So... THIS HAPPENED. 

....WHAT IS HAPPENING?!?!

In equally unsettling news, #SundaySupdates, a live Q&A I do WHILST COOKING, is live and public this Sunday at 8pm! Most Sundays it's just for the Patreon people, but the last Sunday of every month, I open it up to ALL OF YOU! Can't make it? Post a question in the comments and I'll answer it during the livestream!

Unless I black out and murder myself by then.


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Texting and the art of The Woo

Last night, I received this text from my friend, who for privacy reasons we will call "Sara": The guy I went out with CALLED and LEFT A MESSAGE to ask me out for a second date. Why has this never happened before?

And my immediate response was something along the lines of "Yes. I am also shocked by this gesture and I wholeheartedly approve of his effortful actions." (Sidenote: I just accidentally found out that "effortful" is a word.) and then I was so quickly overcome by the thought "WAIT THIS SHOULD NOT BE A SHOCKING THING" that I was prompted to text her that exact statement around 4am her time because I care.

I know that living in the tiny cell phone-serviceless (not a real word, apparently, but I tried) area that I live in has only reinforced my traditional and seemingly old-fashioned ways, but I think a phone call should not be that weird, especially when it comes to the art of The Woo.

Don't get me wrong, I love texting. I'm hysterical via text and I appreciate it as a medium of communication (I'm a millennial after all), but I think that texting is something one should only really use in certain situations:

  1. With your close friends. Your best friend or other close friends know your tone. They can read your subtle sarcasms. They get you enough to know that when you text things like, "That sounds like a great idea." what you really mean is, "What the actual fuck are you thinking?" After a first date, however, a guy could text me and say "Great time! Want to meet up next week?" and when I respond with a simple "K." I really run the risk that he won't know that what I really mean is "You are super boring and my enthusiasm is the equivalent of this one letter, so no..." See? This is why one should always call.
  2. Quick messages and updates. These include messages such as "I'm running late! Be there in five minutes!" or "The dog just puked in the toilet! Today is amazing!"
  3. When updating your friend about current awkward situations: "This guy on the bus is literally trying to lick his own elbow right now." ...... "Oh God... he just looked at me and smiled." ....... "It's official. This is what I'm attracting: Elbow-licking loners on busses. It's time to reevaluate my life." ..... "Why aren't you responding to me?" ....... "UPDATE: ELBOW-LICKER HAS SWITCHED SEATS AND IS NOW NEXT TO ME. THIS MAY BE THE LAST MESSAGE I EVER SEND. PLEASE REMEMBER THAT I LOVE Y--" .......................... "Really? Nothing? Do you not even care about my safety?" And other things like that until your friend finally responds with "I knew you could get through this on your own, that's why I didn't respond. That and I was in a meeting because I have a real job, so thanks for blowing up my phone and making my boss glare at me. Also, I knew you were lying towards the end because you wouldn't have been able to text me if he really was sitting next to you, so you deserved what you got."

When it comes to The Woo, however, a text just isn't romantic, no matter how many emogis you use. There is something about being able to pick up your phone and hear a guy sound nervous or excited to ask you if you enjoyed your time with him as much as he enjoyed his time with you during that weird debate over the finale of Battlestar Galactica and whether or not Adama and Tigh should have had a parting ways scene (SERIOUSLY, THERE WAS ZERO CLOSURE THERE AND THEY WERE BESTIES). And then you can do that super cute thing where you just keep listening to the voicemail over and over again and being all "D'aww... he likes me..." Like Lorelai and Max Medina. (Yes, I did just made a BSG reference and a Gilmore Girls reference in one paragraph.)

Not to mention, you can be fairly confident that he didn't reach out to  you from the toilet or something. With a text, you just never know.

Everything could be terrible. I wouldn't know.

My family has a weird way of dealing with crises on various levels. Correction: My parents have a weird way of dealing with crises on various levels. My siblings seem to do just fine with this sort of stuff. Allow me to explain. Example #1: 

A text I received from my father at 4:30AM on Thanksgiving morning: IMG_2635

This was something that could not wait until the normal hours of the morning. No. I needed to be woken up from my deep pre-thanksgiving slumber for CHAIRS. This type of emergency is not something you fuck around with and wait to alert someone about. Chairs are very important. Middle-of-the-night important.

This brings me to Example #2:

A phone call I received from my father about a week after Thanksgiving around 8:30 in the evening:

A quick note, my father has a very thick and sort of angry sounding Swedish accent, so when you read his part, try and imagine that in your head. 

Me: Hello?

strange pause followed by loud crowd noises in the background

Me: Hello?

Dad: Hello?

Me: Dad?

Dad: Are you there? I can barely hear you!

Me: I think that might be because of wherever you are. Where are you?

Dad: I'm out!

Me: Oh, sure.

Dad: How are you?

Me: Fine... you?

Dad: I'm good. So listen, I'm calling because I need to talk to you about something, but before I tell you, you need to know that everything is fine and that you don't need to worry, so don't freak out, okay?

Me: That's a terrible way to keep someone calm.

Dad: Your mom is in the emergency room and she's been there for about four days, okay?

Me: WHAT?

Dad: EVERYTHING IS FINE.

Me: What happened?

Dad: Well, last week when we were still in New York, we were walking around and having a nice time and then Mom got really dizzy all of sudden and almost passed out... So then we came back to Ohio -

Me: -You traveled? 

Dad: Let me finish! We came back to Ohio and she still didn't feel good, so I took her to the hospital and it turns out she had some scar tissue in a vein and it was causing a blockage, blah blah blah, but everything is fine and she's okay, okay?

Me: Um... okay?

Dad: And we didn't tell you guys because we didn't want you to worry because everything is okay.

Me: Yes, but everything was not okay four days ago...

Dad: I know! That's why we didn't tell you until just now.

Me: But what if everything wasn't going to be okay? How long would you have waited to tell me? What if things were really bad and then you just kept waiting to tell me if or when everything was okay? This seems like a terrible system.

Dad: Emelie, EVERYTHING IS FINE.

Me: I know, but -

Dad: - Don't worry about it. There's something else I need to talk to you about.

Me: Oh God, what now? Is the dog okay? Are you okay?!?

Dad: There's a book that I want you to look into getting for me.

Me: ...oh, sure.

 

So everything really is okay. I talked to my mom, who found this entire story to be incredibly amusing, and apparently she just needs to take aspirin every day or something and that solves all her problems? I don't really know, but I've been assured that everything is okay and I am not to freak out, although now I know I can't trust my parents, which I told them over and over again after this whole debacle concluded. They think that's just adorable.

 

In other news, my giveaway ends in just four days, so you should get on that, because you deserve a free shirt.

 

Also, new Page Break episodes. Go check those out.

Will I Be Jailed for This?

A conversation I had last night with a friend we'll call "Sara", who lives in San Francisco: Me: I'm lonely and hungry. This is terrible.

Sara: Oh nooooo. That's the worst. Go out to a bar!

Me: ...it's 11:30 on a Wednesday in Stars Hollow.

Sara: Well... not tonight then. Unless you want to get murdered.

Me: Not the ideal alternative... or the plausible one. Again: Stars Hollow.

Me: Peanut butter!

Sara: No Nutella?

Me: I don't do that shit. It scares me and I don't like the voices I hear in my head when I see it.

Sara: ...what?

Me: To be honest, I've never actually had it, but I feel like it's the Pumpkin Spiced Latte of spreads.

Sara: LMAO - yes.

Me: I'd need UGG boots and a sorority sweatshirt when I eat it and I own none of those things.

I don't think I'm doing this whole "sexting" thing correctly, you guys.

You know when you're in the beginnings of a romantic interest and you do your best to make sure that the other person sees mainly all the wonderful and charming details about you? As far as you and that person are concerned, everything you do is classy and elegant and super attractive. Unless you're me....

A text I sent to my sister on Monday morning: I just dripped coffee on my white shirt.... attempted to clean said coffee with water. Now I have a very visible boob situation. This is my life.

At least... that's the text I meant to send to my sister.

You see, my sister's name happens to be listed in my phone right next to the guy that I really like...the guy that I haven't officially met in person yet because we met online and for various legitimate reasons have not been able to actually be in the same place and the same time... anyway... in my panicked state of dealing with the clusterfuck that is me, I did not, in fact, send my sister that text. The best part? I didn't even notice the embarrassing error of my ways until I found myself in this conversation:

Guy I Like: Lol work is not the right venue for a wet t-shirt contest. You should know these things.

My internal monologue: Oh noooooo.... That is not my sister's name... fuuuuuuuck... Where is the nearest beach? I must go to it and bury my head deep into the sand now... Okay... just go with it. You'll be fine.

My actual response: I've been shunned to the back until I can present myself in a less pornographic manner.

Guy I Like: Good PR Move.

Naturally, in my panic and shame, I texted my best friend, who for legal reasons has intelligently decided to go by the name "John Hamm" on this blog.

John Hamm: BahahahahahaAwkward Sexting

Me: Because I needed to really embarrass myself with this guy eventually, right?

John Hamm: Absolutely. Law of the universe.

Me: I haven't even officially met this guy and I'm already sending him messages about my boobs LIKE A FLOOZY.

John Hamm: In all fairness, you meant to send your flooziness to your sister.

Me: Yes, but he doesn't know that.

John Hamm: Did you explain that to him??

Me: No! We just went with it like it was a totally normal thing for me to send him!

John Hamm: Oh my gosh...

Me: He was all "Work is not the place for a wet t-shirt contest, Emelie" and I was all MORTIFIED.

John Hamm: That's hilarious. You could have simply just been like "For the record..."

Me: Yes, but we both know I don't possess that level of tact.... but I am going to tell him because I have to blog about this.

John Hamm: Yes. Yes you do.

****

In other news, I was featured on The Incredible Adventures of Malleable Mom, which is kind of awesome, so you should go check her out.

AND

There's a new Page Break video, so you should go watch that, too.

Also, this ad is amazing and I feel the need to share it with the world, because Girl Power.

 

A Mildly Inappropriate Conversation with My Mother

Mom: I just found your old bank checks that you lost a few months ago. Me: Seriously?! Where??

Mom: In a laundry hamper in the upstairs hall closet.

Me: Obviously.

Mom: Yeah, that makes total sense, right? I'm actually finding a lot of interesting things!

Me: Whatever it is, I'm holding it for a friend.

Mom: The packet of ribbed condoms, too? Darn, I was gonna take those! Hahaha

Me: Ew! What?!?!

Mom: They were inside a big winter glove. Probably a gag gift, right?

Me: Well, at least we know the gloves are having safe sex.

Mom: Hahaha - The poor thing doesn't have a partner, though!

Me: Aw, so lonely! And yes, my friend gave them out as a gag gift a few years ago. I completely forgot about those.

Mom: Nice!This is the fun part about my kids moving away. I get to go through all their sh-t... Good God, how many hats did you knit?!

Me: They kept me from needing the condoms.

 

knitting

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.

blurrybreakfast

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.

Me: GROSS!!

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...

The Slag and the Hag

A conversation that I had via text with John Hamm this weekend: Me: Do you work tonight?

JH: Nope. Off all day.

Me: Lucky...

JH: Yeah, except for the part where I'm not making any money.

Me: That's what those booty shorts and that street corner are for. ;)

And then she sent me this:

weasley

JH: I'd be all like, "I'm just trying to pay for law school!" and they'd be all like, "Psh, yeah, haven't heard that one before."

Me: And then everyone would be all like, "Why is that hooker crying?" and I'd be like, "The correct question is 'why ISN'T she crying?'"

JH: And then I'd be all like, "SHUT UP, WEASLEY!" and you'd be all like, "THEY HAVEN'T SEEN THAT PICTURE, NO ONE KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT." But then they'd be all "Nah, you're a ginger. We get it."

And then I sent her this:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bV_K4tJNKYI]

JH: And then I'd be like "BUT I DO. I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH MONEY FOR THIS SHIT. GAWD."

Later that same day...

Me: ...Life would be so much more interesting if you were a prostitute.

JH: It's true. All those whacky hijinks we'd get into.

Me: It'd make a great British sit-com.

JH: It'd be called "The Slag and the Hag." Also, not a bad name for a pub.

Me: Truth. ...Wait. Am I the hag?

JH: Uh, yeah. 'Cause I'm the slag.

Me: Yeah, but hag? Like an old hag?

JH: I don't know. It rhymed.

Me: Why not just "Lady and the Tramp"?

JH: 'Cause you ain't a lady.

Me: Am I nothing but a sister?*

JH: Yup. :)

*Bonus points if you get that reference.

And that, Duckies, was my weekend. How was yours?