Just some casual girl talk.

An actual conversation I had with the Bestbian this morning via text*:

*The Mr also wants me to add a disclaimer that if you're grossed out by body talk, you might not dig this one. Sorry not sorry. 

Me: Whoa, <that girl we worked with five years ago at a restaurant> is pregnant now too?



Bestbian: Good lord all these women and their babies.

Me:  Why is everyone breeding so much? CALM DOWN, PEOPLE.


Me: Please don't get pregnant. I can't handle that responsibility. 

Bestbian: Never. You hold off at least for a while too, or I will freak out. 

Me: FOREVER. Pee and blood are the only things I will allow to come out of my vagina and that's only because I have no choice in the matter.

Bestbian:  ...I need to know that you know you don't pee from your vagina. 

Me: Well, yeah, but you know what I meant. That region is off limits.

Bestbian: No baby zone.

Me: Precisely. We should get spayed together one day.

Bestbian:  I would love that. Tubal ligation buddies! 

Me: Hooray!

Bestbian: We could put out notices that we're finally tying the knot. .........in our Fallopian tubes.


Still with me? YAY! Because I also have some news:

On April 8th, my writer's group is performing excerpts of our work at The Hickory Stick Bookshop in Washington Depot, CT! You should come. I'll be there and I'll be reading some new material! There will also be a bunch of talented people reading their work. 


Details here

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.


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. 


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,



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.

And it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign.

Whenever my schedule starts to fill up and my stress levels start to rise, the two things I cut out first are yoga and meditation. Because I'm a moron. 

I was born with a very mild form of spina bifida, which causes severe back and hip pain when it goes unchecked. I also get these mysterious migraines on a frequent basis that may or may not be related to the spina bifida or it could be that I've never had my wisdom teeth removed or possibly an iron deficiency? There are lots of theories floating around that have yet to be confirmed. Insurance has been gained and doctors appointments have been made and hopefully, we'll have solutions soon, but in the meantime, I live in a world of question marks. This world of question marks often leads to stress and anxiety. And when a question mark and a stress or anxiety ball love each other very much, my world then becomes populated with a lot of those question mark-exclamation point combos. 

It seems to me that a logical person would be very vigilant about doing the things that keep her brain and body happy when they are so keen on being very unhappy at the slightest disruption. 

Alas, I have never been known for my logic skills. I'm more one of those... excitable puppy types of people. I do whatever I fancy whenever I like as long as everyone in my life is happy. I forget to take care of myself until I'm reminded to do so when it's absolutely necessary. 

So yesterday I was discussing this very thing with a group of teens that my husband and I run a support group for at our church. The topic we were discussing was all about recognizing signs from God and how often these signs aren't very blatant, but instead are only obvious in hindsight and when we need or want to see these signs most is usually when we're least likely to be paying attention. 

But then last night I got home and I sat down on the couch with a heating pad on my back to soothe the pain and pulled up YouTube. Lo and behold, one of my favorite yoga instructors had uploaded a video titled "Yoga for Hips and Lower Back Release.

Alright, God. I hear you. 

P.S. I absolutely love this song, but can we please talk about this music video? I have so many questions! Why is everyone making out? What's with the weird cartwheels? I need to figure out this narrative.

P.P.S. If you don't know Yoga with Adriene yet... you're welcome. 

P.P.P.S. One of my favorite bloggers, Advice I Needed Yesterday, also wrote about her experience with fate and signs from the universe and it's like God is confirming my life choices all over again. Go read her now

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?