Adventures In Bathing: A Sequel

Okay, so this is sort of a part 2 to my last blog post, so if you didn’t read that, click here to do so, because this won’t make that much sense if you don’t. Or maybe it will be more interesting that way. It’s up to you.



I received MANY offers to come and bathe in people’s homes over the past two weeks, which is weirdly lovely because I’m choosing to believe that these offers were politely humorous and not at all creepy. Life is better that way.

But one of my favorite reactions came from a girl we’ll call Bertrude (because she wanted a pseudonym that is “old and makes you think of hand knit scarves and fresh baked cookies”) who I met recently and am now mildly obsessed with for reasons that I feel should already be obvious.

Anyway, I was at work when I heard someone come in and say that she needed to speak with me.

Disembodied voice from behind me: Emelie…

Me: ….yyyyeees?

Bertrude: Hi! So… I’ve had it on my to-do list to come in a talk to you all week because I’ve been mildly stalking your blog since we friended each other on Facebook, and now I need to make sure you know about THIS:

FRIENDS. THEY MAKE INFLATABLE BATH TUBS.

Do you realize what this means???

  1. I clearly need more friends like Bertrude.

  2. I COULD BATHE ANYWHERE.

  3. LIKE OUTSIDE

  4. IN THE MEADOW

  5. ON HILLSIDES

  6. AT THE PARK

  7. ON THE ROOF

JUST THINK OF ALL THE POSSIBILITIES!!!!

The Mr, surprisingly, was not as thrilled by this discovery. He was all “This feels like a bad investment and also if you try to bathe in an inflatable bathtub you’ll probably get arrested, but also where would you get the water?”

So… I think we’re at a stalemate. Unless… we could convince him that this is actually a GREAT IDEA.

What do you think? Leave a comment down below with your vote. Unfortunately the bathtub pictured above is out of stock, but I’m sure we could find others. In fact, if you know of one, please drop the link in a comment when you vote!

BATHS FOR ALL!!!!!

P.S. I also just realized that there is a narwhal on that bathtub and now I need it even more.

P.P.S. Bertrude’s boyfriend has entered the scene and apparently while he was in Sweden this summer he found THIS bucket posing as a bathtub and now I don’t know what to do.

Geography Makes Me Angry

Last weekend, The Mr ABANDONED ME and went to visit his family in Almost-Canada-Northern New York for the weekend and a lot of weird stuff went down while he was gone, but I'm still working on getting all of the words down, so instead I'm going to tell you about a ridiculously traumatic series of conversations we had. 

While he was on his way to visit his family:

Me: Hey, have you arrived yet? Call me when you get there safely please! 

The Mr (hours later): We're still on the road. Service here is really spotty. We're in Lake Placid. 

Me: Uh oh. Don't get eaten by a giant alligator. 

The Mr: Wrong lake. 

Me: What? No! That movie was totally called Lake Placid and a giant alligator lived in the lake... it was like a knock-off of the Loch Ness Monster and it was hilarious. Plus Betty White is in it and she's amazing even though she does some serioulsy insane things in this film.

The Mr: I know, but that's based on a different Lake Placid. The Lake Placid in that movie is in Maine. 

Me: WHAT. THERE ARE TWO LAKE PLACIDS??

The Mr: Maybe more.

Me: NO. THAT IS RIDICULOUS. 

The Mr: It's basically like high street. Also, I'm losing service again. 

Me: NO. It is NOT like High Street. Every town has a High Street and kids always go around stealing the street signs so that they can hang them in their basements where they smoke weed. LAKE PLACID IS NOT LIKE HIGH STREET. Lake Placid is too iconic! There cannot be two Lake Placids! 

And then APPARENTLY The Mr lost service because he stopped responding, but he called me when he got to his parent's house and I was already basically asleep, so I don't even remember the conversation. 

The next day during my lunch break at work: 

Me: I'm still upset about Lake Placid.

The Mr: What do you mean? 

Me: What do you mean? There should not be two!! 

The Mr: Well... I don't know what to say... maybe get a petition going to change it?

Me: The damage is already done...

And then later that night, we FaceTimed... 

Me: I feel like you're not taking this seriously.

The Mr: What?

Me: This Lake Placid issue! Why are there two lakes called Lake Placid? 

The Mr: I mean.... I'm pretty sure Lake Placid isn't even a lake in New York...

Me: WHAT?!?! 

The Mr: Yeah... I think it's just the name of the town.

Me: But your brother swam in the lake there!

The Mr: That lake is called "Lake Flower"

Me: I HATE GEOGRAPHY. 

But here's the thing... I googled it and it turns out that Lake Placid, NY is actually near a lake of the same name, so there is some justice in the world, BUT the movie Lake Placid? The lake in that movie is actually just called Black Lake, so.... WHY WOULD THEY CALL THE MOVIE THAT? 

Clearly this issue is still not over for me.... But am I alone here? Please comment down below.


Things I loved on the Internet this week:

This Seth Meyers interview with Beth Ditto because she is just delightful and we should all aspire to have her joy. 

Man Breaks Guinness World Record for Slicing Watermelons on His Stomach -- WHY IS THIS A THING?? 

All Bloggess posts are fabulous, but her cross-stitch project in this one is fantastic. 

Speaking of The Bloggess, she's featured on this list of hilarious female writers

 

My precious revelation

If you've been following my Instagram story, you know that I, at the ripe old age of 27, threw my back out on Monday night and have been hobbling around ever since, not unlike the evil witch from Snow White. Not when she's all "Mirror mirror, tell me how pretty I am," but when she's all old and haggard and obsessed with apples. 

All I did was pick up a book, which hardly seems fair, as books have always been my dearest friends. Although now that I'm thinking of it, I've always been pretty sure that those who I counted as close friends were also people who were most likely to be responsible for my death, so I suppose the books were just fulfilling their true purpose and keeping my life interesting, but still... not cool, books. Not cool.

So I went to go see a chiropractor. A lot happened there that I think I have to save for another blog post or perhaps for my memoir because I'm still processing some of the ridiculousness. That being said, the chiropractor was awesome and my back is feeling somewhat human again, but he basically told me that my spina bifida occulta (which I love because it totally makes it sound like I'm part of a group that worships spines, doesn't it? The Spinosaurus would be our god. JOIN US...) or even just my body in general is a genetic minefield of weirdness. Yay! So I left and I was all "THANKS, MOM, FOR TEACHING ALL THOSE JAZZERCISE CLASSES WHILE YOU WERE PREGGO WITH ME" (true story) but then the angel on my shoulder was like "Hey, she was just trying to stay healthy. Besides, her birthday is coming up. Be nice." 

So I texted her to update her on the situation and to humbly tell her how nice I had decided to be:

 

Cold feet.

So yesterday my friend texted me a picture of a book that we have both been really excited about reading and it finally just came out and THE EXCITEMENT LEVEL IS HIGH, FRIENDS.

But, because it's me, there is an issue.

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So APPARENTLY The Mr is annoyed because he buys really nice socks and I have always opted for really cute socks.

His are warm. Mine have narwhals on them.

His are fancy moisture-repelling socks. Mine all have holes in them. 

And when we got married I was all "Yay! Free socks!" 

He did not agree. 

Which brings us to our next marital dispute... 

I have a lot of books. 

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IN MY DEFENSE many of these are free because I am a bookseller and I get a lot of Advanced Reader Copies from publishers, BUT I also buy a lot of these books too. Especially if I read the ARC and then really loved it, so I want the author the get dollars and I'll buy it just to be a good fan. 

Which brings us to today.

My sock drawer is full of holey socks (insert divine joke here) and my hold shelf at the bookstore is overflowing. 

But what am I supposed to do? None of the fancy socks have narwhals on them... But my narwhal socks are no longer providing any level of warmth. 

If only I could convince the two sock companies to join forces! 

Dear Fancy Sock Makers,

I have been forced to buy your socks in order to continue my love of buying books. Normally, this would not be a problem. Your socks are fantastic in all ways but one: THERE ARE NO NARWHALS ON THEM. 

While I appreciate your ability to include a wide array of colors and stripes - even polka dots! Go you! - I am saddened by the lack of cute animal patterns. 

Must I really sacrifice my love of the Sea Unicorn in order to have warm feet? 

Of course, it's not just narwhals that I enjoy on my socks. Puppies, sloths, and giraffes are also always welcome, just in case someone on staff has an aversion to narwhals. Although, why would you hire such a monster? 

Wishing you all the best,

Emelie

UPDATE: THEY RESPONDED

Hi Emelie,

Thank you so much for reaching out! I too love Narwhals, what an awesome idea :) I did share your feedback with our product team, we always appreciate customer feedback! I also want to make sure you've seen our Woodland Creature socks, they do have cute animals represented on them :) https://darntough.com/collections/womens-lifestyle/products/woodland-creatures-crew-light?variant=36489076295

Thanks for being on board with us and I hope you have an awesome weekend!

Thank you for choosing Darn Tough!

And for the record, I did NOT see those woodland socks before, but it's a good thing that they exist because now I can buy books again. 

Plus, I think we can all agree that if they do in fact add narwhals to their designs, I will be heralded as a True American Hero. 

You're welcome.

It's a Christmas Miracle! ...of sorts.

This morning The Mr woke me up by tossing a cardboard box onto my body. I know what you're thinking: Romance has never felt more alive.

But it was actually exciting because it was my StitchFix subscription (not an ad). A box full of cute clothes so that I can trick people into thinking I have it all together and I'm not a slob who wears the same thing every day.... although, why is that a bad thing? If I have a cool piece of clothing, why am I not hip for wearing it multiple times? Doesn't that just mean that I'm good at taking care of my clothes and responsible with my money and also kinder to the environment because I'm not buying as much stuff all the time? WHY ARE OUR SOCIAL NORMS SO WEIRD?!

Ahem. I digress.

Because while it was all "yay! Clothes!" The Mr was walking around looking all weird-like.

Me: LOOK AT HOW CUTE I AM NOW.

 

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The Mr: Yeah, you look great, but...

Me: ....but what?

 

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The Mr: Doesn't it strike you as odd that that box arrived... this morning?

Me: Not really, I mean, they emailed me a few days ago and were like "hey, friend, fun clothes are on their way to you, so yay!" and it seemed legit.

The Mr: Yeah, but... we went to bed at 11 last night... and the box was there this morning.

Me: Yeah... wait... I think I'm with you now.

The Mr: Yeah...

Me: So... you took the dog out before we went to bed at 11pm?

The Mr: Yeah.

Me: And there was no box on the doorstep then?

The Mr: No.

Me: And then when you got up at 7, the box was there?

The Mr: Yes.

Me: ..... SANTA DOES EXIST!!!

 

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The Mr:

 

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Maybe it's not me, after all... maybe it's just my face!

The Mr and I spent Thanksgiving weekend at my brother's place and for some reason, we got to talking about our family's faces. Like we all do. Me: Sister 1 has that perfect mom glare, though... it's terrifying.

Brother: Yeah, but Sister 2 has the definition of a Resting Bitch Face.

Me: That is so true.

Brother: You, on the other hand, have Resting I'm-a-Freaking-Psycho Face. 

And while I'd never heard it put that way before, I knew right away that, well... he's not wrong. In fact, he's spot on. As always.

I've been told that I look frightening when I'm crocheting, which is the thing I find most relaxing. When I write: same thing. The Mr has stopped asking if I'm okay, but the children at church regard me with intrigued caution.

Wait... is this why I'm not allowed to use the sharp knives in the kitchen? Is this why everyone thinks I'm crazy? Is it just my face that has been leading to some strange self-fulfilling prophecy?! COULD I HAVE BEEN NORMAL IF MY FACE WAS DIFFERENT THIS WHOLE TIME?

And to think that people say looks don't matter...

P.S. I realize that this theory makes it sound like I think that Sister 2 is a bitch. She is not. She's actually the kindest person on earth. It's infuriating. This, of course, totally blows my theory to smithereens... but what do I care? I'M CRAZY.


Time for some business:

 

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An essay I wrote was published on The Feminine Collective this week, and I'm stupidly proud of it. You can go read it here and then share it with all of your friends because not only do you maybe like what I do, but more people need to know about this amazing online magazine.

If you've already read it, thank you so much! I've been getting so many wonderful messages and you all just make my hearts sing.


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I feel like we're doing the whole "romantic sunset" thing wrong.

A conversation I had with The Mr in the car yesterday:  Me: Oooo... pretty sunset. It's so weird to think that it's all just pollution.

The Mr: What are you talking about?

Me: The sunset. The only reason it's all colorful and pretty is because of pollution.

The Mr: No it isn't! It's just the angle of the sun causing all of those colors.

Me: Yeah. The angle of the sun reflecting light through all of the poison in our atmosphere. Did you really not know this? You love science! And the environment!

The Mr: Are you serious? This whole time I've been admiring sunsets and they're really just all made up of poison?

Me: Yes!

The Mr: Well... that's terrible! Now I can't enjoy a sunset anymore!

Me: Why not? It's still pretty! Think of it this way: there's an upside to everything. Even pollution.

The Mr: No. No! That's like saying "Hey, come look at this gorgeous painting, isn't it amazing?" and then finding out that all the paint is just blood splatters from a gruesome murder.

Me: Well... when you put it that way.

We drove in silence for a minute.

Me: You know, the color of the sky kind of looks like a big wash of blood now that you're saying it. Huh. I still think it's pretty.

The Mr: You've ruined everything for me now.

Later on, The Mr did some research and it turns out that I'm not totally right about this fun fact, but I'm also not totally wrong either? I don't know, he started talking all sciencey to me and I zoned out a bit if I'm being honest.

Just goes to show that you can't trust everyone you meet who says they know science.


 

Last night's #SundaySupdates episode was live to all! You can watch it right here and then go sign up to be an Awkward Ambassador to tune in every week!


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It's official: I'm becoming my father.

My parents are lively and active people. The word 'retirement' is akin to the most offensive of curse words in their eyes, I think. Over drinks when my dad was in town, he said: "I hate that word." And I swear he was this close to spitting on the ground to show his disdain. All I know is that my parents never stop working, never stop moving, and never stop partying. My dad is in his seventies and he still travels for work all the time - not because he has to, but because he wants to.

And my mom is basically Wonder Woman. She's a very successful real estate agent, she teaches six jazzercise classes a week (the majority of them at 5:45 in the GD morning!), she has two horses that she trains and takes care of almost every day, and she cooks dinner every freaking night.

 

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And yet, I manage to be surprised if they don't answer the phone when I call.

Me: I think my parents find me dull.

The Mr: Why?

Me: Neither one of them is answering their phone! Do I call too often? Are they sick of me? You know, most parents would love it if their kid just called to say hi as often as I do, but they're totally ghosting me! Do they think I'm boring?

The Mr: Maybe they do.

Me: ...thanks, babe.

And then later that night, my dad called me. HE CALLED ME.

Me, too excitedly: Hi, Dad!

Dad: Hey, how are you?

Me: Great! How are you?

Dad: Well, I'm okay. Your mom is in Chicago visiting your sister and the new baby, so I'm just sitting in the parking lot of <LOCAL RESTAURANT>, trying to decide whether or not to go in and get dinner... there are a lot of cars here, so I don't know... or maybe I should call Nick and see if he wants to meet.... I don't know, we've been hanging out a lot this week since both of our wives are out of town... maybe he's sick of me.

The Mr: Did you see that apple just fall from that tree?

But maybe this is a good thing... because maybe it means that I'm also going to be a superhero who travels the world!

Or maybe this means my future just involves a closet full of leotards.

 

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KABOOM

When The Mr picked me up from work today, I was just getting to the climax of my book, and I did NOT want to put it down, so I was naturally a little cranky about going to the gym. (Side note: I'm enjoying the gym way more than I thought I would, but that's another blog post for another time.) Me: Ugh, this is annoying because I want to finish my book, but I also don't want to be a slacker.

The Mr: Why don't you just hop on one of those loungy bikes and read while you do that then?

Me: OH MY GOD YOU'RE A GENIUS.

So I did. I hit the "Random workout" button, popped in my headphones so I could listen to the Stranger Things soundtrack while I read, and I stayed there for 45 minutes and finished my book/acquired the strongest legs in the world. It was amazing. In fact, I was just reading the epilogue when The Mr showed up to tell me that he was all done.

Me: THAT WAS INTENSE.

The Mr: The book or the workout?

Me: Both! I'm so sweaty!!

 

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On a related note, you guys should totally pick up a copy of Bonfire by Krysten Ritter (Yes! as in Jessica Jones!) when it comes out in November. It's a slow burn, but man, oh man, when that spark reaches the gunpowder, THINGS. GO. BOOM.

Another side note: titling this blog post was really hard because "Sweaty Books" sounds disgusting and "Books make me sweat sometimes" also sounded gross and all things involving sweat can just be gross, so... I went with KABOOM because that felt safer.


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