I know what you're thinking: "But what about your sweet 'n'sassy Sam's Club pants?" Yes, those pants look and feel kind of awesome on me, but they are still pants and I am still not pants-less while wearing them. No pants > pants. Even awesome ones.
Like, if I didn't think Husband would judge me for not putting on pants for days on end, I would not put on pants for days on end. I used to think my aversion to pants was because I could never find any jeans or dress pants that fit comfortably enough to not complain about all day and that being a curvier gal, I would just have to live with that. But then the other day at Wally World, I noticed something: even skinny beezies will avoid wearing regular pants if they can. Seriously.
It was like, 9 o'clock at night and I badly needed ant traps (more on that later) and because my dryer STILL does not work, all my stretchy-fat-yoga-sweat pants were festooned around our kitchen not drying fast enough. I could have put on my perfectly clean, perfectly dry, somewhat expensive designer jeans, but I opted for a pair of obnoxiously black and pink plaid pajama pants. And a lime green top. Last time I checked, Wal-Mart was not know for their "Look How Fabulous and Perfectly Put Together I Am" website, so for those of you keeping score here, I looked dang good.
Anyway, it was like people were shopping for Z-Day in there. At 9 o'clock at night! All I wanted was two stinking ant traps and I had to wade my way through crowds and crowds of people just to find them and then wait in line amongst single kids and sleep deprived parents (yay for newlywed status!) for, like, ever just to drop 4 bucks on them. #firstworldproblems. But this is where my realization came in: as I waited in line trying to pretend like that guy behind me really wasn't all up in my personal space, but he totally was all up in my personal 'hey, this goes way past Wal-Mart line etiquette, you barbarian, back it up a few steps' space, I looked around at all the girls in there and saw that not one of them was wearing a pair of jeans. Even the girls who look like they could use a sandwich or two were wearing yoga pants. And I don't think these college kids were thinking "Oh man, after this crazy Wal-Mart trip, I am so ready to hit the hay!" Nah, man; it was Monday! Monday is the new Friday when you're a single 20-something. Just like Tuesday is the new Friday. And Wednesday. And...they were just getting started with their night, got it? So they were clearly going to go other places in their yoga pants and as far as I could tell, that was perfectly acceptable.
So this begs the question "Why?" Why do girls always choose stretchy pants over normal pants? And why can dudes wear a pair of jeans all day and seem totally fine and not wish they could just go home and change? I don't pretend to have an answer other than maybe because us chicks come in a much wider variety of body types than guys and any off-the-rack clothing, no matter what size, is never going to fit perfectly. So we go with lycra and spandex because they understand us. They don't ask why our thighs touch or why our waist isn't lower. They accept the fact that maybe we would like to sit on the floor with our legs crossed and not suffocate. They also don't ask why it seems like you've gained a few since you got married. I'm not proud, I'm just sayin'.
Anyway, that's really not what this post was supposed to be about. I actually just wanted to make a list of some random things about me. And hating pants was number one. So now I can move on with a few other fun facts.
2. One of my worst nightmares (for there are many) is that I will never be able to find where the toilet paper starts. Like you know how when you put a new roll of T.P. on the roll-y thing and you have to undo the glue? It's totally not a big deal at first (unless you rip it wrong and then spend forever trying to make it right again). When it's glued together, normally there is an excess flappy thing and you can peel it and get on with life. But what if one day, while making a trip to the loo, I can't find where the toilet paper starts?! Like, this wouldn't be a fresh roll and I would just have to feel around for the glue and there ya go. It would be a half used roll and it would just keep spinning and spinning and the sheets would be fused together and I wouldn't be able to do my business. That's a terrifying thought. I suppose I could just cut into or something. But what if I can't find anything to do that with? And what if it was my last roll? I can't go on. It's too hard to talk about.
3. Snakes, frogs, lizards, fish, any animal, really are all ok but bugs are not. I HATE bugs. Even, like, caterpillars and stuff. I mean, I'll totally hold a caterpillar, but I can't promise I won't freak out and throw it like a child. Ants. I HATE ants. Not because they are particularly creepy or anything, but more because there are so freaking many of them and they come into my apartment in droves completely uninvited. I just want to be able to sit cross-legged and pants-less on my floor without the fear of being climbed like Everest.
4. My attention span is pretty short so 4 random things are all you get for today. I don't even think I'm going to add a proper conclusion.
Wednesday, May 15, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Sam's Club Sells Sassy Pants
Well. Thursday has come and gone and I seem to still be living in a tiny apartment with massive student loan debt. Fail for all of you. But I am person of the forgiving persuasion so...bridge...water under it, ya know?
Perhaps my tale of Sam's Club's sassy pants will bump me into the next tax bracket. So I don't know a dang thing about fashion or 'hot or not' trends or anything like that. My litmus test for whether or not I'm going to put something on my body goes something like this: is it pretty? Is it comfy? Does it make me look like a manatee? If the answers to those questions are 'yes', 'yes', and 'gurl, please' respectively, then I buy it. The color white, put on my rather round bottom half, normally does not pass the manatee test and elicits a response from my inner dignity like "oh hellz nah" and I steer clear. But white is totally the new black and I wanna be in the club! (Sam's Club...get it?) So when Drewbies and I passed the ridiculously reasonably priced clothes at Sam's Club and I saw some way cute, cropped, white, summer-y pants, I had to stop.
(Me, holding up pants in the size just below mine because apparently you don't exist after a certain number): "Siiigh....white pants would be so fun. I bet they would go with everything."
Drewbies: "So get them." Ha. If were but that easy for a woman to clothes shop. Poor ignorant soul. He had no idea what he just walked into.
Me: "Um, A) they aren't even my size, B) I doubt they carry my size, and C) even if they did fit, they're white, Drew. WHITE."
Drewdle: "Yeah...what of it? So they're white."
Mua: "Drew. White is the opposite of black. Black is slimming. Therefore, white is fattening. I already get confused with a sistah from behind. If we slap some white on my rear, we might as well just call PETA and let them know a manatee was found in an Eastern Idaho Sam's Club begging for someone to throw it back in its natural habitat!"
Drew: "I think they would look really hot on you."
Me: "Well, they might fit."
Fast forward. Home. Bathroom. Pants around ankles. Pants around knees (so far so good). Pants around hips.....preparing for failure......first button of super cute button fly is done. Then the second, then the third, then the (follow me now) fourth...AND I GOT THEM ON AND THEY DIDN'T MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A LAGOON CREATURE! And remember: they weren't even my size!!!
I actually felt cute in them. Sassy point numero uno.
Further proof of the sassiness of these pants comes a few days later. Drew was heading to class which meant he was running like 20,000 centuries late and he needed a ride. You guys, these pants were awesome that day. We (the pants and myself) got Drew to class in, like, 2 minutes. We (again, the pants and my fine self) did 45 in a 25, weaved in and out of traffic, ran yellow lights and didn't even get stopped by local law enforcement. AMAZING.
I'm totally serious when I say that everyone needs to own a pair of white pants. Or if you feel entirely confident in any color pants, then choke on a knife you skinny beezy...said with all the love in the world of course. But for real, I'm so diggin' this colored pant thing that is happening right now.
Maybe a pair of orange capris to give me super confident sassiness is the next purchase of my summer! Or lime-green! Dude. Or rainbow.
Perhaps my tale of Sam's Club's sassy pants will bump me into the next tax bracket. So I don't know a dang thing about fashion or 'hot or not' trends or anything like that. My litmus test for whether or not I'm going to put something on my body goes something like this: is it pretty? Is it comfy? Does it make me look like a manatee? If the answers to those questions are 'yes', 'yes', and 'gurl, please' respectively, then I buy it. The color white, put on my rather round bottom half, normally does not pass the manatee test and elicits a response from my inner dignity like "oh hellz nah" and I steer clear. But white is totally the new black and I wanna be in the club! (Sam's Club...get it?) So when Drewbies and I passed the ridiculously reasonably priced clothes at Sam's Club and I saw some way cute, cropped, white, summer-y pants, I had to stop.
(Me, holding up pants in the size just below mine because apparently you don't exist after a certain number): "Siiigh....white pants would be so fun. I bet they would go with everything."
Drewbies: "So get them." Ha. If were but that easy for a woman to clothes shop. Poor ignorant soul. He had no idea what he just walked into.
Me: "Um, A) they aren't even my size, B) I doubt they carry my size, and C) even if they did fit, they're white, Drew. WHITE."
Drewdle: "Yeah...what of it? So they're white."
Mua: "Drew. White is the opposite of black. Black is slimming. Therefore, white is fattening. I already get confused with a sistah from behind. If we slap some white on my rear, we might as well just call PETA and let them know a manatee was found in an Eastern Idaho Sam's Club begging for someone to throw it back in its natural habitat!"
Drew: "I think they would look really hot on you."
Me: "Well, they might fit."
Fast forward. Home. Bathroom. Pants around ankles. Pants around knees (so far so good). Pants around hips.....preparing for failure......first button of super cute button fly is done. Then the second, then the third, then the (follow me now) fourth...AND I GOT THEM ON AND THEY DIDN'T MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A LAGOON CREATURE! And remember: they weren't even my size!!!
I actually felt cute in them. Sassy point numero uno.
Further proof of the sassiness of these pants comes a few days later. Drew was heading to class which meant he was running like 20,000 centuries late and he needed a ride. You guys, these pants were awesome that day. We (the pants and myself) got Drew to class in, like, 2 minutes. We (again, the pants and my fine self) did 45 in a 25, weaved in and out of traffic, ran yellow lights and didn't even get stopped by local law enforcement. AMAZING.
I'm totally serious when I say that everyone needs to own a pair of white pants. Or if you feel entirely confident in any color pants, then choke on a knife you skinny beezy...said with all the love in the world of course. But for real, I'm so diggin' this colored pant thing that is happening right now.
Maybe a pair of orange capris to give me super confident sassiness is the next purchase of my summer! Or lime-green! Dude. Or rainbow.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
It's Tuesday and if Rebecca Black were here she would remind you all that Wednesday comes next and Thursday comes afterwoooorrrdddssss.
So I hope you are doing everything in your power to make me sickeningly famous in less than 2 short days.
My apartment looks like there was an angry apparel poltergeist making itself at home last night. My washer and dryer are still chillin' in storage and because I'm no longer single, wearing something low-cut and hanging out at the gym in order to recruit a truck and some muscle is apparently looked down upon. We had someone all lined up to haul my machines to me last night, but he bailed at the last second. I'm thinking he harbors a secret fetish for worn-three-times-this-week-already jeans on other people.
Anyway, we did laundry at a random apartment complex and our clothes still were not all the way dry by about 10:30 and I don't know what it is about marriage, but if it's even one second past 10:31 p.m. then it's must be your birthday because ain't no one gonna screw with my solid 9 hours. Anyway, we hung all the wet clothes on anything we could, which meant opening all kitchen cupboards. Can you see it now? Terrifying, right? I was actually convincing myself that there was a creepy, other-worldly presence in the house throwing my unmentionables in every which way.
Flash forward 4 minutes. Bedtime. Since moving to this new place, Drew has decided he wants to start sleeping with the bedroom door open. Now, as a kid, I ALWAYS slept with the bedroom door open because if a monster was going to devour me, I was NOT going to be an easy meal. I would run and fight and scream and hopefully my young life would end in an epic (albeit clichéd) scene with my hand near the floor, wrapped around the door frame, gripping for dear life as it slowly slipped into a monster-y abyss whereupon my parents would find no trace of me in the morning and then would wail in mournful sorrow, "if only I had listened to my dear, perfect Emily! If only I had cleared the monsters out!" That would definitely show them.
Oh, right! Bedtime. Door. Open. Cue complaining from me because I am not a kid anymore and have come to understand the strength and sheer power of an interrupted slumber. By 25 years old, I figured that if a monster was brave enough to wake me, then it was also dumb enough to get in a fight with me, at which point, it would die just from the daggars in my stare. So I liked sleeping with the door closed because one, I am not afraid to eff up any monsters I need to, and two, house noises keep me up. But on this night there was a third reason to close the door: the panty-flinging poltergeist in the kitchen. Drew was like "We put the clothes up ourselves" and I was all like "Yeah but it looks like an angry ghost did it." And then he was like "Even if there was a ghost and we closed the bedroom door, do you think it would make a difference?"
"....Why would you say that?! Now we have to close the door! Also, think about how creepy it would be to see a shadow moving on the wall, coming towards our door!"
"Ghosts don't cast shadows."
"But aliens do."
And then he closed the door. I don't know how many nights in a row I can use aliens to my advantage. And I don't know what else gives Drewbies goosebumps. Ghosts are clearly out unless I can really convince him. Ooo! Maybe I could make him watch me put all the clothes away tonight, but then, at like, 2 a.m. I could put them all back in the kitchen exactly as they were. But then he might come up with some stupidly rational conclusion like "I must leave the door open in order to know how to protect you."
Psh.
Anyway, Drew just got home and he wants to snuggle. And by 'he' I mean 'me' and by snuggle I mean snuggle. Whatever you brought to that last part was your own filth.
My apartment looks like there was an angry apparel poltergeist making itself at home last night. My washer and dryer are still chillin' in storage and because I'm no longer single, wearing something low-cut and hanging out at the gym in order to recruit a truck and some muscle is apparently looked down upon. We had someone all lined up to haul my machines to me last night, but he bailed at the last second. I'm thinking he harbors a secret fetish for worn-three-times-this-week-already jeans on other people.
Anyway, we did laundry at a random apartment complex and our clothes still were not all the way dry by about 10:30 and I don't know what it is about marriage, but if it's even one second past 10:31 p.m. then it's must be your birthday because ain't no one gonna screw with my solid 9 hours. Anyway, we hung all the wet clothes on anything we could, which meant opening all kitchen cupboards. Can you see it now? Terrifying, right? I was actually convincing myself that there was a creepy, other-worldly presence in the house throwing my unmentionables in every which way.
Flash forward 4 minutes. Bedtime. Since moving to this new place, Drew has decided he wants to start sleeping with the bedroom door open. Now, as a kid, I ALWAYS slept with the bedroom door open because if a monster was going to devour me, I was NOT going to be an easy meal. I would run and fight and scream and hopefully my young life would end in an epic (albeit clichéd) scene with my hand near the floor, wrapped around the door frame, gripping for dear life as it slowly slipped into a monster-y abyss whereupon my parents would find no trace of me in the morning and then would wail in mournful sorrow, "if only I had listened to my dear, perfect Emily! If only I had cleared the monsters out!" That would definitely show them.
Oh, right! Bedtime. Door. Open. Cue complaining from me because I am not a kid anymore and have come to understand the strength and sheer power of an interrupted slumber. By 25 years old, I figured that if a monster was brave enough to wake me, then it was also dumb enough to get in a fight with me, at which point, it would die just from the daggars in my stare. So I liked sleeping with the door closed because one, I am not afraid to eff up any monsters I need to, and two, house noises keep me up. But on this night there was a third reason to close the door: the panty-flinging poltergeist in the kitchen. Drew was like "We put the clothes up ourselves" and I was all like "Yeah but it looks like an angry ghost did it." And then he was like "Even if there was a ghost and we closed the bedroom door, do you think it would make a difference?"
"....Why would you say that?! Now we have to close the door! Also, think about how creepy it would be to see a shadow moving on the wall, coming towards our door!"
"Ghosts don't cast shadows."
"But aliens do."
And then he closed the door. I don't know how many nights in a row I can use aliens to my advantage. And I don't know what else gives Drewbies goosebumps. Ghosts are clearly out unless I can really convince him. Ooo! Maybe I could make him watch me put all the clothes away tonight, but then, at like, 2 a.m. I could put them all back in the kitchen exactly as they were. But then he might come up with some stupidly rational conclusion like "I must leave the door open in order to know how to protect you."
Psh.
Anyway, Drew just got home and he wants to snuggle. And by 'he' I mean 'me' and by snuggle I mean snuggle. Whatever you brought to that last part was your own filth.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
'Blog' sounds like 'blob' which reminds me of jello.
Sooooo welcome to my blog? Yeah that's a question because your homegirl here has no idea what she's doing. The only reason I sorta kinda know what a blog is, is because people have told me I should start one. Seriously, though. Blog? Who came up with that word? I'll ask Google real quick.......Ah! "Web Log". Weblog. Blog. BLOG.
Well now that the world makes sense, I suppose we can move on.
To whoever reads this (which, let's be real now, is maybe my Facebook friends) I need to be famous by Thursday. Seeing as today is Thursday, you either have a lot of work to do or you have a full week. Do what you have to, but make it happen.
Also, I know I am not the first to make this not at all outrageous, totally reasonable, non-insane request to be famous by Thursday. Allie of Hyperbole and a Half was my guiding light. Holla at ya gurl.
So I need to be famous by Thursday and you may be saying to yourself "Woah, now Emily. What happens if you do get famous by Thursday? Your blog's name is always going to be 'Famous by Thursday'! Won't that mess with your world view? Won't it mess with my worldview?!"
No.
I googled 'famous by Thursday' just to make sure no one else had that name. Turns out "Famous by Thursday" shows up on some lyrics site. I almost got discouraged but then 2 things happened: 1) The page didn't load fast enough so I decided it was safe to proceed with my name, and 2) I thought "Hey, maybe somebody will look for lyrics and stumble upon my blog instead and then I will be famous!" Win-win.
Alright. So I'm recently unemployed. That sucks, right? Not so. That company probably kicked puppies, painted butterfly wings poop brown, and were those creeps your parents warned you about poisoning your Halloween candy as a kid. I knew I didn't belong mainly because I have a soul. And it was only 7 short months before they got really afraid that my soul posessing-ness was going to touch them and get morals and ethics all over their slimy dearth of integrity. So good riddance and naner-naner-boo-boo I never liked you.
For the past month, I have been wondering what good my political science degree is as I have been getting rejected for jobs that a 6 year-old could land. I did get to take a trip back home to Oregon to visit my homegirls and Baby Bro. Also, I was able to move into a new apartment that is only slightly bigger than a mint tin. Overall, unemployment isn't so bad. I've gotten into a show that I'll call "Stories and Flashbacks About How I Married My Spouse" and I've actually started doing all those exercises that I've pinned. Aaaaannnnddddd I started a blog. :D
Penis
Well now that the world makes sense, I suppose we can move on.
To whoever reads this (which, let's be real now, is maybe my Facebook friends) I need to be famous by Thursday. Seeing as today is Thursday, you either have a lot of work to do or you have a full week. Do what you have to, but make it happen.
Also, I know I am not the first to make this not at all outrageous, totally reasonable, non-insane request to be famous by Thursday. Allie of Hyperbole and a Half was my guiding light. Holla at ya gurl.
So I need to be famous by Thursday and you may be saying to yourself "Woah, now Emily. What happens if you do get famous by Thursday? Your blog's name is always going to be 'Famous by Thursday'! Won't that mess with your world view? Won't it mess with my worldview?!"
No.
I googled 'famous by Thursday' just to make sure no one else had that name. Turns out "Famous by Thursday" shows up on some lyrics site. I almost got discouraged but then 2 things happened: 1) The page didn't load fast enough so I decided it was safe to proceed with my name, and 2) I thought "Hey, maybe somebody will look for lyrics and stumble upon my blog instead and then I will be famous!" Win-win.
Alright. So I'm recently unemployed. That sucks, right? Not so. That company probably kicked puppies, painted butterfly wings poop brown, and were those creeps your parents warned you about poisoning your Halloween candy as a kid. I knew I didn't belong mainly because I have a soul. And it was only 7 short months before they got really afraid that my soul posessing-ness was going to touch them and get morals and ethics all over their slimy dearth of integrity. So good riddance and naner-naner-boo-boo I never liked you.
For the past month, I have been wondering what good my political science degree is as I have been getting rejected for jobs that a 6 year-old could land. I did get to take a trip back home to Oregon to visit my homegirls and Baby Bro. Also, I was able to move into a new apartment that is only slightly bigger than a mint tin. Overall, unemployment isn't so bad. I've gotten into a show that I'll call "Stories and Flashbacks About How I Married My Spouse" and I've actually started doing all those exercises that I've pinned. Aaaaannnnddddd I started a blog. :D
Penis
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