New blog

I've decided to start a new blog.

Please won't you join me there.

Baby, I'm yours

DUCK BUTT!!

You know you haven't blogged in a while when your browser doesn't autocomplete your domain name.

I'm back, baby!*

*This may or may not be my last blog post for another 3 months.

So yes, the rumors are true. You can stop digging through my trash cans and hyper-pixelating pictures of my stomach.

I am pregnant. Fifteen weeks and three days to be specific. That's about three and a half months, if my maths are correct.

As you can see from this picture, my baby does indeed have a head.

You laugh, but I feared that for about two days. That I'd go to the ultrasound and my baby wouldn't have a head. Because that's pregnancy in a nutshell -- fear. Fear that your baby won't survive the nine months inside you, that it will be born with something wrong, that that Benadryl the doctor told you was OK to take is giving your baby a third eye, that putting your laptop too close to your ute will burn off your baby's eyebrows. Will my baby even have eyebrows? Will it be born eyebrowless?? What a nightmare.

Beyond these fears I'll give you a little FAQ of my pregnancy so far:

Whoops, you're pregnant! Way to go Em! Guess you didn't mean to do that?!?

Listen, jerkwad. I meant to get pregnant. Just because I didn't TELL you I was trying doesn't mean I wasn't. We're just not that close, and it was nunyabizness.

AND EVEN IF I WASN'T (but I was) trying to get pregnant, I wouldn't have been upset. I'm married, I love my husband, we have a home, jobs, are older than 16 and live a pretty happy life. And not to get all Michelle Duggar on you, but I believe children are a blessing. I would have been psyched either way.

So now what? When are you due? What is the baby's sex? What are you going to name it??

Now what is that I let this baby cook for another 25 weeks, godwilling. I am due the end of June. I am not finding out the baby's sex. No, I don't care if this makes you roll your eyes. Yes, I will be able to hold out. No, I don't care that I'll have to shop gender neutral.

As for the names, we're keeping that to ourselves as well. It will be one big giant surprise for everyone the day of. No spoilers on this blog.

Are you going to breastfeed? Will you circumcise a boy? Do you plan on delivering naturally?

I'm sorry, do I know you? No, you're not my husband asking me these questions? Why do people think this is their business? Pregnancy is not a "Get out of the rudeness of asking personal questions free card." That would be hard to put on a card anyway, it's long.

Should you be eating/drinking/doing that?

Yes. I should, Dr. Nobody.

How are you feeling?

I'm feeling OK. I've been telling people that pregnancy is every disgusting thing your body can do, all at once. I'll spare you the details, but you can imagine. I went through a three-week nausea period, a 4-week period where it hurt to be awake, and now I'm going through some pregnancy congestion and pregnancy nosebleeds. Yeah, nosebleeds. Jeff walked by me the other day with a tissue rammed up my nose and sighed, "You're falling apart." And he still kissed me.

Which brings us to...

Is Jeff excited?

Jeff is tremendously excited. He named our baby "Bun" which has stuck, and is a nice alternative to "it" or "he/she." He's bought a ton of baby books already, clothes, and has really taken to the monkey theme for our nursery. See picture:

He's been helpful and supportive and everything I could want in a husband. We are so tremendously excited and eager to meet our little bun. Stay tuned!

Any questions for me? Is anyone still out there?

A self-indulgent post about my self-indulgence

I, like I suspect many others of my generation, went out tonight and saw "The Social Network."

Now, I'd go out to see a movie written by Aaron Sorkin and directed by David Fincher if it was about the creator of the metal detector. I'd also see movies by lesser known and talented people, but I digress. I was there. And I loved it.

I didn't realize I joined Facebook so early on in its existence. It launched in February of 2004. I was on it by that May, though I don't remember the exact date. Northeastern was definitely one of the first schools it branched out to, as I believe after the Ivy Leagues, they hit the Boston schools.

I don't remember who invited me or how I set it up (I didn't even remember there was an invitation process), but I do remember sitting on my dorm room sofa, in front of a window, dressed in a black shirt, my hair twisted back from my face, holding up my digital camera (my second large purchase with my Boston Globe internship money -- first was an iPod mini) and trying to take a photo that made it look like I didn't care what my Facebook photo was. It's good to see I wasn't the only lemming of my time.

I had just turned 20. I was "reeling" from two break-ups in a years time. The first was my high school boyfriend. The second was the man that was going to be my husband. I'm almost certain they were the first two people I sought out when I signed up.

I remember seeing said HS boyfriend at a mutual friend's house not that long after. "Oh, I didn't realize you were on facebook," I said. (Bull). I had used it to find him, his new girlfriend, various exes, THEIR girlfriends of current and past and over the past six years have used it to stalk numerous people. I get angry when privacy settings get in the way of what I want to know about that girl I used to know 20 years ago. I can' see her face! What does she DO? I tend to rely on Facebook to tell me anything I want to know about a person in a few short lines and then I fill out the rest in my head. A lame bio quote can be so telling...

Facebook is my Internet footprint, the first thing that comes up when you search my name, which is both apropos given how much time I spend on it, and sad, given that I used to be a published writer in a past life. (Today's Local News out of Northern San Diego didn't take off quite like some other ventures of the decade. In fact, they've spiked the website, wiping from existence any proof I ever wrote there or was ever a full-time writer. Perhaps that's a good thing.)

It's crazy to think how Facebook is such a symbol of my generation (I think "my generation," anyways. Zuckerberg and I are the same age and were the same year in college.) I wonder how many hours of thought I've put into it in the past six years. What my profile picture would be (we have 3 wedding pictures printed out in our house -- I have over 450 on Facebook), how my "interests" would make me appear to other people, who to friend and when to friend them (usually one meeting is enough for me to seek you out.) Whenever I friend request someone I don't know that well and they accept, I go to my page and look over my profile. I'm admitting this in a sort of blase way, but it is embarrassing. I try and take an unbiased overview of my page. What do these lines of code and data I update infrequently say about me?

Whenever I host live chats, commenters will ask me to put up a picture (I use an avatar instead and have no interest in sharing the sad truth with them.) I'm not particularly flattered by this, there's just as many people who implore me to shut up. They want to see my picture to see if I fulfil some fantasy about girls and sports. Regardless, I always think, "Why don't they Facebook me?" Some of them do, I know because they friend request me. But I always wonder how I come off. Probably as someone's who's trying too hard and not doing it well enough to make it look easy.

I'd like my internet footprint to be more than Facebook someday. I admire people with great ideas and hope that one day I have one.

And Facebook would probably be the first place I'd share it.

The one where...

I just ate the World's Worst Sandwich.

There's a lot of hyperbole out there these days. There's even hyperbole of hyperbole. But you have to believe me when I tell you this was, without a doubt, with no exaggeration, hand to God, the World's Worst Sandwich.

Not only is this the only sandwich they serve in Hell's cafeteria, you have to share this sandwich with Satan, who eats this sandwich with his mouth open for all of eternity.

The remains of the World's Worst Sandwich.

I stood in a long line to order the World's Worst Sandwich. I waited among weary travelers, and you could just TELL no one in the group was entirely jazzed about the sandwich selection. But here we were.

I scanned the board of options. It was one of those places where it lists the calorie count next to each choice.

"How helpful," I thought. Thinking back, I had a fairly large lunch where I had an absolutely delightful blackened salmon sandwich. Clearly, I was tempting fate, mocking the sandwich Gods by attempting to have two delicious sandwiches in one day.

I chose a sandwich with 400 some odd calories. This sandwich will allow me to be conscious of my figure, I said to myself. Then I would wash down with a bucket sized coke.

I was immediately filled with regret when I ordered the World's Worst Sandwich. It was a moment that I will no doubt replay in my mind over and over. As I swiped my debit card -- paying more than $9 for the World's Worst Sandwich by the way -- my stomach immediately curdled. I had no desire to eat this sandwich. It was too late though. The events that would deliver me the World's Worst Sandwich were already in motion.

I went to fill up my coke and then wandered back to the sandwich station. An open glass case allowed me to watch as the World's Worst Sandwich was created. I scanned the ingredient buffet, wondering exactly which components were ear-marked for my sandwich. I located them, and I wretched.

Let me tell you something, blog readers, roasted vegetables should never be applied to a sandwich via an ice cream scoop.

I watched the counter boy, the little demon, wipe the sandwich cutting knife across his apron before he sliced the World's Worst Sandwich. I was very appreciative of how conscious he was: whatever trace of tomato juice he wiped off was obviously an upgrade to the rat feces it looked like he washed his apron in.

My number was called. I went to collect the World's Worst Sandwich. But there was a twist.

What's this? A bag of potato chips accompanies the World's Worst Sandwich! Things are looking up!

I was instantly psyched by this positive development in my dinner, but as the bag made the transfer into my hands, I was swiftly crushed: It was the smallest bag of potato chips I've ever seen in my LIFE.

On the back of the potato chip bag it says, "All the flavor. Where's the fat?"

Well, I have a question for you, potato chip bag copywriter.... Where's the [expletive] chips?

I know it's hard to see, so let me tell you that this bag of potato chips had exactly 10 chips in it. And, shocker, they were awful. They don't even bother to call them potato chips. They call them "popped chip snack." Eff you.

I brought the World's Worst Sandwich back to my car. I unwrapped it, surveyed it. It looked dreadful. But still, I'd paid for it. So I bit in.

I should have just taken this sandwich, found the person I hated most in the world, and thrown it in their face. That would have been the appropriate purpose of this sandwich. Every ingredient was the wrong temperature. It tasted like pickled dirt.

If they replaced the hospital pain chart with a chart of sandwiches, with a nice, crispy spicy buffalo chicken sandwich being a 1 -- this sandwich would represent pain so intense you begged for death. I would rather die than eat this sandwich again.

I ate a third of it anyway. Then I crumpled it up and put it on the driver's side seat. I considered running this sandwich into a tree. Taking this sandwich far out in the woods and burying it.

Instead I brought it home and threw it in the trash.

So thank you, Charlton, Massachusetts rest stop "Fresh City," for providing me with the World's Worst Sandwich. You win this time. I learned a valuable lesson today that if I desire a nosh, but also need gas, I would be better off drinking straight from the pump than eating this sandwich.

And I'm still hungry.

Home is wherever I'm with you

I'm not having a great evening. I rarely cry (and I'm not now), but when I'm feeling down, I try and remind myself how lucky I am. And then I feel even more sad because I'm such a cheesy writer.

Onwards...

• My life is 6% better right now because: My husband has made me a home cooked meal the past two nights. And seriously HOME COOKED. There have been carrots pealed and diced, from-scratch marinara sauces simmering and more parsley purchased than will garnish the plates at Applebees this month. It's part of a challenge Jeff is doing, and I'm proud of him for it. And the food is gooooooood. (Check out Jeff's blog for more details of this exciting new project.)
• My life is 4.5% better because: Louis CK. I'm mildly obsessed with him right now. Are you watching his show on FX? It's absurdly hilarious. Unless I'm watching it with my mom, in which case it is completely inappropriate and should be canceled immediately.
• My life is 3% better because: I hate to come back to food so quickly, but my aunt's homemade blueberry jam/jelly (hell if I know the difference) has been the highlight of my mornings. Things are just seriously, so much better when they are homemade. The Amish are onto something!
• My life is 2.37% better because: I found a pair of shorts that I like for the first time since I was a teenager. That is a long time to wear pants in the heat, a lot of unnecessary sweating, a LOT of leg paleness LET ME TELL YOU.
• My life is 1.48% better because: I'm drinking beer now. I decided to get into it, GIVE IT A WHIRL, find out what all the RAVES are about. I started with the girly beers (Bud Light Lime anyone?) and am slowly working my way through the Sam Adamses of the world. Not sure it will ever be my first choice, but I'll never feel lonely at a kegger again.
• My life is 0.72% better because: Our credit cards are paid off, our non-student loan debt is nearly non-existent, and we're on the track to start buying a home. How FREAKING exciting. It's like I'm almost an adult! (Hoping to get all the way there by 32.)
• My life is .0065% better because: I'm working hard, and I know I am. It's satisfying, and it makes me better than you.

What is making your life good right now?

The hate list

I gotta be honest with you, blog reader: not a lot of thought goes into my blog posts. I don't spend a lot of time crafting a thesis, writing an outline, or stealing jokes from lesser known bloggers. I don't even usually re-read my posts cause damn... I do that all day.

I usually say, hey self... why don't you blog something so you don't feel like such a fracking failure of a writer. Then I cry for 30 minutes, find a topic and head over here to rattle off 15 minutes worth of thoughts, hit publish and send the contents of my word vomit out into cyber space to be found by the kind of people who google, "construction company picnic games contests." (Seriously.)

Just wanted to give you a little insight into the mind of the blog magician.

But since you're here, hey, how about a little story?

When I was in high school (GLORY DAYS!), I used to hang out in big packs of people. On weekend nights, my mother would literally drop me on corners and a huge crowd of like 30 friends would wander the neighborhood until we found a parent willing to let the group of us into their basement where we would TOTALLY MAKE OUT.

When we weren't attempting to open beer bottles by breaking them on the cement, we did things like compile a "Hate List." Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking we put other students on it, and spread vicious rumors about classmates. But alas, dear blog reader, my life is not a Tina Fey movie. Examples of things on our hate list included: The pledge of allegiance, the Mowry sisters, and the quadratic formula. See, we couldn't spread vicious rumors about the nerds in our class because WE WERE THE NERDS. And weeeeeee were quirky!

Anyways, I'm pretty sure I held said hate list for the duration of high school, and we'd add as necessary. And then I lost it. I'd give my right arm to see it because it became legendary and I could really use it to milk for a blog post. Oh wait...

As I've gotten older, there's a lot more to hate. Here's a few things I hate:

• Milk.
• The fact that no one cleans up after me.
  
• Anyone who runs a mile under 12 minutes.
  
• Sylvester Stallone's creepy arms.
• Fake laughter.
  
• Thinking.
• Bad iced coffee.
  
• When my windshield wipers get sucky.
• Myself, for reading Perez Hilton.com.
  
• Star Wars/Major League quotes.
• Celebrities who drop 40 pounds 3 weeks after they give birth to four pound babies.
  
• Sunshine.
  
• Sherbet.
• Guilt trips.
  
• Crazy cakes statements from Jesse Jackson.
• LOLing over 16.
• Renee Zellweger's weird squish face.
  
• People who spell Twilight -- Twighlight. You are just all kinds of dumb, girl.
• High school boys with more precise hairdos than I have.
• People who insist I repeat my last name so they can know how to pronounce it correctly when it doesn't matter/they won't remember.
  
• Anyone who thought the following movies were good: Step Brothers, No Country for Old Men or The Thin Red Line.
• The fact I will never look like this.
• Insects.
  
• Kombucha. Because I don't know what it is and all of a sudden it's everywhere. I fear what I do not understand.
• Lady Gaga.
  
• HTML.
• Men's Health.
  
• The credit card commercial that ends with a song playing that says, "Callll meeeeeeee."
  
• Nurses who can't spell surgery. There ain't no sugar in it.
• When I want to drop a swear word on the internet but I can't because my "mom" and "my superiors" read my blog.
• The fact that this man and I will never be one.
  
• Laziness.
• My back.
• When my mix CDs get scratched.
  
• Having to create user names and passwords for EVERYTHING.
• Bloggers who get free stuff. That ain't fair. I want a year long supply of Venus flytraps, Jordan almonds, desk calendars, SOMETHING.
• Excessive hating. Seriously, lighten up.
  

I'm thinking I'll add to this list as time goes on because I do hate so, so much. What do you hate dear reader? An no, no names.

I'll bet that you look good on the dancefloor

Do you like music? You do? Gosh, we have so much in common.

I'm a girl. No.... really. As such, I've had a few mix tapes made for me in my life. I guess I attract that kind of man. It could be worse. I could attract the kind of man who gives me an STD.

Mix tapes are a great thing to receive, whether it be from a friend or someone who's interested in you (the MORE you KNOW). Jeff has made me a boat load of mix CDs in our relationship, I'd venture to say over 30. He's been, basically, my entire source of new music over the last four or so years. He always complains how I don't make any mix CDs for him... how could I? I'm a hermit.

But recently, I've been exchanging mix CDs with a friend. And like Rob Gordon once said, "The making of a good compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many do's and don'ts. First of all you're using someone else's poetry to express how you feel. This is a delicate thing."

When you make somebody a mix CD you desperately want them to love it. You want them to think, "The maker of this CD is keenly aware of all things cool. She obviously is someone with many friends with tattoos and piercings and probably once had purple hair. She eats all her food with chopsticks and conducts her business at coffee houses. She knows sign language and has been to Croatia."

Anywhoozle, I went the ol' Cover Songs route the last exchange. And if I do say so myself, it was pretty dope. (Do people still use that word? If not, they will, because I have, and I am at the forefront of TRENDS.)

Here be the track list. And here's a link to all the songs on a playlist. Love 8tracks!

Track 01: Into the Mystic -- Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova (Van Morrison)

A few months ago I saw a little movie called "Once." If you have not seen this movie, you need to DROP IT right now and rent it. I enjoyed it so much I watched it twice, nearly back to back. I loved it so much I wouldn't shut up about it. I like it so much that you would not want to see it just because, just to spite me, because I love it so much. While spite is a perfectly good reason not to see a movie, I urge you not to miss out just because I make you roll your eyes. The movie stars the aformentioned Hansard/Irglova combo and their voices are like butter and brown sugar together. And Into the Mystic is one of my favorite songs of all time.

Track 02: Baby I'm Yours -- Arctic Monkeys

Track 03: Overkill -- Colin Hay

Technically cheating. I did not know this was a self cover until I was halfway through watching the VIDEO of the original and thought to myself, "Duhhh... these two lead singers sound awfully alike!" Then I walked into a doorframe and washed a pen with my clothes.

Track 04: Bizarre Love Triangle -- Frente!

Don't you love when a female covers a male vocal? This song is so stripped down it's GAWGEOUS.

Track 05: Jolene -- White Stripes

GOOSEBUMPS. Not the series, the sensation.

Track 06: I Just Can't Help Falling in Love With You -- U2

Track 07: Just Like Heaven -- Laura Cortese

Track 08: Hurt -- Johnny Cash

Track 09: Asshole -- Tom Petty

Track 10: Sheena Is a Punk Rocker -- Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs

Track 11: Live and Let Die -- Guns and Roses

These are all pretty self explanatory, right? I'm going to keep going if you don't mind.

Track 12: Gone Daddy Gone -- Gnarls Barkley

I popped this one on here because said friend is a Violent Femmes fan. For some reason this song makes me want to the do the mashed potato (do the mashed potato).

Track 13: Don't Let Me Down -- Stereophonics

Track 14: Romeo and Juliet -- The Killers

Track 15: Scarlet Begonias -- Sublime

Track 16: You Ain't Going Nowhere -- Glen Hansard & Marketa Irglova

So nice I had to include them twice. Oooooo weeee!

Track 17: Running to Stand Still -- Elbow

Track 18: Wonderwall -- Ryan Adams (Thanks Jessica!)

Track 19: Mad World -- Gary Jules (it's a cover, look it up!)

Track 20: Last Kiss -- Pearl Jam

Track 21: I Will Survive -- Cake

Track 22: I Just Gotta Get a Message to You -- Gavin Castleton

I love a good key change. Who doesn't?

What other good covers are there out there? Anyone else have any good summer playlists they want to share? Hello... is this thing on?

It couldn't have been that easy to forget about me

Did you know that one of the suggestions blogspot gives you for tags is "scooters"?

I'm afraid I'm not here to write about scooters. I have something even more exciting than scooters to talk about. No, not super shammies.... EVEN better.

I had a good week/end. And is there anything that makes you feel better about your life than knowing my life is good? I thought not.

It all started at Sharx. (Not a gay bar, unfortunately.)

Duh... nuh... duh... nuh... dun nuh dun nuh.

I brought my clever pop culture references down to Rhode Island for a night to celebrate the 27th of one of Earth's truly fine fellas: my bestie Justin.

The birthday boy.

Not the birthday boy.

It was a truly fine time. I drank some girly drinks, reminisced with my oldest friends about all the dumb stuff we used to do and ate boneless buffalo wings at an unreasonable hour. Success!

But Rhode Island wasn't done with me yet. Not by a long shot.

(I thought this blog needed a little cliffhanger drama.)

The next day Jeff and I headed back to the Ocean State for a BBQ at my uncle's beautiful Scituate home.

Jeff gets SUPER excited when I take him out.

Jeff played about four hours of "bag toss"...

... while I took emo pics of myself lying in the grass. (I call this one "Morning Mist.")

We were also there to celebrate my gorgeous cousin Katie's birthday. (She's the blonde, in case you have trouble deciphering obvious pictures.)

How CUTE is my cousins' baby McKenna? Don't you want to DIE, just LITERALLY DIE when you see this picture? No? Still alive? It's cool, you don't have a soul.

Family time done, Jeff and I were off to NYC in the morning....

We got there around 1 p.m. and headed over the Virgil's for BBQ off a recommendation from my buddy Tim.

I'm not much of a BBQ fan, but this was very good. Jeff loved his sandwich. You still with me?

That night we were headed out to see Conan's live show at Radio City Music Hall.

BUT FIRST!

See these two blurry figures? That's Jessica (at this here hyperlink you can find her highly entertaining blog -- and yes, she's that stunning in person) and her band dude a.k.a husband, Jesse. They were friends of a friend who became real friends because who wouldn't want to be friends with me?

Don't answer that.

Anyways, they've become a staple on NYC trips whether they want to be or not. They met us out at a brewery near Radio City and we talked all things hip. There was an extended conversation on horror movies that I didn't contribute to much (Me: "Derrrrr, I don't like scary movies.") These two actually submitted themselves to the Human Centipede.

And then they submitted themselves to some photos of us, which might be equally disturbing. (I'm on the forefront of self-depricating humor.)

These pictures are a good example of how much cooler Jessica is than I am.

Here's a photo she took of us on my iPhone camera.

And one with hers.

Mine.

Hers.

Sent away in shame because of my inferior cellphone picture technology (jkjkjk) we were off to Conan!

And I did. Oh, I did.

Conan's show was awesome. Totally worth the trip, from the opening act to the end. You know what's fun? Laughing. And I did. A lot. WIN.

The next morning, we were off to Hoboken, N.J. While Jeff conducted a phone interview, I took some more pictures of myself.

I am so into me.

One of these days I'll get it right.

View of NYC from Hoboken.

Cannoli pit stop.

We met up with Zach, one of Jeff's groomsmen and best friends who gave us the 10 cent tour of Hoboken and subjected us to a series of thought provoking questions that made me question my entire existence for about a good 17 minutes.

Then Zach, Jeff and I headed to....

Over the past few weeks my coworkers have spent an unreasonable amount of time talking about ballpark food. Seriously, take the amount of time you could comfortably talk about what food you enjoy/don't enjoy eating at a ballpark, double it, multiply it by pi and add four hours and that's how long we talked about it. So here's my sausage and peppers guys.

Crazy eyes, killa!

Zach and Jeff. Missing is the third piece of the triangle, good friend Steve Sears, who was the best man at my wedding and the frosting in this oreo. Zach managed to call him, though, to keep him part of the group, greeting him over the phone, "Hey, stupid."

It was a beautiful night for a ballgame, and these two spoke while I daydreamed about if I could jump from my seat and manage to grab onto the foul pole. (Spoiler: I decided against it.)

All in all, it was a good week/end. (And other generic endings to posts.)

For those that read to the end, what would you like to see me write about, anything? Nothing? Leave me a comment if you read.

No one's interested in something you didn't do

You know what I like? Pictures. You know what's even better than pictures? Cell phone pictures. When I see something cool, I instantly want to remember that moment as it would have appeared to me after Dwight Howard and I played one on one. (You come here, of course, for the topical humor.)

What better place to clean out my iPhone then on my blog. Here are some images I've captured over the last few months.


You can't really see what's going on here. That is the point of cell phone photography. On a related note, I snapped these two old women while they were in Dunkin Donuts one weekday morning, ignoring each other and texting on their cell phones. I like to imagine they were texting each other.

Old lady #1: "Have you tried the new bagel twists, homie?"
Old lady #2: "Natch."
Old lady #1: "LOL"
Old lady #2: "Let's put the top down and listen to some GAGA."


I wanted these sneakers for Christmas. I took a photo of the shoes and the box with the brand name and style and forwarded it around to the appropriate people. I didn't get them. This is because most of the people who buy me presents don't actually like me all that much.


After I scoped out the sneakers, I went to the GAP and took pictures of myself trying on clothes. This was all while I was supposed to be out buying Christmas presents for other people. Should I have gotten this dress? It could have changed my entire existence. Just another one of those what-ifs in life.




"Look at this jerk," I said to myself while I snapped this picture. "People will be as outraged as me when they see this photo."


Jeff was pretty excited to go out and play some golf one Saturday morning. Did I mention those shorts are reversable, BECAUSE THEY ARE. Find the five hidden unicorns in our bedroom!



Jeff and I went to go see Seinfeld at Foxwoods. What's the deal with my husband never wanting to pose for pictures?


This is me on the other side of the table, so now you can truly put the pieces together.


This is a picture of something on the SportsCenter set. I'm pretty sure it includes the key to the finale of LOST. (You definitely came for the topical humor!)

It's fair to describe my caption skills as mediocre, but with a birthday party, Memorial Day and trip to NYC upcoming, you'll have lots to look forward in the upcoming days in terms of mobile photography. Maybe I'll do a submit your own caption, because the people seem to like those.

Did you know I have 22 subscribers to this blog... seriously, who are you folks? Reveal yourself and win a free T-shirt!

See you in another life, brutha

And my reign of clever blog post titles CONTINUES. Awwww yeah... nice. E-five!

What I'm going to do in this here blog post is do a bit of a "live blog" of the LOST finale. It's totally my thing, but you kind of knew that. And you're so glad you came. So come, waste a few minutes of your life with me. ::Takes off shoes, puts on sneakers::

8:05: I'm going to go get a fountain coke (oops, you'd have LOVED to know what I typed there by accident) from the Cumberland Farms up the road. Brb.

8:21: ::Sips coke:: (oh man, that typo would be really unfortunate there). Ah, something about a fountain coke that's better than a regular one, amirite? The sugar is concentrated! And what's the deal with those automatic flushing toilets? Wacky!

My options at the gas station for cups were, no joke, LARGE, LARGE and LARGE. This cup is heavier than a newborn baby. So DON'T YOU JUDGE ME! At least I wasn't there to buy cigarettes. Those things will kill ya. ::Pops peanut M&M::

Anyways, where were we? Ah, the LOST finale. I just want you to know, that while I'm not the biggest LOST superfan on planet Earth, I never wavered in my support of the show. Even in the finale stinks, it will still be one of the best shows ever on TV. That said, if the finale sucks, I may murder a stray cat, just to get a release.

8:27: "Tonight at 12, cure for food allergies in a shot glass of hookworms?" Um, pass.

8:42: They've just gotten to the recap of the Richard episode of this season. I say... second best regular season (non-finale) episode of the show. The episode where Charlie dies was probably the best. Hey, I'm just trying to make conversation here.

8:49: Ten minutes away! How's that for an update!

8:55: Worst job in show business -- John Locke's body double.

8:59: And aaaaawwwwwwayyyy we go!

9:00: Gahhhh we don't need more recap, just got on with it brutha!

9:08: I'm feeling the beginning already. They've stepped up everything, the acting, the scenery, the music, like they always do for finales. This exchange also took place between Jeff and I.

Me: "I think Jack is dying in this episode."

Jeff: "I agree." ::pause:: "You should get that prediction down. That way you can prove you predicted it. That's how predictions work." Predication.... made.

9:15: "What was this dog's name? Mitch? Buddy? Spot?" Oh hey, it's Rose and Bernard. Don't care, don't care, don't care. "Oh yes Desmond, you will." Not the best dialogue ever. We're 20 minutes in friends.

Am I the only one enjoying this NBA speech-autotune commercials? I think they're creative. Jeff thinks they're awful. Thoughts? Leave them in the comments. Or just speak directly at the screen. It's the thought that counts.

9:21: Miles and Richard. Two characters I do care about, yet completely forgot about coming into this finale. Yikes, they have a lot of loose ends here.

9:24: Oh hai, Juliet.

9:25: I never get any cool flashbacks. I only get very specific hunger cravings. My life sucks.

9:27: "I can access your mind... through your dreams." Not now, "Inception" trailer. I can't handle. Wait your turn to scramble my brain please.

9:36: Oooooh! Jack v. Smoke Monster. Royal Rumble.

The thing is.... Jack is ALWAYS wrong. They've pretty much established that as a given this entire series. So... will tonight be different? Will pigs fly? Will hell freeze over? And who said you could finish all the peanut M&Ms BRO?

9:40: Juliet is the MOM. I did not see that .... well, yeah I kinda did. And what divorced people get along that well? This really is a sideways world! (See... see what I did there?)

9:46: Speaking of "seeing what you did there" .... bravo Target. Advertising works, kids.

9:48: I just got choked up because I'm honestly going miss Hurley on TV.

Shannon and Sayid: Goosebumps. Hello, beautiful people. Ridiculously beautiful people.

9:53: Finale definitely not letting me down so far. It's moving along at a good pace. I'm actually starting to get sad it's almost over. Also not letting me down: Twitter trending "Smoke Monster" right under "Craig Sager." If the smoke monster had taken the shape of Craig Sager, this would have been a much different show.

10:00: I never get invited to swank parties to benefit Natural History Museums. I don't think I've ever been to a Natural History Museum period. I don't even know what natural history means! My life sucks.

10:03: What just happened, what just happened, what just happened?! Jack is wrong again?!? What just happened, what just happened, what just happened?! OR IS HE?!

Jacob chose... poorly. And now the island is going to rapidly age and blow into dust!

I just told my coworker Chris, on the West coast, that "things just got gully." I brought that word back from a past life. I shall now beat it into the ground over the next few weeks, kthx.

10:12: I sure hope when the day comes, and I have to deliver a baby, the labor lasts 5 minutes and I push three times. #ThingsImWillingToOverlook. Oh, is this not Twitter?

10:18: Words failing me. They're really bringing it. Halfway through mon freres.

10:23: "Now it's Creed! Now Balboa!" And yes, I got that spear in the side Biblical reference, LOST. You can't put one past ol' Emily, nosireebob. HATED Kate's line, LIKED (didn't LOVE) that she was the one to kill him. Kinda.

10:28: This live blog has really fallen apart, eh? Tonight, a friend of mine used the word "ill-conceived" to describe me. Right... what kind of description is that? One hour left!

10:33: "See me where?" That's what I want to know!! Where are they going? Am I invited? No? I'm not? Why not? What's wrong with the way I dress? You don't have to be that way about it.

10:36: "Tell me I'm going to see you again." Oh, I'll tell you... WITH MY TONGUE.

10:45: "Did we live together in the 70s?" -- Line courtesy of my husband.

10:48: LOST: Making finale clip shows WORK.

10:57: They're really packing a punch emotionally, eh? "I'll see you in another life, brutha!" Whammo! The rest of this blog is just going to be me making sound effects.

11:05: You know, I don't know what the light is but I don't really care. This show is just so yummy.

10:12: Michael Emerson, one of the best actors on TV, period. Hope he lands somewhere. AND WHERE ARE THEY GOING?

10:15: 15 minutes and LOST is DONE. Sad face.

11:18: Is this like Cocoon? Where they gather up the old people about leaving and they all turn into glowing orbs and float into the sky? Is that Cocoon? That seems wrong. Hell if I know.

11:26: Tears, tears!

11:27: Hate to interrupt the tears, but seems pretty glaring they left out Walt and Michael from this little shindig!

11:30: Speechless. Give me time to digest.

OK, I did. Best finale ever.

Breathe out, so I can breathe you in

Oh GOSH do you know it's going to be an excellent blog post when I quote EVERLONG in the title. It's like the apex (makes tiny triangle over head) of creativity. You're thinking, this girl knows her epically popular 90s songs and this blog post is going to be goooooooood.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to write about.

When I sit down to write a blog post with nothing to say I end up sounding equal parts stoned and equal parts suicidal. (Note: I am neither. OR AM I? I am not.)

(Also, the more parentheticals I use THE BETTER. AM I RIGHT? Note: This also applies to CAPS.)

So what's been up, boyee? Not too much. Not too much. I just opened a bag of Sun Chips and the bag made such a loud noise Jeff immediately said, "You're gonna need a plate."

It's that kind of up to date information on my life you've been missing.

Possible topics for this post were pitched as:

1. The Rape Condom

2. The Human Centipede.

3. [Redacted]

4. Camel Spiders

5. My singing abilities

6. Bras or Pants -- which sucks more to wear?

I don't think I should touch the first two (LITERALLY! Hey-o!) because this is a family blog. Also: Don't google camel spiders. They will haunt your dreams and then actually eat out your brains through your eyeballs in your sleep. Or so I've been told.

My singing abilities were "shown off" last Wednesday night in a dive country western bar in downtown Bristol, CT the other night. Don't worry, I'll text you the address. My coworkers (hi Chris!) and I had all gathered for our annual gathering for gathering's sake, and this bar was just one short gravely walk across the parking lot from our hotel. Naturally, we ended up living there for three days. Note: When you walk in somewhere and it has a mechanical bull you know you're in for a good time even though no one in your party will have the guts to ride it any look like a fool.

Fortunately, there was plenty of time to look like a fool as Wednesday's are karaoke. Karaoke was being run by a guy who looked like Mario Batali's fatter, less successful and more musical little brother. He had a long red ponytail and apparently a very fruitful career which had let him to our little corner of the world on that night.

Not a lot of people in our group were really gutsy (is gutsy the right word?) enough for karaoke, but we finally goaded one of the writers up to the stage where he then blew our minds with a particularly straight faced and unforgettable performance of Gin & Juice, complete with a few loud "Biatch!"'s at the end. Well done, sir.

My buddy Tim was up next, singing "Radar Love" -- a song which I have never heard before in my life, but sounded brilliant. Tim then suggested he and I sing a song.

Now, I'm not shy. I'm not adverse to making a fool of myself in public, speaking my mind, doing the robot, drinking too much and revealing embarrassing details about myself, etc. This is why people always have the utmost respect for me. But I can't sing. So I don't usually karaoke.

But Tim was goading me, and wanting to be a good sport, I obliged. The exchange went something like this.

Tim: "Let's sing Barenaked Ladies 'If I Had a Million Dollars.' Everyone will love it and be singing along with us at the end."

Me: Dopey smile and complete trust in this statement.

Cue us on stage. Song starts. Awwww... damn. I really don't know this song that well at all.

***Crickets***

There is video of this somewhere, but I could only watch the first 20 seconds before I wanted to die of shame. And thus ends my karaoke career. (But who are WE kidding!)

By the end of the three days I realized I have pretty much the coolest coworkers on the planet which makes my job so easy and great. I'm so damn lucky, you know that? I don't think there's many girls on this planet who have surrounded themselves with such amazing and funny and good (I broke out the thesaurus there!) people as I have. And by surrounded, I mean virtually. I see them once a year. They don't know how little I shower and that's probably a good thing.

I'll wrap this up by saying, it's a close debate but ultimately: Pants.

-- Drops mic --

It's da Oscahs!

Throwing my hat in for meaningless Oscar blogs.

I only do the major categories: Best Movie, Best Actor/Actress, Supporting Actor/Actress because it's my blog and I'll pull it right over if you don't SHUT YOUR MOUTH. Besides, what do I know about directing, or screenplays, or art design? Nuthin.

We'll start with movies.

So OMG, did you hear?! TEN movies were nominated for Best Picture. And I saw nine of them, which is pretty good but essentially frustrating. I so do enjoy a good 100%.

We'll rank them in order I liked them.

It's tough, because I really did mostly enjoy all of them ...

1. District 9 -- I didn't want to see this movie. I thought it would suck. It most definitely did not suck. I really, really, really enjoyed it and Sharlto Copley rocked my world. I had to look up his name, but he had the best performance of the year (more on that later.) Obviously not going to win, but it makes no matter to me ... Best movie of the year.

2. Precious -- I watched this movie with one of the worst audiences I've ever shared a movie space with. But the emotion of this movie cut through the jerkoffs in the theater. The praise for Mariah Carey is a little overrated, but the other acting performances in this movie are extremely moving.

3. Up in the Air -- I think I wrote enough about this one.

4. UP -- Yeah it's a cartoon. So what. It's original ... for a cartoon.

5. Inglorious Basterds -- My favorite Tarantino movie. Acting in this also top-notch.

6. The Hurt Locker -- I know, sixth!?! Like I said, I enjoyed all these movies, I really did. I think seeing the Hurt Locker on the home TV instead of the movie theater hurt my perception. It was very suspenseful, but the ending felt ever so slightly off for me, and the plot slightly predictable.

7. The Blind Side -- Speaking of predictable... (Still a very solid sports movie.)

8. Avatar -- Speaking of predictable... (Still a very solid sci-fi movie.)

9. A Serious Man -- Well, first of all. I spent the first 45 minutes thinking Colin Firth was supposed to show up. Second of all, I've come to the conclusion I just don't enjoy Coen Brothers movies at all. This wasn't the worst of them (Intolerable Cruelty). I felt like this was trying to be a Tarantino movie, but with Jews. And not butt-kickin' ones.

10. An Education -- N/A. Didn't see it.

----------------------

Best Actor

Well..... I didn't see Crazy Heart, Invictus or, turns out, A Single Man. The other two nominees were good, but didn't blow me away. Why wasn't Copley (I had to look it up again) nominated for District 9??!?! My blogging buddy Jessica tells me it's because the Academy doesn't like to nominate first-time actors, but then why I ask you, why were some of these others nominees nominated?! I have no doubt she has a much smarter and well thought out answer for that than I do. But she's away so I get to pound my fists!

When in doubt, go with Ebert: "Bridges' great performance swept the critics' awards, won a Golden Globe, a SAG award and now looks like the winner. Jeremy Renner or George Clooney could win, but Bridges has the momentum."

----------------------

Best Actress

I hit three of the five here. Just because Meryl Streep is good in everything doesn't mean she should get nominated every time. I feel like they threw Blind Side into Best Picture just to make it fathomable to nominate Sandra Bullock. I mean, she was good. But ... you know. It was a slightly above average sports film.

Gabby Sidibe was brilliant in Precious. And, while I know this has absolutely nothing to do with the Oscars, has turned out to be one of the most likable females in Hollywood in ages. I really, really hope she wins.

----------------

Best Supporting Actor

Errr... yeah. I only saw Christoph Waltz and from what I hear, that's all that matters. He was super duper crazy good in Iglorious Basterds and I can't wait to see him in more stuff.

---------------

Best Supporting Actress

Monique wasn't a character in Precious. She was a person. She was a real person and I believed every ounce of that performance. Blown. Away. Game. Set. Match.

Heading to the gym and then red carpet and then Oscars! (I won't actually be there, but you know.)

You mapped a route with all right turns

Look at that chest of drawers. It's mocking me.

It's saying, no, I will not keep my drawers on track. Are you nuts? Every single one of them will go crooked until you can't budge them at all -- to open or close. And yes, it makes me laugh at you. Sucka!

I've hated few things like I hate this chest of drawers. I want to light it on fire every time I see it. I want to take it out back like the guys in "Office Space" took care of that fax machine.

I'm 26 years old and my house is tribute to second hand furniture. Few things we own are originals, much of it got damaged in some way on our move to and from San Diego, and almost everything else is discount. We had the bright idea to save this chest of drawers from the dregs of Jeff's parent's basement, but now I know why it was down there. It is the devil.

Jeff and I are starting the very early process of looking into home buying. We're not quite sure how the five double-yous will work, but it's on the horizon. I'm looking at buying a home as the single greatest fresh start we can have. It will most likely be in a different place. And I want to chuck all our furniture in one large death to disco blaze.

Jeff is more prudent. "The couches can go in the basement!" The basement. Where good furniture goes to die. What's the point? The walls are closing in and we're a few more crappy pieces of furniture, a few more framed newspaper fronts, 20 records (records!) and about four more books away from being on an episode of Hoarders.

A sample of what we're holding onto: A few months ago I went through all the stuff an ex-boyfriend gave me. Some people have no problem chucking that stuff out, and I wasn't keeping it for sentimental value. I just feel like when someone gives you something with feeling, you should hang onto it. I suppose that is sentimental value, but I don't miss it. What was I going to do with it anyway?

But the things in our tiny, rented house are like a museum of our late teens, early-20s. I wonder sometimes if because Jeff and I met when we were 19 that we're doomed to sort of always be 19-year-olds to each other.

The first step was to break away from our parents. I was pretty independent early on. I don't deserve a special award for this, but I've paid my own bills for years and years now. I'm surprised with how many people my age don't.

And I think the final step to growing up is to chuck the hand-me-down furniture, the old cards, the broken picture frames, the clothes that don't fit and never ever will (I have a pair of jeans my mom gave me more than 5 years ago I'm still holding out hope for), the goddamn Yankee throw blanket that Jeff actually once used as a wall decoration (I wish I was joking), and everything else that's weighing us down.

The first thing to do is get rid of this stupid, cursed set of drawers. It might be suggested I donate it to charity, but honestly, this bureau is like the video in The Ring, and I don't want someone else to have to find themselves cursing at an inanimate object.

But seriously, does anyone have any kerosene? I promise it will be a controlled fire and in no way will I be laughing maniacally...

Til the End of Time

O-M-F-G, who does NOT want another LOST recap? Come on, raise your hands?!

Put your hands down losers, I can't flippin' see you.

I went down to Rhode Island Tuesday night to my boy (can girls say that? Survey says: yes) Justin's house to watch LOST with my other boy, Drew. It's been a while since my boys (see: death, horse beating) and I got together, just the three of us. Don't get me wrong, I love my husband. I know, weird right? but worth repeating. And I love Drew's girl (not as much as my husband, but I think she understands). But it was nice having it be just the three of us. Same sense of humor, same reference points, general comfortability and relaxationilization. (And if Justin is reading this, he's rolling his eyes, and if Drew is reading it, he's smirking and thinking of something smart to say -- thanks for reading guys!)

Anyways we were all fist-pumpingly excited for the LOST premiere. We settled into Justin's abnormally clean apartment. I had a sandwich, Andrew had a four pound bag of cookies. For the first time in a while, I hadn't spoiled myself for the season premiere. Honestly, I didn't have the TIME. So I was going into this cold turkey.

After watching Juliette's "fall" three times in about 10 minutes, we were finally ready to start. Eye opens, Kate's in a tree, we're ready to go.

I'm not going to synopsize the whole episode, we'll break it down bullet-style.

Things I liked:

• The nice little interaction between Jack and Locke in the lost luggage room. Old school Locke. Can't we all just get along? Turns out we can!

Hmmm... that was pretty much it.

Things I didn't like:

• The death of Juliette was epically cheesy. Nevermind she survived the fall -- fine. And then lived to hang out for a while after the bomb exploded. But then to die in such an epically cheesy way. (Quote of the night to Andrew: "Didn't she know she was going to die when she started that sentence? Maybe she should have skipped the first part.") It reminded me a little of the all-time lamest death I've ever seen on screen -- Trinity's death in the third Matrix movie. She spent about 25 minutes punctured by about half a dozen steel rods. If I had been the kind of person who does things like that, I would have yelled at the movie screen Elaine-style, "Just DIE already!!" Anyways, Juliette's death reminded me of that.
• The temple people. Every LOST fan on planet earth was saying, "Nooooo! No more new characters PLEASE!" And then to have it be sooo corny. Oh, of COURSE the guy in charge is an Asian guy with a fu-manchu who hates Americans and has -- wait for it -- kick-ass karate skills! And he likes prune plants. And wear leather vests. I'm not sure the last one is an Asian stereotype but regardless, it was cornball.

Those were my two biggest beefs. I don't like it when LOST goes cheesy.

At every commercial break Justin would express his disappointment. ("9:43 and I'm not impressed.... 10:27 and I think there will be bad reviews tomorrow!) Andrew and I fought him until the end when I think we kind of agreed with his assessment.

Theories:

I have none. I think this work week was too busy for me to properly process this episode. They've established these are parallel universes and these are flash-sideways but the fact of the matter is I just wanted them to PICK ONE. And if they weren't going to pick one, I wanted to see what would happen if the plane never crashed -- and we didn't even see that. There was something off about the present day non-crash scenario.

Sigh.

Of course I haven't given up. But this episode didn't knock me out of the park. The season premiere's of LOST usually don't though -- it's the finales where they blow me away. I give this episode of a 4 out of 10.

We can do better.

And just like that...

If you didn't trust my word that I didn't see this until roughly an hour after I wrote my last post, you'd think I'd ripped it off. Maybe you still will. But this piece, written by Mark Mofard, SF Gate columnist fits my mood. Even love the headline, "Why are you so terribly disappointing?"

Best quote is as follows.

But we don't stop there. Not only are we disappointed, we need to express it. Vent it. Hiss it and spit it and hurl it like fistfuls of mental manure at the great wall of hey, screw you.

You have but to take a peek in the comments section below this column, any column, any article on this or any news site whatsoever, to see just how mean and nasty we have become. It does not matter what the piece might be about. Obama's speech. High speed rail. Popular dog breeds. Your grandmother's cookies. The anonymous comments section of any major media site or popular blog will be so crammed with bile and bickering, accusation and pule, hatred and sneer you can't help but feel violently disappointed by the shocking lack of basic human kindness and respect, much less a sense of positivism or perspective.

As someone who edits stories for a major news website, I'm consistently disgusted by the comments (nay, judgments) people leave on other's writing, anonymously. Hey, yeah, it's the business, but hey, yeah, it's not life or death. I manage some "talent" facebook pages, run live chats, and you wouldn't believe how vile and cruel some people are. I find myself wanting to jump in and tell people to knock it off, and sometimes I do, but I don't want to feed into it.

Pfft... this internet... anyone can just say anything they want! Any yahoo with a user name and password or a blog... hey wait a second...

And things will be just fine

Are you a selfish person?

That sounds like the lead line to an ad. Or maybe a sermon. Let me try again.

Are YOU a selfish person?

Wait, that wasn't any better. This is why I'm not in advertising or religion.

That thought came into my head tonight while I was switching clothes over from the washer to the dryer. Heady thoughts come frequently in mundane moments for me.

I don't mean selfish in a typical way. As in, if you have something I want, I want it or I'll cry and stomp and pout. That's not selfish (well, maybe it is), that's immature.

No one really likes to consider themselves selfish. Everyone would gladly put themselves under the heading, "I'd do anything for anyone at anytime" and think they'd help someone in need if they could. Heck, Jeff asked me a few weeks ago if we wanted to donate money to the Red Cross. The exchange went something like this.

Jeff: "Do you want to donate some money to the Red Cross for Haiti? Minimum donation is $10."

Me: "Let's do $25."

(Sits back with a smug, satisfied look on her face.)

Of course $25 is nothing, and I could probably do more (sans the probably part). But that's not even the selfishness I'm referring to. I mean the kind of selfishness that comes with getting constantly lost in your own thoughts, worrying just about your life and no one else's, wanting your cake and eating it too, changing your mind every five seconds, being recklessly independent and emotionally needy, wanting people to know what you're thinking without telling them, waking up every morning and just thinking about yourself.

You should, in theory, lose a little of that selfishness as you age, and certainly when you get married. What's best for Jeff, what's best for our life together, that needs to be at least the second thought of every day. I'm working towards making it the first. There isn't anyone I want more for in my life than Jeff. Because he chose me to share his world, I want him to have the best of everything. The same applies for my family and friends. You can only want something for someone else so bad, before they need to be selfish and get it for themselves, but you can always be unselfishly supportive and unflappably loyal.

This idea of selfishness/selflessness popped into my head because, naturally, as a 26-year-old just married (six months on Monday) female, I'm a ticking clock ... when are ya gonna have a BAY-BE?! And while the decision when to have kids is personal and not something casual readers of this blog will know about until well AFTER it happens, of course I think about it. Jeff and I talk about it dontcha worry about it.

People "in the know" seem to think that you should only have a baby when you've shed this selfishness. Two years seems to be the acceptable waiting period for people our age, apparently we're supposed to see the world, swim with dolphins, go bungee jumping, eat a sundae of 14K gold or something before we make that decision to start trying.

And I wondered today if I've shed that selfishness yet, or it only comes with having a child. I do know it will come, I know that.

I'm beginning to think I'll welcome it with open arms. Thinking only about yourself can be exhausting.

Says the girl who writes a self-serving, painfully tiring online blog ...