Say What?

The high tomorrow is supposed to be -1°.

NEGATIVE. ONE.

Now I'm no mathematician...but it seems like if a number is less than zero, it shouldn't be allowed to be called high - even in relative terms - so I've decided to amend tomorrow's forecast for Colorado Springs.

Low: -1°

Crazy-Stupid-Low: -12°

You're welcome, society.

Hunger Games



Just look at you. So delicious and yet so unsuspecting. You have no idea how hard I am going to eat you tonight. And if you thought the fact that you have more calories than a human should eat in a day was going to protect you - then boy were you wrong, 'cause I've been saving up for this all week. ALL. WEEK.

For those of you who are creeped out/uninterested by my foodstalking, here's a video Gary showed me this morning of a dude dunking himself.

Happy Friday!

21 Real Last Names I'm Glad Aren't Mine (In Alphabetical Order)

Babikian

Bobo

Butt

Butts (Not to be confused with Butt.)

Cronk

Dicks

Mushrush

Papenfuhs

Perlmutter

Poochigian

Poodiak

Quackenbush

Quattlebaum

Smuland

Teates

Vogelzang

Wass

Wipff

Yonker

Zoodsma

Zwolenkiewicz

Free At Last! Free At Last!

As of yesterday, my brother is totally debt-free!

In his honor, here's a video of a Shiba Inu being adorable.



So here's to you, Greggo My Eggo. I have no idea how to tie this video into your achievement, but I'm proud of you nonetheless.

Am I Secretly A Computer Nerd?

I'm not going to pretend that I ever use my computer for anything more advanced than bubble spinning. I don't know what C++ means; I just realized that the cute little penguin I keep seeing all over the internet is not just a cute little penguin, but the mascot for Linux (I don't know what that is either, so please don't ask me); and I've always thought "defragging" sounded like a dirty word. But something happened this morning to make me suspect that in spite of all that, I might actually be a computer nerd GENIUS.

It all started with a numbered list I sent Sarah in an email earlier today. (Word to the wise: Sarah gets real weird if your emails aren't properly organized, so WATCH OUT.) I mentioned that it bugged me that the numbers were all in Times New Roman while the letters were all in Arial. She asked me how I could tell, and I explained that it was easy because Times is a serif font and Arial is sans serif. When she said that meant nothing to her, I explained further that serif fonts are the ones that have the little things on the ends of letters (hope you don't get lost in my super-technical computer lingo) to guide the eye on to the next letter, making them easier to read; sans serif fonts such as Arial are better for signs or other situations in which you want to get someone's attention, because since they are actually harder for the eye to read, a person has to (subconsciously) slow down and pay closer attention to each letter.*

Her next response was, "I feel like I'm seeing you in a whole new light right now," and she's been calling me Professor ever since.

The truth is, I'm seeing myself in a whole new light now. If only I had discovered this hidden prowess earlier, surely I would be rich by now! We could move out of the hood! And get a second car! AND I COULD HAVE A BABY OF MY OWN INSTEAD OF CREEPIN' ON OTHER PEOPLE'S BABIES!!!** So if anyone would like to pay me lots of money to teach them how to be a computer genius like myself, I'm quite at my leisure.

*Yes, I realize that this means it would be easier for all of you to read my blog if it were presented in a serif font...but I think sans serif is cleaner looking and apparently have little concern for your ease of reading because I'm not a very nice person.
**Let's be honest...that'll probably never happen. I love babies, okay?

Turns Out Jack Johnson Had The Right Idea

Okay...have you guys ever actually had banana pancakes? Of course you have, because you haven't lived as sad and deprived a life as I have.

Saturday morning, a little lady I like to call Melanie Mauss put up a Facebook status about making banana pancakes, and of course it caught my eye because - since I'm on a diet - I'm obsessed with food. Also I feel like pancakes are a miracle food. That statement really needs no explanation, but I'll give you one anyway: I do all my grocery shopping on Sundays, so our fridge is usually looking pretty pathetic by the time Saturday morning rolls around. Sometimes I feel like I'll die a thousand deaths if I have to eat one more fried egg sandwich...but I digress. Anyway, since I always have the ingredients for pancakes in my kitchen, it feels like I'm making something out of nothing, which sorta makes me feel like I have super powers, which sorta makes me love pancakes, which is why I've made them twice since I read Melanie's status.

SO, why am I seemingly teasing you with all this pancake talk? So I can give you this fantastic recipe, of course! I know I don't usually post recipes, but these pancakes are all I can think about right now. Let me tell you...not only are they delicious; they're also good for you! EVERYBODY WINS! (Unless you're allergic to pancakes. Then you lose. Which is pretty much the opposite of winning.) Also, you can use any kind of fruit you want. (USE BANANAS! It's like a party in your mouth! And with bananas they don't need syrup or powdered sugar on top. It just tastes like really good banana bread.) Also, I don't recommend using frozen strawberries unless you like your pancakes scrambled. I mean I'm just guessing. I am certainly not speaking from a disastrously sticky personal experience I had on Saturday.

Enjoy!

Blueberry-Bran Pancakes

Ingredients

3/4 cup(s) ready-to-eat bran flakes
2 large egg white(s)
1 1/4 cup(s) buttermilk
2 tsp canola oil
1 cup(s) all-purpose flour
1 Tbsp sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp baking soda
1/2 cup(s) fresh blueberries
2 tsp powdered sugar

Instructions

Coat a nonstick skillet with cooking spray; heat over medium-high heat.

Crush cereal in a food processor or blender, or place in a zip-close plastic bag and crush with a rolling pin; set aside.

Stir egg whites, buttermilk, oil and cereal together in a medium bowl; allow to stand 5 minutes. Beat in flour, sugar, baking powder and baking soda with a wire whisk until well blended.

To make pancakes, place 3 tablespoons of batter onto skillet, repeat to make 4 pancakes at a time. Gently press 5 to 6 blueberries into each pancake. Cook until puffed, about 2 minutes; flip and cook until golden brown, about 2 minutes more. Repeat to make 12 pancakes. Serve pancakes in a short stack dusted with powdered sugar. Yields 3 pancakes per serving.

Emily's Favorite Things

Don't look so excited; I'm too poor to buy stuff for myself, much less for all nine of you who read this blog. (Thanks, by the way. Though you are few, you are mighty.) This is pretty much just a way for me to justify spending half the day on the internet. At home of course...not at work.

1. Keeping My Job - because I do NOT spend half the work day on the internet looking up lip gloss and vacation packages.

2. Dr Pepper Lip Smacker - I can't have the real thing, but that's okay because the real thing never made me look this good. (Double meaning, yesssss.)

 

3. The Kills - Midnight Boom

4. Troy and Abed

    Troy and Abed

    Troy and Abed

    Troy and Abed

    Troy and Abed

    Troy and Abed

    Troy and Abed

(This part of the list could go on forever.)

5. Big Teeth - such as the ones featured here on the lovely Caroline Geiger. (Pay no attention to the fact that Tejal is eating her face. It was all in good fun.) I actually like it when people's teeth are so big that they can barely shut their mouths. It makes me happy and jealous at the same time. Stop judging me.

6. PIZZA - Preferably Papa John's "The Meats" and preferably with garlic sauce. Just in case you were planning on surprise-ordering me some pizza. You're so thoughtful!

7. Embarrassingly Bad Movies - with the occasional good movie thrown in. I won't tell you which one of these I actually thought was good. (Here's a hint: all of them, with an emphasis on the second one. Whitney D. - I hope someday you can forgive me.)

8. Looking At Pictures of Babies That Are Not Mine

 

9. Looking Up Vacations I Can't Afford to Take - but not at work. NEVER AT WORK.

10. Planning Sarah's Wedding - even though she's single. (Hey, I'm as surprised as you are.)

I Just Laughed Myself Out of a Bad Mood

Baby's First Audition from alex on Vimeo.

Your Face Is Gonna Get Stuck Like That

We've all heard the phrase, whether from our parents when we're children or, later in life, from our husbands because we insist on making that pig face that he somehow fails to find quite as adorable as we do.

I've spent enough hours in front of the mirror making faces at myself until I'm so freaked out I can't stand to look at my own reflection to be able to say with no small degree of confidence that your face will not "get stuck like that". However, after some careful consideration of a few of my habits, I'm starting to think the principle may pretty safely be applied to speech patterns.

Exhibit A: Peace Out

I'm not sure at which point this phrase made the leap in my esteem from comedic throwback only to be used ironically to parting words which I deem acceptable for use when addressing my coworkers, but somewhere along the way, it did. (And I'm not talking about Samantha, either. The other day I *just* caught myself before saying it to Millie, the eighty-four year old woman who works a couple cubes over. I recovered smoothly of course with a, "Peace...be with you." Thank God I was raised Catholic.)

Exhibit B: The Bomb (i.e., "You're the bomb." See also: thebomb.com)

My frequent use of this phrase came about in a similar manner to Exhibit A - sneakily. I swear it started out as a joke, but it keeps coming out of my mouth as if it were still cool and still the 90's. (Way to go, Colorado Springs. You finally got to me.)

Exhibit C: No Laughing Matter

After what I thought were just a few months of innocently mocking the annoying laugh of a friend's ex-girlfriend, I found that what I had actually been doing was unknowingly training my vocal chords to respond with a single, earsplitting HONK! whenever I was presented with something humorous. Needless to say, Gary was not pleased...and neither was anyone else.

So I guess the moral of this story is you are what you eat; you can't make a silk purse out of a pig's ear; and, most importantly, a cat in gloves catches no mice.

=

Happy Birthday! You Owe Me Twenty Bucks.

Preface: Sometimes I hesitate to post stories about things that were actually funny when they happened (as opposed to things that make me scream/cry/pee my pants from terror at the time but which I know will be funny later) because I'm afraid the humor won't translate into writing. So if you don't think this is funny, tell me so I won't do it again.*

Saturday night was a continuation of my nearly week-long birthday celebrations. I'm tellin' ya, my family and friends took such good care of me that I was on the verge of being birthdayed out by the time the day actually came.** Fifteen of my closest friends and I ate way too much BBQ and then headed to the bowling alley to inevitably injure ourselves by trying to show off what great bowlers we all are(n't).

If you're ever in doubt of the level of classiness of a bowling alley, ask yourself these two questions: a) Is there a jukebox? b) If so, does it contain every Now THAT'S What I Call Music! ever made? If you answered yes to one or both of these questions, then gear up for a fun filled evening case of foot fungus, 'cause chances are they haven't cleaned those shoes in ten years.

Being the rambunctious young set of party-goers that we were, we of course made the best of the situation by getting our five dollars' worth of Ke$ha, Usher, and T-Pain with a healthy dose of Billy Idol thrown in for good measure. As our twenty or so horriblarious selections were coming to a close, I noticed a young man headed toward the jukebox to pick out a few songs of his own, no doubt in an attempt to bandage the wounds that we had inflicted with all that (gasp!) POPULAR DANCE MUSIC!

Now I'm not trying to perpetuate any stereotypes here, but yes I am. He was wearing a wife beater and had a tribal tattoo on his bicep. From the looks of him, I'd guess he started out as a skinny nerd who, after failing miserably at dating in high school, spent most to all of his college career lifting weights in his basement so he could act like a d-bag and treat girls like crap.

This is where the twenty bucks comes in. Samantha, in all her infinite wisdom, took one look at him and predicted that his first choice would be Nickelback. Now, for those of you who don't know me that well, Nickelback kinda makes me want to commit first degree murder (which, if my memory of the employee handbook serves me right, is generally frowned upon by the good people in our human resources department.) Approximately thirty seconds later, what should be forced on my brain but the gravelly, angry screaming of:

I'm through with standing in line
To clubs we'll never get in
It's like the bottom of the ninth
And I'm never gonna win
This life hasn't turned out
Quite the way I want it to be

There was a general outcry of surprise and chagrin from our party, which probably only served to convince Captain Angsthole that he had made a wise and crowd-pleasing song choice.

And that is the story of how I lost twenty dollars and all respect for mankind on my birthday.

P.S. Be sure to check out yesterday's guest blog by the lovely and talented Sarah Howrey. She's my favorite. :)

*Please don't tell me. My sanity is like a fragile, defenseless bird's egg just waiting to be crushed by a dissatisfied reader.
**Obviously this is a joke. Who could possibly ever be birthdayed out? Free presents, free attention, and free cake. FREE! CAKE!

Operation: Birthday Blog

Sup, blogosphere? Before you get too excited, I should probably warn you that I am not Emily Gray. Or Black. Or Red. Or whatever other alter egos she's taken on since she got married and her last name got a little funnier. In honor of my little Emilelele's old, withering body officially hitting that quarter of a century mark, I've decided to give her a break from all the typing (who knows how many more blogs those fingers are going to be able to pound out before the arthritis kicks in and forces the rest of us to actually work while we're at work?!) and pay homage to the life and times of my dear sister.

Where to begin! Let's start back in the Great Depression when we were just a couple of kids testing the lung capacity of a kitten:

Ohhh, the memories. Anyway, enough nostalgia. Let's fast forward through the years...

...to present day!

Now I know what you're all thinking:  "MAN ALIVE, that girl is pretty!" And, of course, you're right. She's really pretty.

...like really, really pretty.

Once you've calmed down a little, though, I imagine you'll find yourselves wondering, "WHAT is she going to do NEXT?!" Here's a little sneak peek at what I believe to be Emily Gray's plans for the next 25 years:

1.  Emily will keep on keepin' on with G-Ray and Brooty Brooty Brooty Brooty Rockin' Everywhere.

2.  She's going to have one! thousand! babies! Or maybe just fourish; it's too early to tell. She's pretty much a natural when it comes to things that are awesome, cute, and/or babies, so you might wanna get excited about it.

3.  After having said babies, Emily will retire from answering the phones at our top secret workplace to be a stay-at-home mom, occasionally coming out of retirement for a cameo here and there on Glee. 

4.  Somewhere in the middle of all of this, she'll grow out a curly mustache and demand that we all start calling her Sheriff. This little episode won't last long, but she'll have made quite a name for herself across the Wild Wild Midwest before it's all said and done.

5.  Finally and most obviously, Emily will be spending the next 25 years of her life hanging out with me every single day and loving it or else.

Aww see how happy we look? That's love.

That's love.



Happy birthday, friend.  Thanks for never changing your passwords.

You Figure It Out

So Long, Secret Spot

Those of you who are familiar with the downtown Colorado Springs area may have heard tell of the fabled Secret Spot: a magical place where vehicles can be deposited without cost and without fear. The spot has no parking meter and is guarded by a clever sign which tricks the eye at first glance, giving it the appearance that it is a loading zone and therefore parking there would be illegal. In reality, it's only illegal between the hours of 11pm and 3am, leaving a twenty-one hour window during which an elite group of sign-savvy motorists may simultaneously park their cars and renew their sense of stickittothemanitiveness...without actually having to go to the trouble of sticking it to anyone.

Or so we all thought.

Today, my coworkers and I went to Il Vicino for lunch to celebrate my birthday. My actual birthday isn't until Monday, but we won't be at work that day because it's a national holiday. You may have heard it referred to as MLK Day; I prefer to call it MLE Day. You're all welcome for the day off, by the way. (I mean no disrespect to the good doctor; he's my homeboy as you may recall.)

Samantha and I headed over early in Sarah's car in an attempt to beat the ravenous hordes to our favorite table. As per usual, I triumphed at the sight of the Secret Spot's being available. It was the kind of thing that made me want to take a leaf out of ol' Leonard Bernstein's book and write a song about this great city...but not enough to actually try to figure out a way to fit its awkwardly long name into a melody line.

Coloradosprings, ColoradoSPRINGS, it's a hell of a name!
The CC kids all jaywalk without shame!
A home to trust funds and crackheads the same!
Springfield, Springfield!
New York, New York!

(If your parents didn't let you watch The Simpsons as a child, you're probably feeling pretty confused right now, and that's ok. Just be still and know that you were raised more carefully than I.)

Anyway, back to the story. We managed to enjoy our lunch despite the fact that Samantha and I were stared at the entire time by a couple of "gentlemen" at the opposite table. I guess I have to give them credit for not giving up even though I made every effort to make my wedding ring visible whilst eating my spinach salad (the sight of which should have been repellent enough in and of itself) and Samantha is visibly pregnant with someone else's child...well, give them credit, or be really creeped out. I'll give you one guess as to which path I chose.

We returned to the car to find this on the windshield:

This leads me to one of two conclusions. Either The Man changed the sign without my knowledge or permission and the Secret Spot has ceased to exist, OR, far more likely in my opinion, Sarah's car has been cursed. In the last six days, it's been pulled over by a mean lady cop, slid into by our down-the-street neighbor while parked in front of my house, and now parking ticketed through no fault of my own. (Or...every fault of my own. Whatever.)

I'm sure it's all a big misunderstanding, because Sarah's pretty much universally liked, so no one would have a reason to put a jinx on her or her car (who has never done anything to deserve this either, to my knowledge.) You'll see, in a week or two it will all come out that there is someone else in the Springs with a red Ford Focus with expired Texas tags who's been running around making enemies of one or more of the many voodoo hexing residents of this grand old town; half-hearted, gothic apologies will be made, and all will be as it was before.



UPDATE: Remember how I said someone slid into Sarah's car while it was parked in front of my house over the weekend? Well this afternoon, someone ran into my BROTHER'S car while he was parked in front of my PARENTS' house! Some dude fell asleep at the wheel and he ALSO lives down the street!

WHAT! ARE! THE! ODDS!?!?!?

It's almost like that time Greg and I both got into head-on collisions on the same day...except it's not really like that, because we were in a head on collision with one another.

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

And so do I.

Yesterday was the third happiest day of my life, right behind my wedding day and the day I found out Verizon was getting the iPhone*. Wait a minute...two of those were on the same day! WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!?

And now for the transformation photos:

BEFORE:

Dark, boring, and just plain sad

AFTER:

Blonde! Happy! Better at life!

I'm not sure if you can tell how happy I am in that second picture. I hadn't eaten anything since my hair appointment, but I could already tell food was going to taste better because smells smelled better. Colors seemed brighter (with the exception of course of seafoam green, which, I imagine as a gift from Heaven for suddenly becoming prettier, I ceased to be able to see at all) and every sound was transformed into beautiful, harmonious music as it reached my ears. People I passed on the street just started handing me money and predicting that my future children would all be good looking and smart but not stuck up in the least.

So Tina Howrey has officially topped my list of best birthday gift givers of all time; first with the gift of life, and now with the gift of fantastic, awe-inspiring, cancer-curing hair.

THANKS MOM! I love you more now because of this.**

*I have neither Verizon nor the money for an iPhone. I just thought it was funny how big a deal everyone was making about it yesterday.

**I kid, I kid. I couldn't possibly love you more than I did when you gave me money for that camcorder last Christmas.

Things That Weigh Fifteen Pounds

Ladies and gentlemen, I am proud to announce that I have officially lost fifteen pounds*. To celebrate, here are some pictures of things that weight fifteen pounds...as promised in the title.

Feel free to imagine each of these things once having been a part of my body. Especially the fish.

*I've actually lost sixteen, but it is surprisingly difficult to find things that weigh exactly sixteen pounds...plus I'm lazy.

Gray Matter Indeed...

Tomorrow afternoon can't come soon enough.



The End of an Haira

Coming this Tuesday to a head near me: HIGHLIGHTS.

It's been more than two years; I really think I've earned it. I've paid my dues and learned many a valuable lesson along the way. For instance, I learned that people will still be friends with me even when I do not have shiny, beautiful, golden blonde hair. I also learned that, contrary to what I once believed, artificial hair color is in fact not crucial to my survival. And this afternoon when I called to make my appointment, I learned perhaps the most valuable lesson: Life sucks without Marshall.

Marshall is my fabulously gay friend from high school. Here's a picture of him that I find wildly appropriate:

Not only is he talented at multiple-ball juggling (oh, COME ON!); he also happens to be the best colorist on earth. He makes my hair sing. (On a related note, in addition to being a hair-gician, he has a voice like Brian McKnight/Josh Groban/Jesus Christ*.)

Because I was so frequently voluntold into being his guinea-head-pig while he was in hair school, Marshall bestowed upon me the greatest gift a gay man could give a woman: full highlights at an 80% discount. Oh, the memories...driving into rich Dallas and sending my beat up '99 model Chevy Malibu off with a valet who seemed confused as to how I got there and concerned as to whether I'd be able to afford to give him a tip; sitting in the chair listening to the latest gay-ssip while Marshall worked his magic; leaving the salon feeling a little sad that this calibur of hair was being wasted on the patrons of the fast food restaurant where I worked...this hair deserved to be famous! This hair could cure cancer! This hair...has since all been chopped off.

Marshall and I had one last, beautiful moment together a few days before my wedding, and then I was off to The Land of the Unkempt, where I would watch with no small amount of pain as my hair slowly withered and died. (And when I say "died", I mean "turned brown".)

And so it goes that today when I was quoted nearly $100 for a full highlight, I cried a single, shimmering tear for the loss of my dearest, gayest friend, Marshall. (He's still alive...he's just too far away to do my hair, which means he might as well be dead.**)

*I'm just guessing Jesus Christ would have a fantastic singing voice...I mean, he IS the Son of God.
**JUST KIDDING, MARSH! I'm glad you're not dead!