Sick Person Score: C-

Photo by Hanna Postova on Unsplash

Feeling like a lukewarm plate of garbage today. If you could get a grade for being sick, I would get a C-. Not a D or an F, because I still show up when I absolutely have to, but also not an A or B because my inner monologue while ill is the stuff of Shakespeare.

“But hark! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East and Coronavirus is the sun!”

It doesn’t help that this week at work, I have been answering questions nonstop about how the epidemic will affect client travel/can they cancel/are we all going to die? 

Yes Judy, just not all from coronavirus and not all today.

Now that I think about it, maybe I contracted this chest cold from the amount of time reading/talking/writing about viruses. Or FaceTiming my sister whose entire family has been passing it around like a diseased hot potato. Little tiny particles traveled through the series of tubes that make up the internet, erupted from the screen and into my nasal passages. 

Someone alert Vice President Pence! His first order of business is to scrub the airwaves.

Can you imagine if we could transmit disease electronically? 

Wait, never mind, don’t imagine that.

But I digress. I know it wasn’t the internet, or the power of suggestion. It was my coworker. One of the things my brain likes to do is fantasize that it knows the exact moment of disease transmission. Like an episode in a medical drama, a montage of moments plays in my mind:

I walk back to the breakroom to refill my water bottle. Coworker is there, washing his
lunch dishes. I turn from the fountain at the same moment he turns, coughing.
I hold my breath as I walk through the invisible cloud of cough, but it’s too late.
Time slows. Minute water droplets, infected with the virus, hang suspended in the air. A
few enter my lungs, milliseconds before my mouth snaps shut.
That song from Platoon plays as over the next 48 hours, my immune system begins to
battle the intruder.

That’s it, that’s how it happened.

Fortunately I live alone, and have only myself to take care of. 

Can you imagine if I had a husband or children? 

“Small ones, Mommy is unwell. Play quietly to yourselves for the next eight hours til your father gets home. If you get hungry, there are fruit snacks in the cupboard above the stove. Just push a chair over to the counter to climb up. Change your own diapers, or better yet, potty train yourselves.  Not too much noise now, it hurts my head.”

So props I guess, to moms and dads and caretakers.

As for me, I will wrap myself in my fuzziest scarf, drink hot tea, and hope the power of positive thinking heals me quickly.

Just kidding, I will call my mother and complain, tweet about it, and finally write a blog post.

Stay healthy, my friends.

On Shopping for Swimsuits

Image via
Remember the good old days of bathing costumes?

The last time I went swimsuit shopping, I was at a mall in Texas with my sister.

We stopped at a place called Everything But Water, which at first glance appeared to be full of fabric samples that you could pick from to have a suit made. Upon closer inspection, the bits of fabric turned out to actually be fully formed suits.  We left because neither of us had thought to bring a magnifying glass along.

Next we headed to an activewear store called Athleta, in the hopes that they would have sporty but attractive options.  We were in luck!  However, they must use the metric system to number their sizes, because what I would fit in in any other store was so comically tight, I had to take a brief nap in the dressing room after prying it off.  Also, a store associate barged into my booth while I was changing so obviously I can never return.  Not because I'm embarrassed, but because the kaleidoscope of body parts she witnessed will probably never leave her brain, and she needs time to make peace with that.

That was nearly a year ago, and the search is still on.  I'm going on a cruise in a couple of weeks and I'd like to go swimming in the ocean at least once without being that person in drippy shorts and a t-shirt.

ugh.

UGH.

Is there a woman alive that enjoys the process? I feel like even the most toned and tanned among us still has body parts that she wishes she could hide, or at least de-emphasize.  Even if it's just like, her left knee.

I'm not toned or tanned.  I'm white and fleshy, and in a bathing suit,vaguely reminiscent of bread dough left to rise too long in a warm place.
So naturally, I don't spend much time subjecting people to that image.
Weirdly though, I also don't spend a lot of time begin self-conscious.  My body is what it is, and putting on a bathing suit doesn't reveal anything people don't already know.

Surprise! I have a tail.
Just kidding.

But I digress.  My main issue is with what's available in the swimsuit market --for everyone.  There are suits with SO many cute prints and patterns but they're on tiny two piece bikinis, or my personal favorite, the "monokini", which is basically a bikini that they forgot to finish cutting out completely.

There are suits that shape and slenderize and cover completely, but where are the cute prints and patterns for those? Why are we still using garish, poorly placed floral designs in dated colors?  As though enormous pink hibiscuses on  black fabric are going to distract the observer from the flesh it's struggling to contain.

WHERE IS THE MIDDLE GROUND???

It's not like swimwear companies aren't trying -- there are all kinds of "plus size" lines out there attempting to bridge the gap.  The problem is, they're just taking the tiny suits with their plunging necklines and weird cutouts and making them bigger.  Which, fine, but personally my wobbly bits aren't here for your sad game of hide and seek.

Or...get this...adding zippers to make the conservative one pieces look more interesting. ZIPPERS.  Can you imagine taking a baby to the pool while wearing a swimsuit with a zipper down the front? It'd be 30 seconds before the baby got grabby and someone called the cops to report public indecency.

Basically all I'm asking for in a swimsuit is for it to cover the bits that have never seen the sun without being a) hideous or b) ankle/wrist length burkini in which i tragically die from heat exhaustion.

That's it, you guys.  That's all I need.
And I don't want to have to try on 300 more to find it.
Are you out there, magical swimsuit? Let me know. 

Things That Aren't Real Problems But Annoy Me Anyway, Part 2

Image via

Back in 2013 (WHERE DOES THE TIME GO), I wrote about minor inconveniences, as I live a full and comfortable life uninterrupted by undue hardship or tragedy and this is all I know. It was not a comprehensive list, as in the intervening years I have come upon more things to whine about, and so here we are.

+ People who slow way down (or heaven forbid, come to a complete stop) on entrance/exit ramps fill me with an incandescent rage so blinding, my eyelid twitches. I am immediately transported to medieval times, in full chain mail atop a horse, screaming, "MERGE OR DIE, SIMPLETON!"

Now to break this down, I am always usually running late, so having to come to a stop in a place where I normally seamlessly transition lanes makes me thirty seconds farther behind schedule than I've already accounted (and forgiven myself) for.

+ Bathroom stall doors that swing inwards, particularly in airports. What is the deal with that, getting in is ok, but when I'm trying to get out, stuffed in there with all my worldly possessions, trying desperately not to touch the toilet or anything else, the last thing I need is the door scraping across my midsection. Were I of a more athletic form, I'd climb atop the toilet (stepping on a paper seat guard of course) and vault over the frame entirely, executing a dismount worthy of Olympic Gold circa 1996.

+ The fact that our toes grow hair on top? I'm sure it once served a biological purpose, but I have no need for individual toe sweaters thankyouverymuch.

+ This new thing on Facebook where you have to watch a 15-second ad in the middle of a 60 second video on how to make lard waffle hamburger paninis or whatever. Too far, Facebook. Is it too much to ask to watch uninterrupted a one minute video of a recipe I'm judging people for sharing? Obviously every minute of my online presence is fair game to targeted advertising but joke's on you, ad algorithms, every company that interrupts my Buzzfeed Food binge-watch gets added to a list of corporations I will never give money to.
Yes. Corporate take-down, one dollar at a time. *cackles*

+ Group text messages. It is too stressful for me to be subjected to seven other people's immediate thoughts and reactions to whatever is the topic du jour. Anyone who has ever wished to have the ability to read minds just needs to join in to a mass text chain trying to make plans, and they will be instantly cured of that desire.

+ When someone makes me feel bad, even though they made the mistake. Example: last week I was short-changed after going through a drive-thru so I went inside to ask for my change and they gave me a hard time about it.  Listen, I'm the type of pacifist who apologizes to inanimate objects for bumping into them, I don't need the added guilt of your poor character weighing on my conscience.  It know it was only $2.75 but it wasn't even my money, I was picking up lunch for someone else.  Rude.

+ How long it takes a pot of water to boil. I'm sorry, but I was raised in the age of instant gratification, so I'm going to need the laws of thermodynamics to adjust to my short attention span. End of discussion.

Well, I'm sure I can think of more, but that's enough for one day. Obviously there are much worse things than these that could cause someone to pout artfully in the sun (re: above photo), but write what you know, etc.

Tell me, what minor thing has been bothering you lately? Let us share in life's little indignities!

On the Witchcraft of Craft Stores and Pinterest

Witchcraft you say? Yes, witchcraft.  That can be the only reasonable explanation for the trickery that occurs the minute you walk in the door of a store that sells craft supplies.

Let me elaborate: the other day I went into Hobby Lobby with one goal in mind: white sugar pearls.  "That's it," I firmly told myself, "that's all you need from this store. You have exactly twelve dollars in your pocket today but only two or three of them are to be spent."

The why I needed sugar pearls is unimportant (for a particular batch of cupcakes, if you must know) but you already know the ending.  I walked out with far more than just sugar pearls.

How much more? Let me count the ways:

One jar of sanding sugar, a box of pastry bags, a frosting tip and coupler, Halloween-themed cupcake liners, two spools of ribbon, a bag of candle wicks, and an easel. An easel.

WHAT. IS WRONG WITH ME.

What did I need out of all of those things? Nothing.
I blame it on the atmosphere.

The very second you enter, your senses are assailed by the faint comforting scent of cinnamon and your grandmother's kitchen and all of a sudden you feel like all of your dreams will come true if you just believe.  And if you purchase four bottles of ultrafine glitter.

Now, I'm well aware that craft stores do not have this affect on everybody.  For example, the only way I would get either of my brothers to go to Hobby Lobby with me would be to somehow trick them into it or to actually tie them to the roof of the car.  Once I asked Spencer to go with me and, with a massive eye roll and all the disgust of an unwilling 10-year old, he said, "Why, so someone can carry your stuff for all your art projects?" Like I had just asked him to help me pick up trash on the side of the road.

But for those of us with the urge to create, to make bits and bobs with our own two hands, craft stores and hobby shops are like crack dens.
Except for all of the crack.

While this is something that has always appealed to grandmothers, school teachers, and resident assistants dedicated to providing alcohol-free activities to college students, crafting has only fairly recently become popular among a much larger portion of the female population (she said, with zero factual basis for this statement).  Suddenly it's cool to know how to knit a scarf if you're in your twenties. It's less a sign of "old maid" and more "self-sufficient young thing making her way through the world with a neck that will never be cold".

I blame Pinterest.  Like the fleas on the backs of rats that brought the plague to Europe, so too Pinterest wantonly spreads the disease of craftiness to unwitting Internet users. Beautifully-lit photographs of holiday wreaths, complicated wedding cakes, and intricate sewing projects lure unsuspecting browsers into believing they too can weave a basket that would make Martha Stewart nod in approval.

"If I build this bookshelf out of old pallets, I will bring honor to my family.  Just like my great great aunt Constance, when she used the slats of her family's broken Conestoga wagon to fashion a raft to take them over the Missouri River, I too am doing a great and noble thing."

Except the difference is that I call it "upcycling", and dear old Constance called it "survival".

Because really, who are we fooling? I'm not saying there are no useful skills that come from being crafty, I'm just saying it's something we can't claim to do out of necessity anymore.  Gone are the days when it was cheaper to sew all your own clothes than to buy them from a store.  And if we're being honest, I question the structural integrity of that bed frame you found by a dumpster and refurbished.

There seems to be an unofficial contest of who will be the world's chicest DIY-er but spoiler alert, the prize is nothing. The person beating down my door to applaud my tissue tassel garlands and bottle art is named Nobody and he brought none of his friends. "The moment I saw her make her own chalkboard paint, I had to have her hand in marriage," said no one, ever.

(Not that that's what I'm looking for. In fact, that would be a super weird reason for a proposal.)

Yet onward sails the good ship Handmade, with me at the helm. "Avast ye naysayers! I shall craft on! IT SOOTHES ME."

And so I do. Enabled every step of the way by Hobby Lobby, Michael's, Pinterest, and positive feedback from you, my dear readers.

Just don't let it go to my head, ok? Keep me humble, Internet. And if we happen to be out shopping together, maybe keep me away from the craft stores.

In the meantime, if anyone needs me, I'll be over here bedazzling a sweatshirt by the flickering light of a taper in an old wine bottle.

'Tis But A Flesh Wound: A Love Story

 My father and I are alike in many ways, to the point of irritating each other and everyone around us.  It makes sense, as I have half of his DNA.  We both have strong personalities.  We expect a lot out of the people in our lives, and this can make both professional and personal relationships difficult at times, but we give as much as we get.  We struggle with change and not having a plan for the future but are the type of person that is reliable, trust-worthy, and prepared.  We both have a great sense of humor, but one that can get us into trouble occasionally.  We are good leaders, principled and hardworking.  We have little patience for things that irritate us and our feelings are usually written all over our faces.  (We would make terrible poker players.) Also, we both become lactose intolerant during periods of great stress. (TMI? Not sorry.)

Yet in certain ways we are vastly different. If Dad is the very photograph of a type A personality, I'm more of a painting.  There's a thin layer of type A, but it is obscured in places by great swirls of types B-Z.
I may have made those types up, but I stand by my analogy.

My dad is the most organized person you will ever meet, the inventor of the Do It Now Rule.  In the land of Time Management and Life Preparedness, he is king.  Last night I asked him if there was ever a situation in his life, large or small, for which he was unprepared.  He had to think very hard.  Only one answer came to mind and I'm not sharing because it's an embarrassing story that involves hiking a mountain with me and my extreme night blindness.

Anyway.

Here are a few ways in which we differ: I am organized more in theory than in actuality.  For example, my clothes are always arranged by color, type, and season in my closet
...when I've actually bothered to hang them up.
My car is always clean and clutter-free
...except for a small army of Cheerios that are forever wedged between the edge of the driver's seat and the middle console.  
I see things that need to be done and I do them
...when I've exhausted every method of procrastination.
I always make decisions based on logic and not emotion
....except for none of the time ever.

The point of all this is to say I felt our differences most keenly last Tuesday night when I received stitches for the first time ever.  I immediately compared it to when my dad got stitches this past summer. He was cutting pieces of siding and got a little too close to the saw.  I was out at the time, but according to my brother, he came in to the house, cleaned his wound, made himself lunch, took a shower, combed his hair, filed his taxes and who knows what else before driving himself to the clinic, finger flapping in the breeze. Meanwhile, my brother was home the entire time, willing and able to take him immediately but Dad refused.  He came home, carried on with life, and six days later removed the stitches himself like some sort of fearless renaissance man.

In my case, I cut my finger while slicing an avocado.  As usual, I employed the Ellie method of "Act Now, React Later".  By this I mean I stuck my hand under some running water and then wrapped it in a paper towel. I sat calmly in a chair and asked my mother to please finish the guacamole for me.  But over the course of the next hour, the pain set in as the bleeding refused to stop and I started to panic. "WHAT DO I DO?" I wailed to Dad when he walked in the door, "DO I NEED STITCHES? I'VE LOST TOO MUCH BLOOD, I FEEL FAINT." He told me to get ahold of myself.  Overcome by his lack of compassion, I retrieved a blanket, laid back in a recliner and weakly requested some orange juice to regain some strength. My mom said she would take me to a clinic to get stitches but decided to eat first.

As I watched my family leisurely enjoy dinner, I muttered crossly to myself, "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I'm not in mortal peril. I wondered if I casually started to bleed on the carpet, would they hurry up? Heaven forbid THE BEANS GET COLD before I receive MEDICAL ATTENTION."
Just before my twenty-eighth birthday, they finished eating and Mom took me to the clinic.

That in and of itself was an ordeal.  They admitted me almost immediately but I languished in a patient room for quite awhile until a PA came in to stitch me up. "No need to make a fuss at this point. Time has already healed my wound," I grumbled to myself.  Nevertheless, she gave me a tetanus shot and proceeded to practice what could only be described as award-winning embroidery.  If you look closely, a tiny Mona Lisa appears in my stitches.  Ok not really.  But seriously, it was an unnecessary amount of needlework for such a small cut.

I'd share a picture but this is a family establishment and I don't condone the sharing of photos of one's injuries.  Ain't nobody need to see that.

I then proceeded to go home and vigorously Google the side affects of the Tdap vaccine.  With great bravery, I made peace with my life-altering disability and fell into a troubled sleep.  A day later, a stitch fell out of its own volition.  Within forty-eight hours, I removed the others without much struggle.  All that ruckus over what ended up looking like a mildly irritated paper cut. 'Twas but a flesh wound.

So what did I learn from this? A number of things, in fact.

1. I would never make it through childbirth.

2. This moment of my life would not make it into the Lifetime biopic on my life.

3. Never cut an avocado while holding it in your hand. 

4. Despite evidence to the contrary, I'm quite pleased to share some of the qualities of my father and there is still a need to learn more.  While I will never ever ever ever ever see the need to rake leaves more than once a season (why does no one understand that waiting until they all fall is the only way to do it?), I could use a larger dose of rationality and mental fortitude. Also I should probably vacuum up those Cheerios in my car.

I love you, Dad.

Lessons from Text Messages

In the digital age, communication is easier than ever. Well, sometimes.

 

Lesson 1: Speech to text isn't perfect.

Lesson 2: Don't leave Jillian in an office full of chatty attorneys. Especially if the air conditioning is broken.

Lesson 1: Someone needs to talk to the Kardashians about Jesus in real life. And no, Kanye is not an appropriate substitute, even though he thinks he is.

Lesson 2: Julie has the best dreams.

Lesson 1: It's really hard to politely explain a not very polite expression in a text message. Haha.

Lesson 2: Well obviously, never assume.

You're welcome for sharing all this wisdom.
Well readers, what have you learned from technology lately?

Things I'm Really Good At

Dancing. lol tho, this is so not true.

To balance out last Monday's post, I thought I'd better talk about some things I'm really good at so we can all accept and appreciate me for my flaws AND virtues. Also, only talking and thinking about things you're bad at gets depressing very quickly. So happy thoughts today, kids!

1. Making mixes. Not to toot my own horn (ok, who am I kidding, that's what this post is all about), but I'm kind of excellent at making music mixes. Roadtrips, rainy days, game nights, you name it and I can make a mix that will set your world on fire. Or at least gently blow a warm breeze across your world.

2. Baking. It's my jam. Pun intended. If my skills in the world of baked goods lack in one area, it's that I'm not great at making frosting look pretty on cupcakes.  But no one has ever complained about the flavor. In fact, my tasty treats are best enjoyed sitting down, as people are prone to fainting with joy after a few bites. Yes, I am grossly exaggerating.

3. Napping. Practice makes perfect, people. And if there's one thing I've been practicing for a quarter of a century, it's napping. 20 minute nap? No problem. 2 hour nap? Even better. 12 hour night's sleep? Step into my office.  Most days I can get by without taking a nap but anyone who knows me in real life knows that I am crankier than a wet cat if I don't get to snooze on Sunday afternoons.

4. Hypochondria.  Give me a twinge or an ache and after two minutes of intense Googling, I will have diagnosed myself with a terrible disease.  I've become even better at it since I got a smartphone. If my calculations are correct, I currently have no less than 3 serious medical conditions, only one of which is terminal. If there's one thing I can thank my anxiety for, it's that it's made me much more efficient at jumping to drastic conclusions. /sarcasm.

5. Organizing closets. My room may not always be neat as a pin but I cannot rest unless my closet is organized.  This means clothes arranged by color and season, shoes paired and lined up.  I will happily organize your closet for you for a small fee.

6. Having one hundred hobbies.  Can someone be really good at being adequate? Or is that too much of an oxymoron? If I have any special skill, it’s that I’m ok in everything while excelling in little.  That’s not like an awkward insult or some veiled plea for compliments.  I can paint, draw, garden, swim, cook, bike, decorate, take photographs, sing, play the piano, speak French but I’m not like really really awesome at any one of those things. I’m an expert at dabbling, if you will. While it would be cool to be like a secret musical genius or the next Annie Leibovitz, I’m actually ok with my across the board mediocrity.  Except baking, because I’m clearly amazing at that.

7. Spelling. One of the highlights of my life was winning the school spelling bee in eighth grade. I placed third in the district and that was without really doing any studying (she said, braggingly). I probably could have gone to state and then the national but I was too busy having ninety-nine other hobbies way cooler than spelling.

8. Being single. Again, one of those things that just comes naturally after years of practice.  Recently out of a relationship? Come up to the mountain and receive my wisdom, grasshopper. I have freshly baked cookies.

9. Finding other people’s things.  You know when you lose something and you’re tearing your house apart looking for it because you have no idea where you put it last? Me too. Except I have this weird knack for being able to find things for other people. If I lose my glasses, I’m toast. But if you’ve lost yours, I’ll probably be able to find them for you.

10. Figuring out what I don’t want to do with my life.  If you had to analyze the way I live my life, you could say I use the process of elimination. There are probably quicker ways to find your niche but so far I just keep finding all the things I’m not suited for. I think after another 20 years of living and working in various places, I’ll be about 50% closer to figuring it out. But we all know how bad I am at math so don’t bet on it.

What are you amazing at? Brag about yourselves, friends. Make me jealous of your mad skills! Show me how lucky I am to have you as a reader! (Just kidding, I know I'm pretty lucky. Thanks, you sweet thing.)

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Top photo of Fred Astaire by Bob Landry, published in LIFE magazine, 1945

Things I'm Really Bad At

Girlfriend, I get sad about my hair too.

Today I feel like celebrating mediocrity. Not just mediocrity, but complete and utter inadequacy. Why? Because I feel like I'm too obsessed with perfection. Sometimes I just get so tired of being GOOD at everything all the time, you know? In case you've never met me before, that is a joke.

But seriously, I feel like people online (and bloggers in particular) are concerned with presenting this carefully manicured version of themselves when it's not really an accurate picture of who they are. I'm not saying we have to let it all hang out all the time but sometimes just post a picture of your messy kitchen, ok? Let me know you're human.

Just not on Instagram. I do not have time for your realness there. Sunshine and puppies and glitter only, ok?

Anyway just to keep myself humble, here are ten things I'm really bad at.
Like, let me be your cautionary tale bad.

1) Folding laundry. I am seriously so bad at it. Ask anyone I've ever lived with and they will tell you it's true. No matter how carefully I try, it always looks like a child did it. Scratch that, a child would probably do a better job than I.  Do they have folding shirt classes at Old Navy? Because I need to take one.

2) Sports/Athletic Pursuits in general. If you’ve seen me play, you know why. I’m not saying it’s a conspiracy but I’m 80% sure that people only invite me to volleyball get-togethers for comic relief.  It’s ok you guys, you can tell me the truth.

3) Math. I have not one but three certified math teachers in my family and yet the ability and desire to quickly and efficiently learn how to solve numerical problems is beyond me.

4) Estimating. Distances, heights, weights, depths, you name it and I will grossly overestimate it. This is obviously related to my poor math skills. Example: last summer someone asked me how tall I thought the Statue of Liberty was and I said 2,000 feet. Dead serious. That’s like 500 feet higher than the Empire State Building. Like, calm down Ellie.

5) Remembering names. I never forget a face but you could be called Penelope Avocado Greensleeves the Third and I would not remember it. Actually that’s pretty unique, I might commit that one to memory.

6) Rapping. I know, I was just as surprised as you are.

7) Returning personal emails. It’s not that I don’t want to write you back, I just take forever to figure out what I want to say in return. I may take myself too seriously.

8) The morning. I need at least an hour of wakefulness and a hearty breakfast before I interact with humanity. Sleeping is one of my top three favorite things and I’m always cranky when it’s over. I apologize to my family, coworkers, and any roommates past and future.

9) Doing my hair. I can bust out an acceptable bun when I need to but 80% of the time it looks like I combed it with a rake. “I love your hair like that” is not a thing I hear often but I don’t let it keep me up at night. I just don’t have the patience for gels and irons and standing in the bathroom for an extra half hour. You’ll just have to accept me as I am, ok?

10) Sticking to spending limits. I’m not saying I have a shopping problem but every time I go, I set a limit of X dollars. Which works great until I see something that is more than X dollars and suddenly I have to have it. Spoiler alert: I have trouble saying no to myself.  I honestly don’t know how people operate with joint checking accounts. 

Is there anything you are particularly terrible at? Please, share! We’re all friends here. I promise it will only make me love you more.

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Photo from Vogue Italia, March 2007

Things That Aren't Real Problems But Annoy Me Anyway

(via my mom's Instagram)

LOL @ spring, you guys. This picture was taken from the side of the front porch just a few hours ago. Surprisingly all this snow just a few days before Easter doesn't bother me. Maybe because I had such a nice relaxing weekend, I feel like nothing is going to faze me today, not even the fact that it’s Monday. Or that it’s snowing like Mother Nature forgot how to quit winter.

Anyway, as usual social media is blowing up with all sorts of weather complaints so I thought I’d join in on the action. But since the weather doesn’t really get to me, here are a few other things that aren’t exactly ruining my life but bother me anyway.

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+ Wildly inaccurate and mildly offensive chain emails. I don't know how frequently you think this happens but rest assured I'm not going to accept perfume samples from men who approach me at the gas station. obviously. Also, 9/11 was not an inside job, how is it that you will not believe literally any legitimate source of news but you'll take the word of some guy whose Yahoo username is ladykillah45? I MEAN REALLY.

+ People on their smartphones while driving. Put that away before you kill someone. What on earth is so important that you have to tweet while doing 70 on the freeway? Answer: nothing. That's right Jimmy, bonus points to you for answering so quickly.

+ Anyone who ignores basic email etiquette. This includes but is not limited to:
     - TYPING IN ALL CAPS, regardless of the need or level of perceived importance.
     - Hitting Reply All to every. thing.
     - Misspelling my name in an email when my email address is seriously just my entire name spelled out right there for you. Like, call me "Elle Carholts" one more time and watch me straight up ignore all future correspondence.

+ Feeling alert after 6 hours of sleep but tired and draggy after 7 or 8 when that is clearly the optimal amount of time. How does that even make sense, circadian rhythm.

+ The fact that I will always and forever have to Google how to spell 'rhythm'.

+ That feeling when you think there's just enough milk left for your bowl of cereal but there isn't and you've already committed to pouring.  Do you get weird and add cream? Water? Suck it up and eat a bowl of mostly dry cereal with a few gently moistened flakes at the bottom? These are the things that keep me up at night.

+ When you travel and forget half of your phone charger. Yes I said half. What is the deal with chargers these days, why does the cord need to be separate from the actual plug-into-the-wall bit?

+ When the washer and dryer end a cycle at vastly different times even though I set them for the same amount of time and press the start buttons simultaneously. I get so mad at science when that happens. I'm like, "ARGH. SCIENCE!"

+ Wearing tights. That is the single reason I am ready for winter to get up and move on. They are so. uncomfortable. One Saturday I spent the whole morning just struggling to put a pair on.  It was so tiring, I had to take a small nap at the end to regain my strength. And don't even try to talk to me if I've been wearing them all day. Crabbit as a bag of weasels.
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Was this productive or encouraging? No. But do I feel a modicum of satisfaction for ranting? Yes.
Well then, mission accomplished.

So what about you? Anything besides the weather really stuck in your craw? (What a weird expression...)

My Five Favorite YouTube Videos

Today’s post is prompted by the 20-Something Bloggers January Blog Carnival: blog your favorite YouTube video.

YouTube is my go-to source when I want something to make me smile. From videos of fainting goats to clips of babies laughing, it’s easy to find cheerful content.  My absolute favorite videos are shorts by comedy groups. I can watch the same sketch fifty times and kill myself laughing every time.  As an avid fan of the site since 2006, picking my favorite video is like picking a favorite child: I just can’t, I love them all for different reasons. Not that I have children…but you know what I mean…

So instead of making an impossible choice, here are my top FIVE YouTube videos. Spoiler alert, they’re all comedy sketches. In fact, chances are good that I may have already blogged about one or two of them.

+ “Boys Will Be Girls” by The Harvard Sailing Team

Every. Single. One of my girl friends knows and can quote this video by heart. Pretty much everything made by the talented comedy group known as The Harvard Sailing Team is hilarious and endlessly quotable. But this is unquestionably their most popular one.  OMG you haven’t seen it? Where have you been living, under a stupid rock?

+ “Things you CAN’T do when you’re NOT in a pool” by Don’t Be That Guy Films

Another great duo that produces hilarious shorts on YouTube: Don’t Be That Guy Films. Again, many great videos but this one is my favorite. It makes me laugh every time.

+ "Man vs Toddler" by Barats and Bereta

I can’t make a post about YouTube videos without mentioning something by Barats and Bereta. They're like the original YouTube duo. This video still slays me.

+ “Leaves” by runawaybox

Runaway Box hasn’t made videos in a really long time so I’m not sure they’re still a thing but every time I get nostalgic for fall I watch this video and it makes me laugh. Who doesn't have this urge when they walk by a yard of fallen leaves?

More of my favorites from Runaway Box include any of the episodes from the Elevator Show series.

+ “Progression of a Mad Hatter” by Derrick Comedy 

My siblings and I are constantly quoting this to one another. This video has been around for almost 7 years and still anytime anyone asks me “How was work?” I immediately want to respond, “Sliiimy. What’s for dessert?” Don't worry, I usually restrain myself. 

Derrick Comedy has a ton of other videos but a large portion of them are not what one would consider family-friendly. Even this one gets rather dark at the end. But it’s ok. I love you Square Face.

Honorable mentions: Donut Pirate by Jeffery Dallas/Julian Smith and any Potter Puppet Pals video by Neil Cicierega

The 20SB January blog carnival is sponsored by WIGS, the #1 channel for scripted drama on YouTube. You can watch the video of their popular network stars talking about their favorite YouTube videos here.

Do you have any favorite YouTube videos I should watch? 

Oddly Specific Christmas Gift Ideas

We are less than a week away from Christmas! Are you excited? Any shopping left to do? Out of ideas?
All over the web there are gift guides organized by age, gender, price, color, personality and more. (I already posted my personal wish list here.) But everybody has that person in their life who is just impossible to shop for. Maybe they're one of those people who already has everything, or worse, the kind of person that doesn’t really want things (i.e. my dad). Or maybe they are just so unique, an ordinary gift like a sweater or a pair of headphones just won’t do.
For THOSE people, I have put together a list of the weirdest gifts on the web that just might do the trick. Just a warning, weirdness comes with a price: some of these gifts are thousands of dollars. But since this is only for pretend we don't really care what they cost in real dollars, right?

+ For your most favorite-even-though-she’s-cuckoo aunt who lives in Martha's Vineyard, is fond of wearing ponchos and is weirdly obsessed with Indian culture:

Custom-made rickshaw, $10,000 and she'll be the talk of the weekly poetry slam

+ For your 10 year old cousin with the enormous vocabulary who is too serious for his age even though he secretly wants to be a stage actor when he grows up:

Wooden catapult or trebuchet kit, $14.99-$25.99

+ For that girl in your office who laughs too loud, eats your food from the break room fridge, and you are convinced is secretly gunning for your job. You had the misfortune to end up as her Secret Santa in the company gift exchange:

Denim Sandal Boots, $140 and worth every penny to see the look on her face when she pulls these puppies out of the gift bag

The Last Twinkie in South Milford

The following is a piece I wrote for the company newsletter, after finding a lone Twinkie in the break room the other day. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.

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Due to the recent Hostess shut-down, supplies of America’s favorite snack cake are quickly dwindling across the nation.  Hordes of people are flocking to the nearest grocery and convenience stores to stock up on their favorite Hostess products.  “It’s a sad day for this country,” said Frank Heraldo, a stock boy at the Kendallville Kroger, “Fat cat CEOs on Wall Street are lining their pockets but there’s no bailout for my Twinkies? It’s disgusting!” 

Heraldo’s sentiments are shared by many across the tri-county area. Trisha Bates, Head Party Planner at a local unnamed contractor company, shook her head sadly when asked about the situation. “The Hostess liquidation/shutdown is basically the Vietnam of this generation.  We are struggling to reorganize our menu for the annual Christmas party.”

Francine Rogers, a local woman with a keen eye for market trends saw this crisis coming.  In anticipation of the event, she purchased a supply of Hostess products well before the entanglement came to a head.  In fact, she was seen munching a Ding Dong the moment the news of the shutdown came over the wire. Unfortunately, her stock was depleted before she could get everything into the vault.

There is one bright spot in all of this: we here at Seriously Real News, Inc. have confirmed reports of one remaining Twinkie from Rogers’ pantry existing in the town of South Milford. It is for sale to the highest bidder and is currently under armed guard at an undisclosed location. Bidding starts at $500.00, cash only. Operators are standing by to take your call at (***)***-****.

This is a defining moment in our snack culture, folks. What this means for our other favorite producers of high-calorie, low-quality foods is uncertain.  We are hoping and praying that Little Debbie remains stable in the aftermath of the catastrophe.  In the meantime, local officials advise eating a piece of fruit in case of feeling faint. 

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It goes without saying how terrible it is that 18,000 people lost their jobs but what are your thoughts, will you miss your Hostess snack cakes? 

Breakfast with Gossip Girl

Confession time: I still watch the show Gossip Girl. WHAT? I know, you thought I had better taste than that. 

Well you're wrong. Listen, I’m always down for a good procedural drama or mental thriller but I can’t quit this show. It’s been on since my early college days, I feel like I know these characters. They may be over-privileged rich kids from the Upper East Side, but we sort of grew up together. Except I’ve made better choices in the last five years. Not to sound judge-y, but on a scale of one to a failed marriage to a Monegasque prince, my life trajectory is not even on that scale.

Yet I keep watching. Will Chuck and Blair ever get together for good? Will Dan finally find his foothold among the posh Manhattan society? Will Serena ever get a real job? These are the questions that plague us faithful viewers. Fortunately it’s in its last season so the story arcs should all come together by the end of December. Coincidentally, that’s the last time anyone is allowed to make fun of me for it.

But there is one thing that has bothered me for six seasons, one thing I continually fail to understand. Each episode follows the same structure: the drama begins brewing in the morning and culminates in a big party at night. (Seriously, there is a huge party in every episode; the production value of the show must be insane.) But that doesn't faze me.  What really gets me are the brunches. Every other episode, Lily and Rufus (or Bart, depending on who she’s married to at the moment) have a family brunch. Amazing spread they put on: pancakes, waffles, muffins, eggs, fruit, scones, multiple kinds of juice and sometimes even champagne.

But they NEVER. EAT IT.

Seriously. They sit around these amazing feasts and don’t touch the food. The glower at each other, get into arguments, and plot nefarious schemes over the most beautiful croissants. There's food on their plates but in six seasons, I have never seen anyone take a bite. And it kills me every time. Look at this screen cap from a recent episode:

YES THAT IS A PLATE OF CREPES. And a waiter. In their apartment.

Bart. Lily. Stop ruining Chuck's life and eat a scone. For real, though.

Chuck I don't know why you're smirking, you invited this poor girl over for brunch and she’s not even eating anything. Probably lost her appetite from all the family drama.

Obviously, with multiple takes and whatnot, I can understand not cleaning your plate, it is a television show after all.  But not even once? Come on. Someone in craft services takes the time to make all that food.

If I were more of a tech wizard, I would film myself in front of a green screen stuffing my face with pastries and then superimpose it over that scene. 

*reaches rudely across the table* “excuse me Lily, I just…want..another scone…”

 *With mouth full*: “Have you guys even tried this brioche? You’d be so much happier in general if you just had some. Oh and Bart, faking your death made you a huge downer. I’m sorry but it needed to be said.”

I know it would be super hilarious, so you will just have to picture it.

So that's my story for the day. About a problem that's not really a problem. 

I just really love breakfast. And I hate seeing it go to waste.

Today's PSA Brought to You By...

How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying, 1967



The more you know, am I right?

In other news, I'm in love with every musical film ever made from 1940-1970. In case you didn't know.