The Toothbrush Chronicles

Earlier this week, Gary went out of town for one night. This morning, I noticed that his toothbrush still hadn't been put back in the holder.

This is the conversation that followed:

Emily: "Honey, where's your toothbrush?"

Gary: "It's in that green bag I took with me."

Emily: "...so, you just haven't brushed your teeth since you've been home?"

Gary: "...I think you'd rather hear that."

Emily: "Rather hear that than what? You mean you didn't brush your teeth while you were gone either??? That's gross."

Gary: "You'd probably rather hear that too."

Emily: "What do you mean I'd rather hear that? I don't....(gasps violently) YOU'VE BEEN USING MY TOOTHBRUSH SINCE YOU GOT HOME?!"

Gary: "We're maaarrriiiiiiieeeeeed."

Good One, Weatherman!

Ten percent chance of snow, eh?



Desktop Graveyard

Where earrings come to die.

Let Me Entertain You

We built THE MOST AWESOME entertainment center! We got the idea from this etsy seller and decided to see if we could make something similar. (And when I say we, I of course mean just Gary.) And he did!

Here it is with nothing on it:

And here's a little more of a closeup:

Here it is with all our stuff on it and cords hanging out everywhere because it was 10pm by the time it was all put together and we were tired:

And here's Bravo thinking the whole process was a snore:

A Letter to My G-G-Generation

Hey guys,

WASSAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH? I'm sure you all remember this delightfully classic greeting from back in the day. You probably also remember your adolescent obsession with N'Sync OR the Backstreet Boys (but not both! You must choose a side!) and how we all pretended to love punk rock in high school and even went so far as to put temporary blue streaks in our hair so we could have a fighting chance at fitting in when we went to the Vans Warped Tour, only to find out later that some girl called us a poser - the insult of choice for most of our high school years.

"She's never even heard of Anti-Flag? Poser."

"She didn't own a pair of chucks until they got popular? POSER."

"She was seen getting ice cream with her parents in public last week? Pa-ho-sa-heur."

Oh, you don't remember that last part? Weird.

Anyway, all this reminiscing is fun, but we're all adults now, and I need to talk to you guys about something. I don't know if you've heard this or not, but I'm just gonna lay it out there in the open: Everyone thinks we suck.

I know what you're thinking.

"Excuse me??? People think I suck??? Well I DEMAND that those people APOLOGIZE IMMEDIATELY. In fact, you know what? I refuse to return to my job until every single one of those people sends me a written apology and admits that I AM AWESOME. I think you all know where I can be reached - my parents' basement. I'm just staying there temporarily until I'm able to fulfill my dream of becoming a world-famous salsa dancer."*

Listen. I grew up in the same time period as you did, and I heard "you can be whatever you want when you grow up" enough times to have me pretty well convinced at eighteen that majoring in voice and then becoming a famous singer seemed like a viable option.**

I'm sure our parents had the best of intentions with all that self-esteem building they tried on us when we were little, but the problem is that it worked. We believed that we are the most special person in the world and we deserve everything in life, but to what end? Now we're all self-entitled little whiners who have no idea how the world works.

Oh, you smarted off to your boss because you think you know everything and then she fired you? The injustice! You do know everything! You were right to flip her off on the way out! I mean, sure, you'll probably never get a glowing recommendation letter from her, but if you can't stand on principle, then where can you stand???

Answer: In your parents' basement. Aaand we've come full circle.

In conclusion, could you just stop being so lame? It's embarrassing.

Get a haircut, etc.,

Emily

*Okay, maybe that's not what you're all thinking. Some of you are waiting for your big break in the baton-twirling industry.

**I decided to go another way because I realized the only jobs out there for voice majors are positions as high school choir directors, my feelings about which can be summed up in a quote borrowed with respect from Jenna Maroney: "It's hard for me to watch American Idol because I have perfect pitch."

I Shan't Tell My Aunt About the Ants

YOU GUYS.

I have discovered a scandal that is going to BLOW. YOUR. MINDS.

Now I don't have any proof or anything...but I'm pretty sure that Blue Ivy Carter is NOT BEYONCE'S BABY. The real mother? Ashanti.

YOU CAN'T UNSEE THAT.

Poor Beyonce. I can't imagine faking an entire pregnancy just to cover up my shame. (Although, that WOULD explain how she didn't get even the tiniest bit of fat-face during her "pregnancy".)

A Heart Day's Night

Valentine's Day can be kind of tricky. I'm always torn about whether or not I should post a picture of whatever Gary gave me. On the one hand, I don't want to rub my happy relationship in the faces of my single friends...but on the other hand, Gary worked hard to get me my favorite flowers, so I want to recognize him publicly for his thoughtfulness.

In the end I'm gonna go ahead and do it...but just know I feel guilty about it.

WAY TO GO, GARY!!!

Sorry, everybody else.

If Ya Can’t Beat ‘Em, Find Out What They Want and Make It Your Own

If you watched the superbowl and/or any online television in the last week, you've probably seen this Acura commercial, but here it is just in case you haven't:



Hmm...screwing over another beloved comedian...interesting career move, Leno. 

Just in case there's anyone left who doesn't think you're the devil, maybe next you should consider starring in a movie where you run Kristen Wiig down with your car.

Be Careful What You Wish For

My whole life I've wanted long hair. After 26 years, I finally have it.

I took this picture for posterity, and also so I'd have something to stare at and cry over the next time I cut my hair and inevitably regret it. Look how long it was! What was I thinking? Why didn't I just leave it alone? Etc.

I'd probably be happier about it if this hadn't happened immediately after that picture was taken:

In case you can't tell what's going on there, my hair is being yanked out by my own armpit. This happens approximately one hundred and five times per day.

I know lots of people who have long hair and I have yet to hear any of them bellyaching about how they keep finding large chunks of it stuck under the arm of their favorite wool jacket. I guess they're all more coordinated than I am.

That, or my armpit is jealous of all the attention my hair is getting.

Mbah. Mbaha. Mbahahahaha

Just in case you missed this link from the comments section of yesterday's post...please click here.

Thanks to Joey/Mariel/Mahatma/whoever it was that posted the comment!

**UPDATE**It was ANTHONY! In the observatory! With the pipe!

Under the Influence (To the Tune of "Under the Sea")

Sarah: You okay?
Me: Yeah why?
Sarah: You're being real weird.

Weird, she tells me. I'M TRYING TO KICK A COLD, OKAY? And the only logical way I could think of to finish the job was to wash down each of the DayQuil gelcaps I took this morning with its own personal latte.

I'm writing this late in the day because I figured it might not be the best idea in the world to blog under the influence...but then I realized that it actually was the best idea in the world!

Okay, not to sound like a drug addict, but I looove me some DayQuil. It makes me feel like I can hang. From the ceiling. I never get stress neck when I'm surfin' the orange wave. (Stress neck is that thing of when you freak out and your head cocks to one side and your arms reflexively assume the T-Rex position in case they need to protect your scrunched-up face.)

Also it makes me deep. Like earlier I was thinking about the mail system and how they figure out which things go where...dude. Organizational NIGHTMARE, amirite? It's the kind of thing that would normally make my brain explode, but right now my brain's too busy drinking a cocktail and floating around on a large blue raft to be bothered with something as uptight as exploding or trying to figure out how mail works.

PEACE OUT.

**BONUS** Forty two million awesome points to the first person to identify the exquisitely subtle Bill Hader reference. (Sarah, you are automatically disqualified. You know what you did.)

God Bless A-Farragut

Yesterday after work, Sarah drove me home as per usual. As per UNusual, I arrived home to find my garage door wide open.

As you can imagine, I immediately passed out and Sarah had to drag my lifeless body inside.

JUST KIDDING! But I did have a wicked flashback to the day we got robbed, so I prepared for the worst and went inside with Sarah at my back to protect me/catch me in the event that I actually did pass out. I took a deep breath, opened the door and...nothing! was! gone!

NOT A SINGLE THING! Let me just tell you that if this had happened at our old house, that place would have been cleaned out from top to bottom. But not on Farragut Avenue! No sir! Farragut Avenue is the place where dreams come true! Where you can leave your garage door open AND forget to lock the door from the garage to the inside of the house and suffer no punishment of any kind for being such an idiot!

I LOVE THIS NEIGHBORHOOD!

The Glass Has Been Shattered

Gary dropped a knowledge bomb on me last week, and it's caused me to question everything I thought I knew.

Apparently, if you burp with your mouth closed and then breathe out through your nose as an act of courtesy to whomever is standing near you...they can still smell the burp.