What Happens When We Talk About Boys.

Okay, so last night, my good friend Lemon and I were sitting at the bar having a drink when we spotted this mega attractive guy at the table behind us. Naturally, we went into creepy mode and started trying to sneak pictures of him to send to our best friend John Hamm, who just recently moved out to Boston and abandoned us all. All of said pictures came out blurry and accomplished nothing other than embarrassment.


So, anyway, John Hamm is dating the head chef at this restaurant (where Lemon and I also work). You haven't met him yet, duckies, but we'll call him Snape because... well... he kind of looks like Snape... if Snape showered every once in a while and smiled sometimes, too. Plus, he cooks amazing food, which is kind of like being a potions master, right?

Anyway... back to the blurry yet attractive man at the table and our texting conversation about him.

Lemon: Snape thinks he's gay... :( This has thrown us into second-guessing.

John Hamm: What, hot guy?

Me: No... Snape. Duh.... Like... you're his beard.

John Hamm: Ho boy... This is awkward.

Me: I think he and the sous chef are running away together.

I'd like to take a moment to point how just how quickly we got derailed from talking about the hot guy here. And no, Snape is not gay. That we know of.

Lemon: Now I'm paranoid... Because he is NOT gay in my head... Hot guy. Not Snape.

John Hamm: I'm just going to have to vehemently prove everyone wrong when he comes out here.


Lemon: Soooo... As witnessed by no one?

Me: Or everyone....

John Hamm: I can make you guys witnesses, but I feel like you wouldn't like that.

Lemon: ...do I get popcorn?

Me: And tomatoes to throw at you guys?

John Hamm: That's your prerogative.

Lemon: Can we yell "boo" when necessary?

Me: And applaud when deserved? Golf claps only, of course.

Lemon: Yeah, we don't want to distract you.

John Hamm: There will be no booing, as it will be spectacular from beginning to end.

Me: Oh!! And we can judge it "Dancing With the Stars" style!!! I want to be Bruno.

Lemon: I'm Len!!

John Hamm: You'll need a third.

Me: Um... Gumby. Obvi. He can be Carrie Ann.

John Hamm: Aw! He'll be enthused for me.

Me: But he'll critique your foot work!

Lemon: That means we get scoring paddles... Which you are prohibited from utilizing. Get your own! Oh! and I will use a cranky British accent!

Me: Yeah! I'll work on rolling my R's and getting all animated with my shoulders to the point of not being able to stay seated.

John Hamm: Just hang out with your mom for a while.

Me: Truth.

Lemon: This conversation took a strange turn...

John Hamm: Strange, but true... Also, it started strange.

Lemon: Eh, more or less.

Me: I can't wait for the Internet tomorrow...

Dear Diary: I'm Feeling Nostalgic

For some reason, I've been thinking a lot about when John Hamm, Lemon, and I used to write these ridiculous diary posts about our now former co-worker, Greg. He was the best... And then he ran away because having girls stalk you and publish that on the internet is weird for some unknown reason.Anyway, I've gained a lot of new followers in the recent past WHICH IS FRACKING AWESOME, but when I realized that many of you may not have actually gotten to experience the glory that is Dear Diary: Greg, it made me sad. So, here's a throwback. Just for you.

One of my jobs is as a hostess at a swanky wine bar (frightened by the fact that they let me be the welcoming face of a fancy restaurant? I understand.) A few of my friends who work there started a game with one of our chefs, Greg - or rather, about him. Real quick, let me describe Greg: Greg is tall. Greg has tattoos. Greg wears the same hat every day.

You see, our lunch hostess, "Lemon", and my best friend, who has requested to be referred to as "John Hamm" in this blog, were working the lunch shift. Let me explain how boring the lunch shift can be: soooooooooooooooooo boring. If you are ever stuck working said shift (as Lemon and my best friend John Hamm usually are) you must find a way to entertain yourself.

On this particular day, Lemon had been writing in her notebook. What she was writing is not important, but Greg walked by and had to ask...

Greg: What's that, your diary?

Lemon: Yup. I'm writing about you. "Dear Diary: Greg is so tall..."

Then Greg laughed like he didn't care and kept on walking (At least this is what I imagine he did. I wasn't there, so I have to go with my gut on this one). Lemon and John Hamm, however, just realized that they had discovered a new game - and thus "Dear Diary Greg" was born.

I eventually started contributing as well, though I must say that most of the classics come from John Hamm and Lemon. After many weeks of humoring ourselves and making Greg feel uncomfortable, he has given me permission to publish all of our diary entries here on the internet for all of you to read...even though he has no idea what any of them are.

Here are the best of the "Dear Diary Greg" entries that we have come up with... enjoy!

*** Dear Diary: I had a dream that Greg couldn't say the number 3. What does it mean, Diary?

Dear Diary: I had a dream that Greg wore a cape and had whisks for hands. What does it mean?

Dear Diary: I just watched Greg tear a box in half with his bare hands! He's so strong!

Dear Diary: I just watched Greg twist the heads off lobsters. Should I find this strangely erotic, Diary?

Dear Diary: Greg just called me weird. ... Do you think it means he loves me?

Dear Diary: What would mine and Greg's kids look like? Would they be born with hats and tattoos?

Dear Diary: Greg came into work mildly grumpy today. I hope everything is ok. Should I send him an edible arrangement?

Dear Diary: A customer came in tonight with a hat just like Greg's! Could there be two of them, Diary?!

Dear Diary: Do you think Greg has an entire closet full of the same hat?

Dear Diary: Do you think Greg's hat gives him superpowers? Or do they just come naturally?

Dear Diary: Do you think Greg hides things under his hat? Maybe a pet marmoset?

Dear Diary: Do you think Greg would wear a grey hat if I bought him one? Or is it too edgy for him?

Dear Diary: Should I start calling him Gregory? Could it be our thing?

Dear Diary: I wonder where Greg got his tattoos done. Maybe he just willed them into existence?

Dear Diary: Do you think Greg's tattoos are sentient?

Dear Diary: I had a dream that Greg fought crime on the back of a flying, sassy camel. What does it mean?

Dear Diary: I had a dream that Greg assaulted 80s screen idol Eric Stoltz with a sack of cupcakes. What does it mean?

Dear Diary: I had a dream that Greg was in the brat pack classic "St. Elmo's Fire." He played every role. What does it mean?

Dear Diary: I dreamed Greg was Jareth in a Spanish reenactment of "Labyrinth." It was rather disturbing, Diary. What do you think it means?

Dear Diary: I had a dream that I was snuggling with hundreds of puppies, but they were all wearing Greg's hat with ear holes and they had puppy tattoos just like his! Do you think this means that Greg likes to snuggle, Diary?

Dear Diary: Greg's mean. >:(

Dear Diary: Greg apologized. He's so sweet, Diary... :)

Dear Diary: Greg wasn't at work today... Do you think he's sick? Should I bring him some homemade soup or are we not there yet? What do you think, Diary?

Dear Diary: Greg thought I was mad at him today even though I wasn't. Does this mean he loves me, Diary???

Dear Diary: Did you know that Greg lives on top of cupcakes?? He's so cool...

Dear Diary: Greg asked me a question today and I answered him. It was awesome.

Think you can come up with some more Dear Diary, Greg classics??? Post them in the comments box for all of us to enjoy!!

The Misadventures of John Hamm & Lemon - Part 2.

Hey, Duckies! I'm still in NYC, so John Hamm and Lemon took over my blog! Yesterday was just a preview of the ridiculousness that was to come into their lives... strap in, y'all. This ride is crazy. John Hamm: Welcome back, Ducklings! Welcome back to Hamm & Lemon’s Dance Fever! If you recall we were your intrepid hosts and damsels, and we are back again to bring you the second and final installment in our harrowing tale of late night drinking. We are armed with wine (again) and are prepared to let the weird train roll right along.

Lemon: Perhaps you remember when we last left you:

Picture 2

JH: Hereafter referred to as O’Generics.

L: We sat at O’Generics for quite a while without incident.

JH: We talked about love, life, philosophy...

L: Like ya do.

JH: But when we decided to move to the patio?

L: That’s when stuff started degenerating.

JH: It began innocuous enough. A bespectacled man offered to buy us shots. He shall be referred to herein as, simply, Bartender.

L: Because he was a bartender. And we are creative.

JH: We declined the shots, but continued on with some harmless bar-chat.

L: And then John Hamm went to the bathroom.

JH: Now, as far as women are concerned, bar trips can be summed up as the time your drinking companion takes bathroom breaks.

L: Bartender left us be to return to his group, John Hamm went to the bathroom, and I was briefly alone and all was well. That is, until John Hamm returned with ominous news.

JH: As I was exiting O’Generics with literally no avenue of escape who should stop me but Thing 1 and Thing 2. The conversation went something to the effect of:

Thing 1 - It’s you!

Me - Yeahhhhhhh...

Thing 1 - Mind if we come out and join you?

Me - Surrrrrrre...

L: We spend the next half-hour watching them unsubtly through the window to ensure they stayed at the bar.

JH: Perhaps our obvious discomfort finally dissuaded them, because they left again without accosting us any further. But the mystery of how they found us in the first place?

L: Remains unsolved. With Things 1 & 2 now dispatched with, we dared to think we were safe. But no.

JH: Enter Baby Alan Moore.

L: So named here for his prominent beard. Basically, picture a younger version of this:

Picture 1


Now picture it in a NASA t-shirt.




Now we can continue.

JH: Baby Alan Moore engaged us on our tastes in music.

L: Unfortunate for him, we can both be infuriatingly difficult when asked about music taste.

JH: We are not picky.

L: We have almost zero discernment. We listen to anything.

JH: And everything.

L: When confronted with our non-committal responses, Baby Alan Moore responded by giving us a handful of quarters, and telling us to play the jukebox.

JH: Ultimately, our selections pleased him.

L: And then he vanished. Don’t worry, he will return.

JH: Then came Lemon’s turn for a bathroom break.

L: Cue the awkwardness in 3, 2, 1...

JH: With almost supernatural timing and prescience, Bartender reappeared and asked me out. This is a good time to mention how awkward I am in these situations.

L: Just for clarification: how awkward we both are, especially considering I am very much married.

JH: This is true. Now, Ducklings, remember Emelie’s guest post about how to charmingly stop people from hitting on you? Well I only wish I could be that suave. Instead, I stutter and dance around the turning-down part of the process. I will make the point too that I can’t bring myself to say “yes” to those who ask women out in bars.

L: That is just a pro-tip... for life.

JH: Anyway, by the time Lemon got back, I had sidled awkwardly away from Bartender. It was weird, yes. But I thought I’d made it work.

L: That assumption would prove wrong. I kicked him out of my chair. He offered again to buy us shots.

JH: Which we again declined.

L: We told him we were leaving.

JH: Which, to be fair, we had every intention of doing!

L: And almost did!

JH: We say “almost” because we proceeded to stand by my car for another 45 minutes.

L: The whole pesky love, life, philosophy, etc...

JH: Re-enter Baby Alan Moore.

L: He awkwardly approached and began faltering speech. Something akin to: “I just want to tell you ladies... Well, you are very well-dressed. You’re very put-together. And I just want to tell you... I just want to tell you that... you’re women, yes... but you are also goddesses.”

**momentary stunned silence**

JH: Frankly, we were at quite a loss for the proper response.

L: We couldn’t exactly leave. Leaving would be nothing less than right then getting in the car and accelerating out of the parking lot.

JH: After further faltering speech, and its accompanying awkwardness, he finally dismissed himself.

L: And skipped away.

JH: Yes, skipped.

L: Seriously. He literally skipped.

JH: In hindsight, it is probably our own fault that we didn’t leave then.

L: But we didn’t.

JH: No, Ducklings, we stayed and kept talking by the car.

L: Love, life, philosophy...

JH: Etc...

L: Re-enter Bartender: “I thought you guys were leaving!”

JH: Nope. We were still there.

L: Cue the three of us sitting on the ground. In the parking lot. By John Hamm’s car. With Bartender still trying to get with John Hamm. There was light leering.

JH: Yeahh...

L: Bartender’s tactic was a strange one to listen to. Essentially, every thing John Hamm said, he agreed with in the most general of responses.

JH: Yeahhh..

L: And then John Hamm went to the bathroom.

JH: Yeah...

L: What follows is an approximate replay of my conversation with Bartender:

Bartender - So what do you do?

Me - Not much. I’m rather boring.

Bartender - So what are you? Single? Dating? Married?

Me - I’m married.

Bartender - Do you like being married?

Me - ... ... ... ... Yes.

Bartender - So why is it boring? You saying you’re bored being married?

Me - ... ... ... ... No. I meant I’m not usually out. I’m usually at home playing video games or watching movies or tv.

 **weird silence**

JH: I returned to the car, and we gave in and ended up back on the patio.

L: Enter Purple Beard.

JH: Purple Beard’s story, in the capacity that we knew him, isn’t long or complicated.

L: He really did have a long, purple beard.

JH: Which he paints with. That is his story.

L: Bartender leered at John Hamm some more, finally talked her into a shot, and continued his efforts to try and get a date with her/take her home.

JH: To no effect.

L: It tapered off from there.

JH: We truly did leave.

L: Got in our cars safely. Drove home safely.

JH: And so concludes our saga.

L: I do not think either of us will be returning to O’Generics anytime soon.

JH: Perhaps some self-esteem was gained, but at what cost?


We imagine a comic book universe where Clark Kent really does work in a fancy restaurant, and does his good deeds for cigarettes and whiskey.

John Hamm and Lemon Tell Tall Tales of Strange Men Part 1

Hey, Duckies!! Sorry for not posting yesterday. I'm currently in NYC for Book Expo and I wasn't able to get to a computer all day, and my phone wouldn't let me post either. I know, it was tragic for me, too. But don't fret, Duckies! I've got you covered! Or rather, John Hamm and Lemon do! They've graciously offered to cover my blogging butt while I'm out of town and do a 2-part guest posting for me. This is a true story about what happened to them just a couple of weeks ago. I'm sure you'll love it just as much as I did when I first heard it.

So without further ado...

John Hamm: Greetings, Internet Ducklings. John Hamm here, writing a guest post while Emelie’s fingernails dry.

Lemon:  Lemon here too, making my debut on this blog. I’ll be your plucky co-pilot throughout this post, as I was directly involved in the soon-to-be-recounted bizarro tale.

JH:  Believe it or not, as we write this, we are sitting down the bar from a middle-aged, married businessman who mildly stalked Lemon and me the other night.

L:  This is true. And as good a lead-in as we will get...

JH:  The other night, Lemon came out to the fancy restaurant where we work to keep me company on a slow night.

L:  Also to drink wine in the process.

JH:  I finished up my shift and joined her at the bar which was empty except for the two of us and two businessmen.

L:  Two, shall we say... gregarious businessmen...

JH:  ... Hereafter referred to as Thing 1 and Thing 2. Naturally, since our only intention was to talk amongst ourselves, Things 1 and 2  immediately began to talking to us.

L:  And by “talking to,” we mean “hitting on.”

JH:  And by “hitting on,” we mean “tried to buy us a bottle of champagne.”

L:  Thing 1 specifically mentioned Cristal.

JH:  And the only Cristal we sell is a $325 bottle.

L:  So to us, “Strings Attached” Cristal.

JH:  Hoping to avoid any further progression, the next move was for Lemon to quietly excuse herself and completely un-ironically seek out our co-worker, "Clark Kent", to save us.

L: Oh god! That is exactly what we did, isn’t it? **takes a minute to laugh** Anyways, what follows is a rough replay of my conversation with Clark Kent:

Me -  So there are those two guys at the bar and --

Clark Kent -  Want us to get you out of that?

Me -  Yes. They are trying to buy us a bottle of champagne.

Clark Kent -  I can get you out of that. Give me a cigarette and I’ll come over and get you out of that.

Me -  Deal! Thanks!

JH:  Meanwhile, I sat at the bar trying to avoid eye-contact as Thing 1 and Thing 2 tried to stare at me, and yet simultaneously hit on our bartender

L:  Thankfully, by the time I returned to the bar, two regulars had descended, distracting Things 1 and 2 enough for John Hamm and I to mount an escape.

JH:  And so we fled to our local franchise Irish pub. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait until Friday to read how things got weirder from there.

L:  It’s like a 30s adventure serial, but in a pub. So tune in next week --

JH: Friday.

L: Tune in Friday to hear how things only got weirder for our intrepid damsels!

JH: Seriously, guys, we can’t make this crap


The Estevez Contestevez

So, Lemon's birthday was last week and to celebrate she hosted a movie marathon of all Emilio Estevez films - a.k.a The Estevez Festevez (Cougar Town fans should appreciate). This spurred on a two-day span of Lemon, John Hamm, and I trying to come up with the best Estevez puns... Or...

The Estevez Contesteves


Emilio Esetevez gets first place: Emilio Bestevez!

Emilio Estevez sponsors a cancer foundation/Stars in a really weird porno: Emilio Breastevez!

Emilio Estevez takes an afternoon nap in Mexico: Emilio Siestavez!

Emilio Estevez parties in Mexico: Emilio Fiestavez!

Emilio Estevez gets accused of sexual harassment: Emilio Molestevez... :(

Emilio Estevez doesn't approve of animal testing and takes to the street to voice his concerns: Emilio Protestevez

Emilio Estevez does an ad for oral hygiene in support of his new toothpaste: Emilio Crestevez

Emilio Estevez does one-man enactments of Shakespeare plays: Emilio Tempestevez!

Emilio Estevez goes searching for lost treasures: The Estevez Questevez

Emilio Estevez gives sound advice on stocks and bonds: The Estevez Investevez

Emilio Estevez spends a day clowning around the Queen's courts: Emilio Jestervez!

Emilio Estevez rapidly multiplies and becomes destructive: Estevez Infestevez

Emilio Estevez kisses his brother, Charlie Sheen: Emilio Incestevez... :(

Spanish Estevez has an existential crisis: Estevez Que Es-tavez...?

Emilio Estevez hosts a COPS-like show: Estavez Arrestavez!

Emilio Estevez becomes a minister: Emilio Blessedevez

Emilio Estevez releases a tutorial on coups: The Estevez Unrestevez

Emilio Estevez sponsors Activia: Emilio Digestivez

Emilio Estevez begins co-hosting E! Red Carpet: The Estevez Seacrestevez!

They're all winners in my mind. And yes, Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez really are brothers. Wikipedia that shit.

Tune in next week for the Rob Lowe-down Showdown! Feel free to contribute your own!