I am Corgi. Hear Me Roar.

Things just got serious, my friends.

If you follow my Instagram Story, you already know part of this story, but I saved the most Emelie (the Emeliest?) part of the story for the blog because, well, it got weird. 

Let me start at the beginning: I went to the Town Hall today to register myself as a business since I changed my name legally after I got married, but I'm still writing under my maiden name, so checks being written to Emelie Samuelson weren't really going to fly at my bank anymore, but also because I'm actually getting paid a lot more for writing stuff now and I thought that maybe I should be a little bit more... official? It was all very grown-up feeling.

After dropping 5 buckaroos at Town Hall and being told that I am now legally my own business (I tried to list the voices in my head as employees, but thought better of it at the last minute, which I think is progress), I walked over to the bank to open a DBA account, at which point I found that the woman who runs things over there is a fellow NaNoWriMo participant and she and her husband write post-apocalyptic sci-fi together. I took this as a sign from God that she approved of what I was doing and my banking choices. (Thanks, God!) 


But then the bank lady's computer started being slow, so while she figured that stuff out I texted Bestbian to be all "OMG I AM A BUSINESS NOW" and she texted me some confetti (which is a thing we can do now?) and then she asked what I registered myself as: my name or AwkwardlyAlive?

Me: I went with my maiden name.

Her: You have a maiden name. That's still so weird.

Me: I know!

And then she went on to explain that the term "maiden name" really skeeves her out because apparently calling people maids or matrons was just a way to say "she's allowed to bang now," which is weird because that means when we say "maiden name" we really mean "virgin name" historically speaking, and so then I meant to send a text that read "so aren't all non-virgins matrons?" but auto-correct decided that "non-virgins" isn't a term and instead was like "I think you meant 'non-corgis'" WHICH IS WAY MORE ADORABLE/DISTURBING THAN WHAT I HAD MEANT TO SAY. 


But you'll be glad to know that I was all "NO!" and I remained strong because I'm a good feminist and also because my account wasn't officially set up yet so I really needed to play it cool. But mainly because DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY.  

But the real takeaway here is that I'm I registered business now, friends. I AM EMELIE DOING BUSINESS AS EMELIE. 

I think my dog is secretly my teenage daughter.

The weather today is gross and disgusting. 

It started off rainy, which I like, and then it turned to snowy, which I also like, but it's all coupled with 35mph winds, which I do not like. 

Especially when the dogs have to go to the bathroom and then when I take them out I'm forced to curse the heavens about the fact that we have two huskies and no fenced in yard because BUYING A HOUSE IS DIFFICULT. 

But then the dogs look up at me and get all blinky because snow is blowing into their eyes and I sigh and tell them that I know they didn't choose a life of pooping outside either. It chose them. And then Aloy is all "actually, I used to poop inside all the time when you first brought me home, but you and The Mr always yelled at me for it, so not to be that guy, but I think that means that technically this is your fault." 

She's not wrong. That's the annoying part. 



We're all going to die yay!

I don't know if it's the time of year or maybe some planets are doing the conga line, but I feel like a lot of people in my life are going through tough times right now. 

If you're one of those people, I want you to know that I love you and I'm sending you so many virtual hugs (and IRL ones if you're nearby, too!).

Life can be crummy sometimes. The Mr and I just did our taxes and, even though we expected to owe, it's never fun to watch the numbers get calculated. 

So then I decided to watch some husky videos on youtube and learn how to be an even better human for our dogs, but for some reason my brain was all "yeah these dogs are great, it sucks that they'll die some day" and I've spiraled into sadness and my face is buried in Gio's fur and he is confused. 

But tomorrow is a new day and I believe that these crummy feelings will pass and be replaced by other ones. 

Because one day my dogs will die. And so will The Mr and so will you and me, too. 

I've recently discovered there is an app that reminds you of this on a daily basis. 

I know that sounds terribly depressing, but it's also kind of liberating. We're all going to die. So why waste this life being sad about stuff? 

So once I hit publish, I'm taking off my bra and putting on sweats (the start to any series of good decisions) and then I'm going to pour myself a glass of wine and snuggle up on the couch with my husband and my dogs and forget the mountain of money that we owe the government for one more evening. 

Because, hey, I might not get the chance tomorrow. 

A slippery success! Maybe.

So on Friday, I wrote about how I'm trying to live as close to a zero waste life as I can and YOU GUYS. I JUST MADE LOTION. FOR MY FACE. 

I'm still trying to figure out some things - like where to get cheaper rosehip seed oil and how to eliminate the amount of plastic that I'm purchasing when gathering these ingredients - but I can't lie: this stuff is amazing. I even gave The Mr a foot rub with it, AND I HATE FEET. I was that proud of my work. 

Of course, neither one of us can open a jar or turn a doorknob to save our lives now so we're both just sort of trapped in our house until we dry out, which could take days. Or even weeks? There's no knowing at this point...

The other problem is the dogs. They now find us delicious. So... if we can't get out of the house because our hands are too slippery and the dogs get hungry enough... this could be goodbye, which is a real bummer since they'll have eaten my now flawless skin so I won't even be able to show it off at the funeral. 

All I Need Is Beets.

Friends, I've fallen down a rabbit hole.

A zero waste rabbit hole.

Don't worry. This blog is not at all about to become a zero waste lifestyle blog. It will remain a "what NOT to do with your life" kind of blog. 

But I've gone real deep now and it's bad. Or good? I don't know, you tell me. 

I've been researching mascara recipes. 


When I told my sister this, she appropriately responded, "Why don't you just... stop wearing mascara?"

Which is ridiculous! How would people see my luscious eyelashes, SISTER? 

If I can just mix some coconut oil and beet juice together to make a lip stain that is both effective AND delicious, WHY SHOULDN'T I? 

I mean, yes, I might be going full Frankie. I don't deny that, but let's be honest: We'd all rather be Frankie, right? 

Now, I've fallen down a lot of rabbit holes. There have been baking rabbit holes and knitting rabbit holes (both of which I'm still in, now that I think about it), so this kind of feels normal. I mean, I'm already a vegetarian (going on 10 years now) because I love animals too much, so doesn't it make sense that I would also be doing my best to love the earth and stop buying plastic? 

Doesn't it only make sense that I would smear beet juice on my face? 

Let's be real. I have a future and I'm okay with the way it looks. 

And you're all probably wondering how The Mr is taking this.

At first, he was... concerned.

Now? Well, he knows me well enough to realize that he just needs to hop on board and ride this wave, which is why he lovingly takes me to goodwill to search for sweaters that I can unravel so that I don't buy new yarn for my crocheting projects or previously owned stuffed animals that I can wash and then tear open and re-use their stuffing for my crocheted critters while also giving the skins to the dogs to play with and yes I realize how creepy that sounds - especially coming from a vegetarian, but they're NOT REAL LIVING ANIMALS. I HAVE TO BELIEVE THAT. THEY DON'T HAVE SOULS. 

And yeah, I'll admit it, I'm looking at homemade deodorant and laundry detergent and I LOVE IT.

For starters, it's a huge money saver. I've canceled all of my beauty subscription services, even though I loved them, because let's be real: I don't need new clothes or makeup.


Join me, won't you? 

This is a very specific post for a very specific set of people and it is also a very specific cry for help.

I have an obsession with British Panel Shows. 

Specifically, the glorious crossover that is 8 out of 10 Cats Does Countdown. 

If you're not familiar, a bunch of comedians get together and compete to spell words and do math and I LOVE IT. 


The obsession started when I was on my honeymoon in Scotland and on the really gross rainy nights (so every night), the Mr and I would veg out and check out what UK television was like and we found this show and we would sit in bed and play along and now we STILL DO THAT by watching it online. 

And the sad thing is that it's one of the reasons I want to move back to the UK. So that we can watch this show. I mean, there are a lot of other reasons, but 8 Out of 10 Cats Does Countdown is definitely one of the contributing factors. In fact, I'm watching it while I'm writing this. I love it that much. 

I don't really have too much else to say on the subject, but can any of you relate? Am I just a sad, lonely person? Should I seek help for my dreams of one day being a guest on Dictionary Corner? 

I am a golden bowl of weird.

It's not a secret that I don't always make the best of choices. 

I set off fire alarms just by boiling water.

I trip over my own feet. 

I say ridiculous things when the situation gets awkward and uncomfortable, which inevitably just makes the situation even more awkward and uncomfortable.

My body is all messed up due to a birth defect.

I'm smart about some things, but not most things. 

I don't know how cars work and driving gives me anxiety. 

Most things give me anxiety. 

I'm basically just constantly making a fool of myself. 

And so one would think that I'd be super down for fixing all of these things.

But the truth is, I'm not so much interested in fixing these things as I am in finding a way to balance them. 

Because I like me and I don't want to become one of those people who is constantly at peace with myself.

World peace? Yes, please.

Inner peace? 

Don't get me wrong: I want to fix some things. The physical stuff can be a real drag. I hate having monthly migraines and the fact that my hips always hurt, so I try to do yoga every day - I even like the meditation part of it a lot, so I'm not dragging on that at all. 

But I also think that part of that whole narrative of self-care which has become so buzzy these past few years is not so much about learning to "be better" and more at peace and all "ommy" all the time, but to just love your dang self - not in a "look at me I'm so awesome" kind of way, but in a "I ENJOY BEING AROUND MYSELF EVEN THOUGH I'M WEIRD BECAUSE WEIRD IS FUN" kind of way. 

And it's not that I'm not constantly trying to be a better person or version of myself. I'm constantly improving. 

I just don't think that I need fixing. 

Maybe instead we should treat ourselves like one of those Japanese Kintsugi bowls where when it breaks, people just put the pieces back together by filling in the fractured bits with a special gold lacquer, thus making the bowl even prettier than it was before. All because it was broken.

I'm weird and anxious and I use cartoon-like voices to express myself.

I talk to my dogs (and I believe they talk back through me).

I have irrational fears of sharks in pools.

I know that my toilet is haunted, which is a thing that excites me rather than scares me although it probably should because ghosts possessing you through your toilet bits is VERY concerning.

My body is screwed up and I'm working on that.

I often go down rabbit holes of trying to live a zero waste life only to end up accumulating a bunch of trash. 

This is who I am. 

And if I wasn't that, then what the heck would I write about?

Homemade yogurt recipes that you can freeze in your old toilet paper rolls to make your own push-pops probably... but doesn't the internet have enough of those? 


You know that feeling when you're trying to be your best self so you decide that you're going to drink tons of water every day, take up meditation and yoga, learn to speak Swedish fluently, walk at least three miles every morninng, keep a regular journal, make all of your own cleaning supplies from scratch, consistently save 10% of your paycheck, pay off your credit cards every month, go to the gym twice a week, make more time for friends and family while also working full time, running a blog, freelancing, working part time at your local church, and trying to get your novel published? 

I'm having one of those weeks, and just in case you are too, I thought I'd put together a bunch of nice things to make us all happier: 


Aren't we all happier now? I know I am.

What are some of your favorites? Send them to me please because I think I just need to work this into my ever growing routine. 

A different kind of Game Day

Superbowl Sunday never really meant much to me until about three years ago. 

Three years doesn't seem right. it doesn't seem long enough, but 2018-2015=3 (right? Right I checked my calculator. I'm right.), so it must be three years now. 

It's one of those stupid cliche's - in fact this story is full of those stupid cliche's, but it really doesn't seem like I met the Mr only three years ago. 

In reality, we'd started talking about six weeks that on the dating app we were both using and then via facebook and texts and then nightly phone calls. We would have probably met in person sooner, but there was a 280 mile gap between us because the jerk had to be living in Vermont at the time and I had to be living in Stars Hollow.

So once he finally did that whole "do you want to meet?"

I was all: 

TOTALLY KIDDING! I was basically like this: 

So we decided to meet up that Sunday.

Which neither of us realized until later was Superbowl Sunday. 

Because we're nerds. Who don't watch sports. 

So we met at a brewery that was halfway between our two houses for lunch, and at that point nothing was really happening as far as football goes, so it was fine. I got there first and pulled a book out of my purse and waited. And then he walked in and Yeah. It was like that. We were both wearing Gryffindor scarves and all those dorky mushy feelings I had when I talked to him over the phone came bubbling up because darn it, he was cute, too.

And then we left the bar after lunch and we had all these plans to explore this town. Apparently Rudyard Kipling lived there? But we got lost on a dirt road trying to find his house, and while we were driving deeper into the woods I let The Mr know that I was texting my friends with my location in case he was going to murder me. He agreed that it was a smart plan.

So then we were going to go to the Tasha Tudor Museum. She illustrated children's books and it seemed weird and quirky and I'm pretty sure The Mr was going to say yes to anything that day, so we headed that way. It was closed. Most likely because it was Sunday and probably not becuase of football. But I shouldn't put museum curators in a box. 

So our plans were going bust. But we didn't want to finish the date yet, so we found a bowling alley and bowled for a bit, which was awesome for many reasons:

1. I got to admire The Mr from different angles.

2. There was a jukebox and we took over and just played Queen the entire time because you can't be upset or bored when Queen is on. In fact, I should be listening to Queen right now. What was I thinking? 


We finished bowling, and we still didn't want to stop hanging out. Did we both have 2.5 hour drives home? Yes. Did we care? NOPE.

So we went to a record store. I bought an old Lily Tomlin comedy album, because duh. He bought something that I can't remember because this is my version of the story and when he starts a blog he can tell the world what record he bought. 

And then that record store happened to be next to the bar where we started our date. So we went back in there. And then remembered that it was Superbowl Sunday. 

The place was packed. Except for the two seats at the bar that were facing away from the giant screen. At this point, The Mr looked at me and said "I know this might sound weird, but I have a present for you. Just wait here." 

He ran out to his car and returned with a game of our own to play: Guillotine. It's a card game about the French revolution in which you're all competing as executioners to behead the most people. 

Have you ever met someone who just...gets you? 

So we sat at the bar all night, eating good food and playing this game, much to our bartender's amusement and concern. 

That night when I finally got home, I called my sister and relayed the events of the evening to her. 

Sister: So.... do you feel like this guy is, like, "the one?"

Me: After one date? That's a little insane, don't you think?

But then again... so am I. 

Oh what a week it has been...

So if you are fiercely dedicated to this blog (and why wouldn't you be? It's basically the best thing on the Internet. ...right?) then you noticed that I didn't post a single thing last week. 

And none of you panicked.

Which I assume means that you all were following my Instagram story very closely and you knew how insanely busy I was at a work conference. 

But you have no idea...

Let me take you through my week of absolute insanity: 

Monday: Woke up at 2am to drive to the airport for my 5:40am flight. Luckily the whole WHO AM I debacle got solved in the nick of time, so I ended up making it through security no problem. 

At 11am, I checked in at my hotel in Memphis and promptly NAPPED MY BUTT OFF. It was glorious.


The Mr reacted appropriately when he found out I met @hankgreen. #wi13

A post shared by Emelie Samuelson (@awkwardlyaliveblog) on

It was amazing. And exhausting. But mostly amazing.

Friday: Flew home. Read three books. Very happy.

Saturday: Back to work at the bookshop all day and then immediately after work I went up the street to the church where The Mr and I run the youth group. Saturday night was, of course, our annual overnight lock-in. We "slept" for maybe 5 hours. Maybe. Once again, things were amazing and exhausting.

Sunday: Up at 7am to make breakfast for 15 teenagers before church - skipped out of church early to head to the bookshop where I was hosting a dinosaur themed birthday party for a dozen toddlers. This is when things REALLY get crazy.

The birthday party was scheduled for 12-2pm. So imagine my surprise when all of the guests show up at 11am. 

Me: Hi!

Birthday boy's grandmother: Hi!

Me:  So... I had noon?

Her:  Oh no. I sent out invitations that said 11-1...

Me: Great!

So... cut to a dozen phone calls to reschedule the pizza delivery and also to get the birthday boy here on time, which was harder than one would think, since his mother wrote down that the party started at 1. 


Did I mention how little I had slept at that point? VERY LITTLE. 

But somehow, it happened. It happened in a blur, but it happened. The pizza showed up at noon instead of 1pm, the birthday boy got there by 11:20, and I went to bed at 3pm and I think I might still be sleeping now as I type this. 

All I know is that it's good to be done with it all and back to blogging with you wonderful people. 

Good night.