, I would.

Portland: Part I

This weekend I took Mike on a surprise trip...to Portland. I had him thinking we were going to another country or somewhere exotic. You should have seen the look on his face when I said "Portland!" Only kidding, he's a good sport and was excited.

First of all, the drive down was reminiscent of our wedding. Torrential downpour! You know when the rain is coming down so hard you can't hear your music anymore? That's how bad it was. We could barely hear each other. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: I love you so much, honey.

Mike: What? Your glove is full of honey?

Me: No, I said I love you.

Mike: Why did you even bring honey?

Me: I didn't bring honey. What on earth would I need honey for?

Mike: Just try not to get it on the seats - it will never come out.

Me: First of all, I am always careful and I never spill on the seats. Second, I DIDN'T BRING ANY HONEY.

Then we pull up on two large semis, one in the far left lane and one in the far right. Again, it's pouring rain and hydroplaning is a sure possibility. Mike looks at me.

Me: Are you Crazy? Don't go between them!

Mike (in a German accent): Go betveen zem are you crazy?

I look at him, and he looks at me and shrugs. He guns the engine and steers straight for the middle of the semis. I'm clutching my seatbelt and saying all the prayers I remember. And our little speedboat careens through the waters between the two large container ships. I punch out the Turkish agent that has climbed aboard. Mike grips the wheel and gives the motor some more gas. The ships are closing in on us. It is a tight squeeze but we make it through. Not so lucky for the Nazis chasing after us. They try to squeeze through as well, but don't make it in time and their boat explodes in a fiery explosion.

Me: I said go around!

Mike: You said go betveen zem!

Me: No, I said don't go between them!

There is some more machine gun fire, but we manage to outmaneuver it and continue on our quest for the Holy Grail.

(more stories from Portland to come...)

Grocery Store Army Cats

The results of my personality test are in. Turns out I am a jerk.

Only the Myers-Briggs people spell "jerk" as INTJ.

Yep, I am an introvert who relies on my intuition instead of senses, thinking instead of feeling and who judges instead of perceives.

I know I am an introvert. I prefer working alone and doing things by myself or with a small group of people. This must be why most of my friends are named Chandler, Elaine and Gob (did you get that last one?).

They say intuition is remembering events by reading "between the lines" about their meaning. I certainly do my fair share of that! I once spent an entire day replaying a transaction I had with the grocery store check-stand girl. Does she judge customers who don't donate $1 to MS? Why did she assume I wanted plastic? Do I not look like someone who cares about the environment? Was she angry that I decided to not buy the giant dinner ham that I had already lugged half-way around the store and now she has to let it sit on her check stand until she can wrangle one of the teenage baggers to return it for her, meanwhile the ham is thawing leaving a condensation puddle and a slight odor which is, by the way, attracting hungry dogs who wander in to the store, what with the automatic door openers and all, and so now she is fighting off hungry dogs while calling for a bagger over the loudspeaker and guilting people to donate to MS, and oh did I mention she's in a wheelchair, when finally all of this becomes too much for her and quits the next day but can't find another job because it's a hard world out there right now so she tries to collect unemployment but she can't because, remember, she quit her job so she ends up working as a telemarketer for Yellow Pages and gets hung up on all day and so she goes home every night and trains her cats in preparation for an all-out war on jerks who don't donate to MS?

Yeah that happened. And the next time an army-trained cat drops from the ceiling of your local grocery store and attacks you when you refuse to donate, well, you can think of me.

Thinking instead of feeling - it says I notice inconsistencies and don't value the "people" part of a situation. J.E.R.K.

And finally, I judge - it says I like to make lists and prefer to get my work done before playing. I'm a blast a parties!

Some redeeming qualities; it says I'm a logical and fair jerk! And really, who wants to hang around with an illogical jerk any way?

Monday Sundae

One of today's headlines on MSN is "Sundae Recipes"

Seriously? People actually make recipes for Sundaes?! Oh great, just another way to make me feel even more lame in the kitchen.

I hope they don't make recipes for cereal. I make a killer cereal dinner.

E-to-the-M

I love when people shorten my name. Like Em or Emmy or E. Especially when they don't really know me.

I'm being completely serious. I think it's cute.

For example, there is this total jerk I was working with who was incredibly rude to me on the phone. I told him who my client was and he just started repeating "buh-bye, buh-bye, buh-bye." But he didn't hang up so I assumed he was bluffing. So I asked about the market in his area and he flipped out and told me to do my own job. Which, hello, it is my job to ask you. Geez, just google me to figure it out (no wait, don't do that). So fine. I thanked him and hung up. The next day he sent me an e-mail basically saying the same thing. I replied and told him to shove it.

Ha! Just kidding. I wish that was me.

I replied and was too nice. I think I even used "I apologize" in there. I know, I could totally be the "Before" in an Old Spice commercial (I should have applied my Swagger that day!). But I was typing really hard when I wrote it. Maybe his eyes could feel the anger. By the way, wouldn't it be cool if you could add animation to e-mails? Like, so each letter would be typed boldly, one at a time. Maybe they could make a sound, like a hammer hitting iron even! But seriously, who am I kidding, if you could do all that I would probably choose something pink with butterflies.

Where was I? Oh yah, well he replied again and said "Em, I put a voodoo-hex on your goldfish so that he will never play sports again."

And you know what? Since he called me Em all is forgiven and everything is peaceful and tranquil again. Little did he know all he had to do was impolitely and unprofessionally shorten my name!

I'm kidding about the goldfish. I don't have one. Mike is allergic to animals.

Chocolate Babies

Babies, jobs, babies, jobs.

That's all that's been on my mind lately. But not in that particular order.

To all of my family and friends (and strangers at the bagel place), I apologize for not being able to pay attention to anything else. It's like someone asks me a question and I'm all "Do you think I would make a good mother?" And they're all "Sure, lady, now do you want that bagel toasted or not?" And I say "Maybe I should send the interviewer flowers. That's not too kiss-assy, right?"

Then as my bagel is being extra toasted (I get the point, dude) I start thinking about how I google people. If someone is rude to me on the phone, I google their name and hope there is a picture posted somewhere on the internet. Usually there is, because usually it is an attorney or real estate agent and they LOVE to put their pictures on things (although, you would think someone would come up with a better background than the light blue swirly - seriously, it looks like they all go to the same mystical location where everything is happy and swirly and all hair cuts are outdated...says the girl with no photo here, yes I know, those in glass houses...). Anyway, it makes me think what if the interviewer googles my name? She would probably find my facebook page. Wait, what did I put on there? Have I said anything too crass or too revealing? What about my pictures? Am I doing anything weird or illegal in them? And then the panic takes over and I have to rush to my computer to check it out. And now I'm analyzing every status update and comment making sure it's not offensive. And I'm starting to make up shit about my opinions on modern artists and posting them. Like how Cosimo Cavallaro's Chocolate Jesus is a reflection of the current society's need for immediate gratification and disaffection to figureheads.

When really, it makes me think I'm hungry.

And that I should go to church more.

So here I am furiously changing any connection of me to google and now I realize I left the bagel place without getting lunch. But I can't go back now, that would be embarrassing. So I guess I will skip lunch today. But skipping important meals - a good mother that does not make. I know! I'll have Mike go get it for me. Wait, did I leave Mike standing at the counter??