So... I'm screwed up, but in a cute way... right?

This week was a weird week and it involved a lot of panic attacks, which I won't dive into, but it also involved my friend, Sookie (not her real name, but she is the Sookie St James to my Lorelai Gilmore, so that is what she shall be called here), being lovely to me and wonderful in many ways, because last night, she felt the need to check in via text: Sookie: Mental health check.

Me: Me? I'm doing okay now. Watching Doctor Who with Mike. The dog seems back to his normal self (Did I tell you that I thought he was dying the other night?) and life feels good. You?

Sookie: I'm fine. What was wrong with Gio?

Me: I think he just had a bug. He wouldn't get off the couch or eat and I'm pretty sure he had a fever. And all the dogs that I've lost so far in my life have dropped very suddenly under similar circumstances, so I might have had a bit of a panic attack over the situation.... Thus proving that I'm not cut our for human children because I might care a little too furiously about the things I'm not biologically tied to.

Sookie: Oh that sounds awful!

Me: Yeah, it was fun. But I like to think that the level of screwed up I am is endearing.

Sookie: I completely agree. Your level of screwed up is very charming.


In honor of Mother's Day...

Because this Sunday is Mother's Day, I thought it would be fun to revisit all of my mother's appearances on this blog, of which there are quite a few and they are all golden. So,  here's one of the latest and greatest. And don't forget: MOTHER'S DAY IS ON SUNDAY!!

And Once Again, My Mother, Ladies and Gentlemen...

So last night I was sitting at home and relaxing with some Netflix and my dog. It was perfect.

And then I went to wash my face.

"Why do my eyes look different?" I thought to myself. And then I realized that it wasn't that my eyes look different, it's that MY FACE IS FRAKING SWOLLEN AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHY.

So, I immediately texted my mother (because that's what you do in any emergency, and yes I count this as an emergency.), who is visiting my sister and niece in Chicago, which prompted this phone call:

Me: Hello?

Mom: What happened?

Me: I have no idea.

Mom: Is it allergies?

Me: I've never had an allergy! Why don't you know that? All I did today was go to work and eat mac and cheese!

Mom: Weird... Do you have some Benadryl?

Me: No...and everything's closed right now.

Mom: Alright, well... if it's still like that in the morning, go get some Benadryl and go to the doctor.

Me: I don't even know where there is a doctor... I've never needed one out here. I'M A CHILD.

Mom: Good God, Emelie...

Me: Anyway, how is Chicago?

Mom: Good. The baby has a fever.


Mom: Well, your sister and I are fine. We're just hanging out and drinking wine.

Me: Oh, maybe that's my issue. I was out of wine tonight. Maybe I'm having an allergic reaction to not having wine.

Mom: You're out of wine?!?!

Me: I know... I have failed you.

Mom: Well, that's obviously the problem. You need to fix that. Put that on your shopping list for tomorrow, too: Wine and Benadryl.

Sister in the background: What??? DON'T LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER!!!

Me: Mom, you give the best advice.


Why Bachelorette Parties Should Never Be Scheduled on Mother's Day Weekend and Why My Friends Are Fantastic.

Meet "Topanga": topanga  

Topanga might possibly  be one of my most favorite people ever. I don't get to see her very often, because she's frequently saving lives as a nurse, but on the rare occasions that she is able to come out and play with the rest of us, the evening is automatically improved. Why? To put it simply: She has the best stories.

I should warn you that this particular story does involve some moderately inappropriate content, so if you're under the age of 18, you should probably walk away from your computer and just come back on Friday for something your mother would approve of. Maybe. 

Okay, now that I've disclaimed.... Let's get to Topanga's awesome story.

So, this past weekend was, as many of you know, Mother's Day weekend. Topanga spent Saturday, however, at a bachelorette party for one of her good friends. Just like any good bachelorette party, there were drinks, dancing, and inappropriate name-tags:



Now, ordinarily this would not be any sort of a problem. I mean, Saturday night you go out, wear a bit of genitalia on your chest, go home, remove said genitalia and Sunday morning you wake up, wish your mother a Happy Mom Day and the genitalia need not even be mentioned.

Unless you're Topanga. If you're Topanga, you go out, wear a bit of genitalia on your chest, go home, remove said genitalia and then wake up to find out that you're allergic to the adhesive that was on the back of the genitalia-shaped name-tag:


Topanga: It's hard being this classy, you guys. My mother had never been prouder. "Happy Mother's Day, Mom! There's a giant penis on my boob." I mean, the balls were gone by Monday morning, but the shaft was still there... And now [Tuesday] it's gone. ...You can still feel it, though...

And that, ladies and gents, is Topanga. And I love her.


What should I read next? Go to the Book Reviews page and tell me!