I have a list of blogs that I want to write. It's kept as a running list on my phone. Currently, the list sits as:

-Ryan is a hobbit
-Food etiquette for holiday parties
-Breakfast food
-Tap dancing
-Ice Skating with kids
-Nativity set
-The thankful jar
-Bathroom chalkboard.

Ryan IS a hobbit. That will be its own post.

I have no idea why I wanted to write about food etiquette at holiday parties. I'm not even sure what that means. Breakfast food? Not sure what that means either. Other than I really really really really love breakfast food. More than other foods. The most.

Tap dancing: I face a constant dilemma of whether or not to bring my tap shoes with me. The "should I bring my tap shoes" conversation in my head is quite regular. The answer is always, always yes. Tap dancing is another one of my favorite things. Maybe I should make a "Favorite Things" list like Oprah.

I went ice skating with Aunt's offspring. One was terrified and hated it. The other was pissed because she wasn't an instant professional. Most of the time was spent trying not to fall when the were constantly tripping me. But--it was awesome. :)

My nativity set is the best. It's beautiful. It's not out yet. It will be soon.

In 2013 I am going to have a Thankful Jar and write all the things I'm thankful for on little pieces of paper and put it in there. I hope I make it until February without forgetting it.

I have a chalkboard in my bathroom. I write inspiring things on it. Things like "Be more awesome." But also other things that actually are inspiring and lovely. Right now it's "You are enough. You have enough. You do enough." In the past it has also said "Dwight, you ignorant slut."

People I don't look like.

I look like my mom. Yes, I have come to terms with it. She is the most beautiful woman in the world. I look like Brother. Which is fine. I look slightly like my dad. And oddly like some cats. But I do not look like my aunt Karen.

The Mom

Brother

 A Cat

The Aunt and her offspring. Yes. Previously Seen

The world begs to differ. In the past week two separate individuals that I do not know at all have proclaimed that I look just like her as they walk into my office.


Weird.

No. This really isn't up for discussion.

Brother is a badger and apparently has redeeming qualities

Remember the day when Brother tried to "compliment" me by calling me an orange? You don't? Oh, well please, read about it here.

This story actually takes place a few weeks back, but it must be shared. It starts off on a morning. Let's say it was a Tuesday morning. My mom called. Which is weird, since she is quite aware of my morning rules. Here's a (roughly retold) transcript of that conversation.

Mom: "Hi. I just thought you should hear this story about your brother."
Me: "Why."
Mom: "Well, he was working at the Habitat for Humanity house and they were teasing him for being so young, (*note--he's 22. Not that young.) and he was trying to work on something that he didn't have the right tools for. So he improvised. He just got a stick and a rock and made do. While he was working on that, one of the guys came up to him and said, 'You must be a farm boy, huh?"
Me: "Why are you telling me this story? It's nice, but still, why?"
Mom: "Well, I thought you could write about this on your blog so people know that even though his compliments are insults, he has some redeeming qualities."
Me: "Ok Mom. I will write about it. But I am going to write it in exactly the way that you just said it to me."
Mom: "That kind of defeats the purpose, doesn't it?"
Me: "Yep."

.....that sort of leads into the next part of the story......

A few days after that conversation, Brother's Girlfriend posts on my wall: " Last Friday [Brother] and I stopped and had a drink at a bar. We were talking about something and I said, "You dog." and he says, "I am not a dog. I'm a badger." I didn't ask for an explanation on this one since I know how the orange explanation went. So now you have an orange and a badger in the family. I wonder what [Sister] will grow up to be."

What a kid, my Brother.

Christmas Booze.

Happy Christmas to me. There was a sale on Jameson.

Now I will be merry and bright and have cheeks as rosy as Rudolf's nose.

I also bought puff pastry. Which seemed entirely necessary.

Things I woke up with:

This morning, as I woke up, I looked around me. The following is a list of things that were in bed with me or within arms reach:

1. An empty box of kleenex.
2. Jessica (my iphone)
3. Gerald, the giant stuffed rainbow sherbert dragon. I had to find him last night so we could watch How to Train Your Dragon together before bed
4. George (the Curious one)
5. An empty wine glass
6. A water bottle
7. A sleeve of oreos
8. Some pepper
9. A warm pair of pajamas that I traded out because I was too hot
10. A soup pot upside down serving as a stand for my empty wine glass
11. NyQuil
12. A pile of clean laundry (which explains why I was so warm)

Happy Thursday everyone!

My bed is on the floor, my clothes aren't in drawers and other reasons living alone suits me.

In my most recent move, I purchased a new bed. A glorious, beautiful, perfect and cozy new bed. I do not get to spend enough quality time with my bed. Which is very unfortunate. Things about my bed that are awesome: it's memory foam (yes, the jumping with the wine glass without spilling thing is totally real), it's super great for flips (like gymnastics style flips), I don't have to share it with anyone but George (the stuffed monkey) and it's on the floor. I can eat pretzels and other snacks and just make the crumbs be on the other side. I get to have all seven pillows to myself.

The thing is, because it's memory foam, it needs to have a platform-style frame. And while there are some reeeeeally pretty platform beds, they're also realllllllly expensive. So right after I bought said bed, I told myself I would build my own. My carpentry skills are actually quite good (thank you stagecraft) and I am entirely capable. My schedule is not. My little car is also not entirely equipped to handle lumber. Yes, these are excuses. I might still build a bed frame. Then again, I might not. My flips are getting pret-ty awesome and if my bed weren't on the floor, they wouldn't be.. And no one can tell me to stop.

Another reason I shouldn't build a frame and get my bed off the floor: my clothes will get lonely. I had this grand idea when I moved that I would sort my laundry as I take it off (in my handy new sorter trolley) and wash a load every couple days, which would prevent the major pile-ups that are generally the norm. 

That lasted..... negetive 12 minutes. My clothes: everywhere. I take them off where I feel like. It is not uncommon to find half an outfit in the pantry, another part by the bookshelf, one sock in the hallway and the other in the dirty clothes nest. To be fair, I don't usually have socks on that match, so no one would really know how oddly scattered they are. I just hate laundry. Hate it hate it hate it. I don't mind cleaning the bathroom. I don't mind dishes. (Total lie. I also hate dishes). OK, to be totally honest, the only cleaning I don't mind is cleaning the bathroom. Weird and gross fun fact about me. So, there are bursts of super clean and neat living where I solemnly swear I will never let myself live in a world where there are no more clean forks.

(That world is a world where I just shut the door on the spare room and pretend that mess isn't mine.)

A few more reasons I like living alone: I can just pretend the growing organism in the back of the fridge isn't real, I always pick the movie, I can talk to dragons, no one tells me that keeping soup in the towel cupboard doesn't work, the chalkboard in the bathroom is fun and I always like the kind of beer in the fridge.

I didn't realize I had fans of my ramblings. My sincerest apologies for the delays in postings. Here's a picture from a Halloween fun run. The flying umbrella did not help.

Last weekend was SO exciting. So exciting in fact, that I spent the whole week recovering from it. So exciting that I couldn't even describe it.

Or, I just didn't feel like typing it.

It involved these things: friendship from the QCA folk, my mom, one of my favorite movies in stage format, Harry Potter, day drinking, doggies, more day drinking, more HP, sushi, cosmos and wine, Modern Family, night frights from friends, a corn maze, a naked golden statue, a corn maze, mailboxes in the maze, and a one pound hamburger (the gunderburger).

I did all of those things. Seriously. It was just great. I must, however, describe to you the one pound hamburger.

My friend Jenna and I first went to the corn maze. Excuse me, the Maize Maze. :) Which might have been a great choice, because I don't think I would have survived a post burger maze.

Goldie Sicurash in the Maize Maze. Jenna and I won her. At a dance competition.

We get to the Irish Shanty at about 4:30 p.m. We walk in. We get beer. We (for like, three seconds, ok? Barely even counts) contemplate getting one gunderburger. Yes, we came to our senses very quickly with the realization that we are strong, beautiful, intelligent women. We can eat one freakin pound of meat. No problem.

So. Much. Meat.

Our waitress was totally impressed with us. (several minutes later). The gunderburgers arrive. The plate is mostly meat. No matter. We've got this. The burgers--deeeeelish. Seriously. Great. A quarter of the way through, we're making great time. We feel like we have set a nice pace. Halfway through....things slowed down a bit. Realizing that if we slow down, we won't make it through, we decided to plow on through a little quicker. (Note: we definitely had fries to. Come on, you need a palate cleanser when you are planning on eating that much red meat!) A little over halfway through, I start sweating. Conversation dulls. I'm starting to feel a bit ill. Jenna looks at me like she is in pain. I'm sure my face says the same. At this point I put my nose to the grindstone and the blinders up and just went for it. Until the last three bites. They just sat there on my plate. Looking at me menacingly. I mean, I take pride in the fact that I know how to eat. Really eat. But never before was I in a heated sweat nearing a meat coma with a horrifying fear that one pound of ground beef was not going to stay in me. But I really REALLY really wanted a picture in the gunderburger hat. So somehow, I still am not quite sure where exactly it fit, but somehow I got that last three ounces of beef down. (Yes, yes, I know, that's what she said.) I swelled with pride at my accomplishment, and Jenna was right behind me. Ok, maybe the swelling wasn't so much pride as much as an excess of meat. (For real though, one of the most delicious burgers  I have ever had. Just....a lot.)

I put my game face on for this picture. There is a one pound burger, fries and beer in my belly.

The waitress asked if we wanted dessert. The thought almost made me toss my burger. We rolled out of there, pants unbuttoned, each bump on the road making me question my ability to keep food in my stomach. I got home and pants off lay in a meat coma watching Parks and Rec. But I totally ate a donut at 9:30 p.m. Because a chocolate donut seemed like the only reasonable item to end the day with. Even thinking about a burger makes me a little ill, a week later. But we did it. And it was glorious. And we will never do it again.

The week when I thought Tuesday was Friday.

I keep a pretty strict calendar. I'm not sure what I did before Siri came into my life (or, as I like to call her, Jessica). I may have had two paper planners. Plus a google calendar. Now, it's all in one. I always know what day of the week it is. I always know what number day it is. Even though I am one single person, I have to have color-coded events listings, just to ensure I get to where I am supposed to be. I think this comes from the fact that my family was chronically late. To everything. To parties. To the school bus (that picked us up in our driveway). To church--which WAITED  for us. Seriously. My mom was the church secretary, and apparently church could not start without us. So Sunday mornings...in we roll....fashionably (not so much) late, and Pastor would say OH great, they're finally here. We have some questions that only you can answer.

Honestly. They say that you can't label God's timing....but he will certainly wait for the church secretary.

.....(why did I write that....I'm not sure where I was going with...OH. YEAH.)

Calendars. So, I know what days are what. Except this week. I made it pretty solidly through several hours, at work hours, of Tuesday thinking it was Friday. The crushing blow when I realized it was not Friday was awful. Just. Awful. I think it's because I have a pretty firm grasp on time, and I am rarely caught off guard.

The nice part about Tuesdays is that I get to go to tap class, so that was nice. Even if it wasn't Friday.

Bad news: I kept thinking it was Friday for the next two days. Which is not fun.

Why do I want it to be Friday? STEPH IS COMING TO VISIT! My friends don't often make the trek to the northland to visit me. Honestly, it's not that I don't want them to, but I think it might be better that they don't en mass. Which is terrible for me to say, since I work in the tourism industry. But...my friends, when we get together...are a lot. Which is great. But the much-ness of my social circle already here...plus the a lot-ness of my visiting friends may very possibly make this little hamlet explode. Maybe it's good that we are a lot in other places, bigger places where we get to be more anonymous.

They can and should (hint hint) come visit me in singles or small groups. That's super cool. And Steph is! And Steph, well, she's super neat. We are going to See a Play and go on Adventures and watch HP7 (maybe twice) and The Office and play The Office Trivia and Eat and Bake and Eat and be Fun. And probably throw in a lot of walks to balance out the eating. It's gonna be zoppity.

It's pretty clear why I'm ready for it to be Friday, right?

Brother is not allowed to give compliments.

Last weekend was full of family and life events in epic proportions. Serrriously. It started like this:

Friday: Co-parent some puppies. That was pretty great. And cuddly. And furry. And happy. And cozy. Co-parenting dogs is probably harder than co-parenting kids, especially when they're not yours. At least at 5 am you're not the only one who has to get up out of the cozy bed and let some furry monsters relieve their bladders. Ah, who am I kidding. I totally didn't get up. I let co-parenting partner handle that.

Sidenote: Watched "The Artist" on Friday night. LOVED IT. I think silent films really are my kind of thing.

Saturday: Wake up with doggies. Craft show. Kolaches. Go to craft show. Get yelled at by co-parent for taking their shoes, which clearly wasn't my fault, as I didn't even wear shoes home. I had on footie pajamas. Shoes weren't needed. The dogs took the shoes to play with, so it wasn't my fault anyway. Go home change clothes. Go to funeral for great uncle. Say lovely goodbye's to Uncle Bob. (*Sidenote: my fondest and most vivid memories of Uncle Bob are nothing of what my family shared and spoke of. Rather, I remember him tickling me, shouting "Chicken leg chicken leg" and me running screaming from room to room.) Spend time with family I haven't seen in years.

Drive to parents house. With Brother and Brother's Girlfriend. Insert most insulting thing brother has ever said to me (also included in this post...hold your horses...). Brother tries to make it up to me by fixing broken rearview mirror on car and almost makes us late. Drive to wedding reception. Listen to speeches and take advantage of open bar and great caterers. Drive home. Change into layers and layers and layers of clothing. Make tea. Drive to Aunt and Uncle's 25th Anniversary party. Outside. In the frozen. Watch small humans interacting through the window. Wish that they were on all the time, as they were far more entertaining than TV. Drive home. Collapse. So. Much. People. Time.

So...the awful Brother insult (NOT a compliment like he thinks): Brother, Brother's Girlfriend (henceforth known as BG) and I, are in the car. Brother continuously criticizes my driving. I say something about my friends, or lack of social life or dates or romantic possibilities and he says..."You are like an orange. The outside is kind of ugly. It's edible in case of an emergency, and sometimes it's good for spicing it up, but no one really uses it. BUT, the inside is great, and delicious and everyone loves it."

BG and I had horrified expressions. I saw them in all of the mirrors (even the broken one). I used some choice phrases including but not limited to: "We look exactly alike, so you're ugly too...Nobody loves my outside?...Why are you awful?...I hate your face asswipe...YOU'RE A GRAPEFRUIT BECAUSE NO ONE EVEN LIKES THE INSIDES OF GRAPEFRUIT.."etc. BG told Brother he was a big jerk. Brother retorted, "It was a COMPLIMENT. I was saying something nice." He tried to make it up to me by fixing the rearview mirror on my car for free. Which really was very nice. And I appreciated it immensely. You better believe that I did continuously bring up the orange comment. All night. And he continued to argue his point. Jerk.

Clearly, he missed the session on how to actually give someone a compliment. It makes me wonder how he ever got a girlfriend in the first place.

I will admit: I have gone through this week in slight emotional distress. What if I am like an orange? If your family really knows you and call you out on things, is Brother right? Should I start tanning to really get my complexion to match my demeanor? Am I only good for an occasional zesting? DOES NO ONE LOVE THE OUTSIDE OF ME? Thanks to my brother. And his backhanded compliment. He is not allowed to compliment me ever again. Ever.

Words you should never see in a text from your sister: Sex. Mom. Print.

It may have said "Mom wants you to print off the recipe for the Better than Sex cake and bring it to her."

I shouldn't read my texts so fast. I got none of the actual message the first time I read that. Here is a sampling of texts I have received this week. I'll protect the guilty by not calling them out on what they say to me:

"Skateboard your face." (ok, from two weeks ago.)

"I can get drunk alone in the comfort of my own home."

"B told me you live in a department."

"We can chip carve a dragon into it. I learned how to do that on "Wayne's Woodworking" on the Create Channel."

"I have to figure out how to configure my desk so I can lie down."

"**pictures of them with their cats.**"

"Get in my bed."

"Pow pow pow. *Banana Gun.*"

"I can only recommend drowning."

"I've determined 1 tap dance stalk is worth 5 window stalks."

"Do you have a microwave? Do you want elbow macaroni?"

"Can I drop off the robes?"

"We should male plans when I'm home."

"Chill calm time, totally cranky-uterus friendly."

"Also...what is patchouli? A lover...or a tyrant?"

"Freshman yes!"

"Wait, do you have to wear underwear with that?"

I don't think I really even need to share some of the things I texted back. Next time.

Neat Days, Goodbye to a friend and getting my smile back

Yesterday was a neat day. It had everything a day should have: nice weather, doggies, laughter, tears, friendship and a whoooole lot of carbs.

The day didn’t (admittedly) start great. I didn’t want to get up. My head still hurts. Seriously. Still. Hurts. I have a wayyy high tolerance for pain, and this is getting ridiculous. Especially since I very very rarely get headaches. Maybe I have the plague.

So, the day happened. Work was weird. Here’s the thing about my job: when I have a to-do list, it doesn’t EVER get done. Yes, my work is all about people, and whatever happens, happens. I do have actual other things with deadlines though. That combination is very very tricky. It depends entirely on when the phone rings, who walks in and how needy people are. I have been known to shout from my desk when I see tourists wandering up. The glass must be relatively soundproof because my pleas of “GO awAY! We don’t want you here. No one really wants you to visit. You don’t need to know where that one restaurant that used to have that one thing on the menu that moved down the block many years ago and used to be run by the kid next door’s uncle. I really don’t care if you find the bike trail. NO you won’t get lost. Only 8200 people live here, it’s not big enough to get lost. The eagles are really not that exciting. Frankly, that one that got fried on a pole had it coming. You couldn’t find our office? Really? THEN HOW ON EARTH ARE YOU STANDING HERE TALKING TO ME.”

They really must not hear that. They certainly act like they don’t. It’s only on crabby days that I shout. I don’t shout every single day. My co-worker does give me a piece of advice on my life every single day. Yesterday it was “I think you need to make better choices in terms of friendship and bedfellows.” I’ve decided I’m going to incorporate her daily wisdom into my blog.

She’s a wise lady.

It's so beautiful it makes me want to throw up. And I  get to live here.

Post work: Walk some dogs. Not my dogs. Some dogs that belong to some friends. I watch them regularly. We play games. We have good talks. The walk was long. (The poor doggies have short little legs. They were troopers.) The leaves were amazing. It was a simply perfect fall day. Simply. Perfect. Things have been a little rough lately. Well, more than a little rough. I’ve been kind of a mess lately. Most things have been a mess lately, and I’ve been trying to claw my way out of this hole.

What a handsome little nugget.

But yesterday, I got my smile back. After the most amazing walk, I went home, got myself into some great new fall clothes, and had dinner at one of my favorite restaurants with a dear friend. Ms. Elizabeth is leaving. For a long, long time. For an island in the Pacific. With the Peace Corps. With no internet. And potentially no running water. Last night was the last time I’ll see her until 2015. 2015. Justin Beiber will (maybe) have gone through puberty by then. OH, how good it was to spend one last evening with her. We drank some beer, we ate some bread, we ate some hummus, we ate some pasta, we ate some cake…we talked about everything. We just got to be. I just love her, and I wish her so much love and light on her journey into the ocean. She’s one of the bravest people I know, and I will miss her so very much. Send that girl some love and strength, world!

So, yesterday was great. I’m still fighting some battles, but I got a little victory. Today I played at the park with two of my favorite small beings, (humans) and one of my favorite large beings (also human). And, I got to go back to tap class. Yes, tap class. Oh, glorious day, tap class—and ballet is coming on Thursday! And, my friend made me chili and complimented my life-sized stuffed sherbert colored winged toothed dragon. I think today was a neat day, too.

Some of my favorite humans.

Do It Herself: The Toolkit

My family is big on practical gifts. Each Christmas my Gramma gets me a big box filled with necessities, things like toilet paper, toothpaste, tinfoil, cans of soup, crackers, chapstick, cleaning products…you get the point. (I’ve finally figured out in the past couple years that if I give her the list of products I prefer a couple months before the holidays, things work out pretty nice for me, and I don’t have to buy much of anything until at least June. Which is when my birthday is, so that’s pretty neat…)

So, we’re that family. The family that buys Mom a spatula every year because inevitably my father/brother/sister has lost all of them/broke them/left them outside and the dogs chew on them. The family that buys Dad new wrenches for his birthday because his are lost somewhere in the hayfield from last August when he was fixing the baler and didn’t put them back on the tractor. One Easter I found underwear hidden in the eggs during the egg hunt. I have very unrealistic expectations from Easter eggs to this day.

One of the most practical gifts of all time came when I was in second grade. I think, probably second. About that time-ish. Let’s just all agree it was second grade. It was a toolkit. A “Do-It Herself Toolkit” to be exact. And because my parents didn’t buy into the whole gender-roles thing, it was BLUE. It had a hammer, a mini screwdriver set (which came in very handy during my clarinet playing years), a regular size screwdriver set, a needle-nose and regular pliers, a crescent wrench, a tape measure, miscellaneous fasteners (lame, still haven’t used those), and three other cool things that Mom thought I would do too much damage with: a scissors, a chalk line, and an exacto knife. Why she let me keep the hammer and not the scissors, I will never ever know. The chalk line I entirely understand.

99 pc. Minus 3.

At the time, I thought it was cool. There were things I needed tools for. Things like building birdhouses and breaking my brother’s stuff, and just basic carrying-around so I looked like I was being helpful. However, these tools have come in unbelievably handy over the years. Example: today, I used my hammer to put up a shelf, and a screwdriver to fix my chair that I tripped over when I was trying to sweep but didn’t want to actually pull the chairs out from the table and sweep under it but attempted to sweep around it…then--trip. The fall happened in more time than it took you to read that. An oh-no…uh oh…this might…wait…oh, crap..yep…shit…this is going to fall and I’m going with it kind of fall.

That practical gift has more than paid for itself. Especially because the name “Do It Herself Toolkit” makes me giggle out loud every time I see it, (hehehehe, seriously. Do It Herself.) but I that little toolkit comes in handy on a weekly basis. (Crap. Now I feel the need to type “That’s what she said” after every sentence about the toolkit.) The chalk line and scissors would be nice though. Mom broke the scissors. Or maybe it was brother. It was probably him. I’ve since bought other scissors, but they don’t match the set. The chalk line…well, Mom said she lost that. (I’m sure she’s kept them for herself. I still could do some serious damage with that.)

So thank you parents. Thank you for the year that you got my brother a Barbie and dress up clothes and me a toolkit. Thank you for practical gifts. This year I wish for a kitchen aid mixer, a serger for my sewing room, a pet monkey and new vacuum. Those are all very practical.

Friday Night Supper: To Ryan

To Ryan:

On Friday night, I had three glasses of wine, an egg and cookie dough for supper.

Good talk.

Getting Dressed Isn't Easy

I hate pants. Just hate them. They're the last thing I put on when I get dressed (if I even wear them, mostly I wear dresses) and the first thing I take off when I get home. There's even a special part of my day I call "No Pants Noon Hour." This post isn't about pants. It's about earrings. But I felt that I should get the whole hating pants truth out. It's a critical feature of my being.

Today, I woke up as usual. I got dressed. In a t-shirt. For work?! Yes. It's Homecoming at the local high school, so I wore a t-shirt. (Yes, it had their mascot on it. Although I did think my "Not Everything in Iowa is Flat" shirt was just as fitting.) My second outfit of choice was nixed, as my boss told me it probably wasn't ok for me to wear a full length cloak to the office. So, I dressed. I accessorized. I went to work at 8:00. At 10:30, I realized something felt funny. Only one ear was making noise. Now, let me clarify. One of my favorite pairs of earrings jingles when I move. And my right ear was jingling, but my left ear wasn't. I reached up, and behold...I was wearing two different earrings. It wasn't as bad as the day I wore two different shoes (one flat, one heeled, and two different colors) but still, different nonetheless.

These. These seemed like they matched this morning.

I decided that while I was completely at ease walking around like that all morning, I couldn't (and my co-worker somewhat accusingly pointed out in so many words) that I looked ridiculous and could not continue my day that way. So I bought new earrings over lunch. That clearly seemed like the easiest answer.

Today is the kind of day where I woke up (under my new awesome and perfect comforter that I have searched for high and low for MONTHS--just ask Steph or Rachel), looked out my window and think "HOLY COW. I GET to live here. This town. This place. I'm a part of something crazy wonderful." Then, I had a pumpkin spice latte and it coconut/cinnamon scone and it got even better. I had my favorite wrap and salad for lunch at one of my favorite restaurants. Tonight, I'm going to a football game with one of my dearest friends in the world. I'm luckier than I deserve to be. 

One thing that has been a recent phenomenon in my life is tears. I never was a big cryer. Sweet and sappy things forced me to make gagging sounds, annoying my friends with sarcasm. Then, all of a sudden, my mid-twenties roll around, and BOOM. Here come the tears. I'm not talking full-on cry-fests, but rather "oh, look at the sweet elderly couple holding hands walking the dog-crap-I-better-not-blink-or-these-tears might-go-somewhere-out-of-my-eyes" kind of cries. On-the-verge kind of cries. This entire week has been filled with the feeling that "everything is so beautiful, my friends are so talented and life is so wonderful that I just want to sit and watch everything be beautiful and cry because life is so short and there's too much good to take in." Except yesterday, when my head hurt so bad I did cry. Those were not "life is so wonderful" tears. Those were "damnitthishurtstoomuchtogetupandfindtheadvilsoiwilllayhereandcontinuetobemiserablewhycan'tihaveahamstertofetchmymedicine" tears

This post was supposed to be about how my co-worker proclaimed today that I am high maintenance. Which, is actually probably true. She knows a lot.

I started.

Once upon a time, there was a super cool girl. (Not me). She bought a pretty yellow house. (Not me.) She kept it clean. (Not me.) She cooked awesome cupcakes and soups. (Not me. Well, I can rock a mean soup...but still, not me.) She had cats. (Definitely not me.) She had a checklist of things to accomplish by the time she was done being 25, and she did it. (Yeah, really not me.) But, this super cool girl started something that I really latched onto...she started a blog about all those neat and fantastic and adult (and some not-so) things she was doing, and she told her friend (me) that I should do the same.


So, this is what you're getting. I'm Emily. I try to be fun. I'm relatively (read:very) loud. I love my friends fiercely. I sew things. I cannot keep a clean house. I like hoppy beer and Irish whiskey. I really, really like dragons. I have too many pictures of other people's pets on my phone. I have a very selective memory. I work at a job where most things that happen to me, most people don't believe. I collect words and people. I live in a crazy wonderful place, and life is good.

Stay tuned.