Thanks to a generous and much-appreciated wedding gift of a year's subscription to Netflix (thanks, Mary!), Matt and I have been watching a lot of movies lately. I won't pretend that we don't watch a lot of garbage (e.g., last night's selection: Jury Duty starring Pauly Shore), but we've been making an effort to throw in some halfway decent films as well.
We've been on a major Daniel Day-Lewis kick lately. In the past couple months, we've watched There Will Be Blood, Gangs of New York, My Left Foot, and Last of the Mohicans. He really is a phenomenal actor, but I think I've also developed a tiny crush on him, mainly due to how good he looks in hats.
My hat-crush didn't hit me until the opening scenes of Gangs of New York when he shows up as Bill the Butcher in that magnificent top hat. That thing was so tall you could smuggle a baby giraffe under it... on the off chance that you ever need to smuggle a baby giraffe (you never know).
(The man also knows how to rock a mustache, but we'll deal with mustaches in another post.)
After we finished Gangs of New York, I did a little research on Daniel Day-Lewis. And by research I mean Google Image search. I have compiled for you, dear reader, my favorite photos of Mr. Day-Lewis wearing a variety of hats. And honestly, he looks good in every single one.
Here's another top hat scene from Gangs of New York. See the hat Leo is wearing? It would look better on Daniel.
This is what Bill the Butcher was wearing under his top hat during the opening battle scene. Because the only thing better than wearing an awesome hat is wearing two awesome hats at the same time.
There Will Be Blood? There will be hats!
The Age of Innocence. The beauty of period pieces = fancy hats!
Looking very fashionable about town.
I dare you to show me another man who would look this good in a pom-pom hat.
The hat really sets off the pink shirt and tie. And the beard.
Accepting an honorary degree from Bristol University. Jaunty!
So there you have it. Daniel Day-Lewis: award-winning actor and fabulous-hat wearer.
Vital statistics:
-1804 – 1864
-American author
-Wrote The Scarlett Letter
-Pals with Henry David Thoreau and Ralph Waldo Emerson
Nathaniel Hawthorne’s attraction is two-fold: he was a fresh-faced young thing (warning: did not age well) with a snappy fashion sense, but more important, he was a creative mover and shaker of his time. And who doesn’t love the brooding writer type? I’m sure he was the kind of guy who’d say, “Oh baby, you’re my muse. I’m going to base a character on you.” (Just hopefully not Hester Prynne. She had it kind of rough.)
A couple days ago, I received an e-mail with the following subject line: (females only) Outdoor Tribal Drumming Dance Party
Um. The sender appeared to be a day spa in the area that I've never heard of (and certainly never supplied with my e-mail address). As I opened the message, panic set it.
"Females Young and Old, please come and dance barefoot to the moving magical sound of our live tribal drummers."
This sounded like some serious hippie shit. Was there a secret registry somewhere that I didn't know about? Did someone find out that I married a man who has gone on Phish tour? Was I captured on camera at a Phish show?? (totally a story for another post...)
Maybe this is how hippies recruit. It starts with an innocent e-mail, and before you know it, you're getting unsolicited patchwork skirts in the mail. And the worst part is that I actually thought about going. But! That's only because there was the promise of free ice cream in addition to the dancing. Heck, I've gone scarier places for free ice cream.
It was this line, however, that brought me to my senses: "Remember this is outdoors, so be prepared to get very Virginia-in-July sticky, but finally in a good way!" Bitch please. There is no "good way" to get "Virginia-in-July sticky." Besides, the ice cream is going to melt!
So the down side is that I won't be witnessing what could possibly be the most awkward gathering of sweaty, dancing women ever. But the upside is that I figured out how the spa got my e-mail address, and it does not involve a conspiracy theory. Not to mention, there's Half Baked in the freezer, and our house is air-conditioned. That is totally worth dancing for, but I'm going to play it safe and avoid the tribal drumming.
I took an online career test over the weekend, and discovered, to my dismay, that my best career choices are: funeral director, motel clerk or member of the clergy. It was like a 500 question test, so I was legitimately pissed off that I spent all that time answering questions about my personality and didn't end up with something more awesome. I was looking for confirmation that I should be making a LOT of money doing either a) nothing or b) something fun, and instead it gives me the three creepiest career options available. I'm like a Rob Zombie movie waiting to happen. My future was looking pretty bleak.
However my attitude completely turned around yesterday when, while driving home from work, I spotted a red Mustang with the tag "BEARDDS" which clearly means BEAR DENTIST, am I right?! I nearly wrecked my car trying to get a good look at this guy, but all I could tell is that he's bald and doesn't look as tough as you would imagine a bear dentist to be. They probably use tranquilizers.
Anyway, it got me thinking that if this guy can be a bear dentist, then perhaps I'm being too closed-minded in thinking about my career options. I love animals! I should totally be working them. Why not a dolphin make-up artist? Or a tiger masseuse? I feel like a whole new world of possibility has opened up for me.
I'm going to keep my eye on the job listings on Craigslist. So far, I've only found ads for dog walkers, but I'm telling you, it's only a matter of time before someone needs a llama dance instructor or something. And when that time comes, they'll know who to call.
The other night, through a series of events that are far too complicated to explain here, I took an Ambien and instead of going to bed, I stayed awake and ended up creating a new religion. I guess there must have been some warnings on the label such as "go to bed after you take this" but who reads labels?
Anyway, my religion is based on the notion that a human being is actually a physical representation of the symbolism of the octopus. (I know that doesn't make any sense, but it sounded really deep at the time.) We are created by the female blue whale, and we are descendants of the "lesser whales," such as the narwhal and the orca. As I recall, the lesser whales are like saints and the blue whale is god.
And really, who can look at this guy and tell me he is not some sort of deity?
In my religion, we believe that humans have eight arms, like an octopus, but six of the arms are symbolic arms, so you can't see them. Duh. The two that you can see are known as Physical Arms, for obvious reasons. Behind you there are two more sets of arms; your Spiritual Arms and your Mental Arms. And in front of you are your Providential Arms, which help you tell the future.
That's about as far as I got before I passed out on a yoga mat. But luckily, I drew a picture and a chart that represents the religion. Because the actual illustrations are a) terrifying and b) illegible, I have recreated them for your amusement using MS Paint.
Click to enlarge
As far as I can tell, I added eyelashes, lipstick and high heels to the drawing of the octopus to show that it is a female octopus.
So I'm thinking that there might be some good money to be had in this cult thing, so if anyone wants to get in on the ground floor with this, let me know. Also, the religion needs a name, so please feel free to submit your suggestions.
Now that I've learned about Colleen's aversion to the word "nipple" I've been unable to stop using it. And the best part is that we are driving to Cape Cod this weekend for our cousin's wedding. She is going to love spending 20+ total hours in a car with me.
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Roadtrip
I was thinking that we should bring some snacks on our trip. I got some of these. Is that ok?
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Roadtrip
You are sooooo funny.
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Cape Cod
I know you haven't been there in a while, so you probably don't remember the weather... but you should really bring a sweater. It tends to get quite nippy at night.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Cape Cod
shut upppppppp. god this is going to be as bad as the air thing [note: this is in reference to a childhood road trip to Cape Cod in which Colleen got a stomach ache from eating too many Air Crisps, and then insisted that no one in the car say the word "air" for the duration of the trip. You can imagine how well that went for her.]
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Re: Re: Cape Cod
Colleen don't be ridiculous. We're adults now, and that was a long time ago. Say, how much make-up are you bringing with you? I might need to borrow some nipstick.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Cape Cod
shut it! nipple nipple nipple nipple nipple. there. it's my favorite word ever.
She thinks that will put an end to my comedy routine, but she's so very wrong. I'm going to spend the next 24 hours thinking of more nipple jokes. And if she's lucky, I might even throw in some poo poo jokes. This kind of humor is really above some people. That's why they call it highbrow.
My friend sent me a link to one of those website with pictures of crazy tattoos, and I immediately took a shine to this one:
I'm not sure why I love it so much, but the look on that giraffe's face really makes me happy. Thinking that everyone would share my love for the tattoo, I showed the photo to my sister.
Colleen: That tattoo is disgusting. me: I like it. Why is it disgusting? Colleen: It's licking his nipple... and its face looks like he's really into it. me: That's his food. He's happy because he can JUST reach it with his tongue. me: It's like a nipple fruit on top of the tallest nipple tree. It's a metaphor, Colleen. Colleen: That's disgusting. me: Is the human body disgusting to you? Or do you just hate giraffes? Colleen: No, I just hate the word nipple. me: Do you hate actual nipples? Or just the word? Because the word nipple is not a part of that tattoo. Colleen: I hate the word and the giraffe licking it. me: Do you like giraffes? Colleen: Yes! Have you not seen Audra's picture of me kissing a giraffe in our house in Richmond? me: No, I haven't. Is it a real giraffe? Colleen: Yes, it was for a photo project. me: I'm confused. You would kiss a giraffe, but you would not let one lick your nipple? Colleen: Yes that's exactly correct. Please don't blog about this, I can't stand to read the world nipple more than necessary. me: Ok.
It's come to my attention that the mini-backpack from the Cryin' video and the patchwork purse from the Crazy video are not, in fact, the same. It turns out that I just got a little too excited about Aerosmith and it affected my vision. My apologies. But you know what? No one should own two patchwork bags anyway. It's weird.
Due to the wild success of my first video deconstruction of Aerosmith's Cryin', I thought it only appropriate to continue with the Alicia Silverstone theme, so our next stop is Crazy. I think chronologically, Amazing was actually the next Aerosmith/Silverstone collaboration, but that one is kind of lame, so I'm skipping right to Crazy.
Please feel free to watch along with me:
The video begins with a shot of Alicia in a Catholic school girl uniform, picking a wedgie. Wow, I mean if you start off there, you are kind of setting unattainably high standards for the rest of the video.
Alicia heads into the girls' bathroom so that she can climb out the window, get her skirt stuck on the window frame, and give everyone a nice shot of her weird, vintage granny panties. And maybe everyone was so stuck on the wedgie and the pantaloons that they didn't notice the typo on the bathroom door. It really should not have an apostrophe.
She heads to her car, which is now a newer model Mustang convertible. I guess her parents decided to reward her with new wheels after she abandoned her dad's classic Mustang on the side of the road in the Cryin' video. Now you may be thinking, "How do you know this is the same character?" but you should just shut your trap for right now, because there is subtle but irrefutable proof later in the video.
Oh and it's important to mention that there is a quick shot here of Joe Perry attempting to impersonate Slash. He's not doing a very good job.
Liv Tyler, also clad in school girl attire, jumps into the passenger's seat. The awesome thing about convertibles is that you never have to use the doors. In fact, why don't you just go ahead and solder them shut because you're never going to look cool getting into a convertible by opening the door. I guess the downside is that it will be hard to get in if the top is up, but maybe you should have thought of that before you moved to whatever rainy climate you live in, huh?
Liv rips up what appears to be her student ID, and Alicia throws her class ring out of the car. That's a real eff you to the school, right? That'll show 'em. They remove their uniforms as they provocatively sing along to Aerosmith on the car stereo, which is of course creepy as hell because Liv is Steven Tyler's daughter. But that's only a taste of the uncomfortableness (yes, it's a word) to come.
It should also be noted that Alicia is not a very good driver. Evidence:
"Weeeeeee!"
They drive and drive until it is night time, at which point they decide to stop at the shadiest gas station ever. Someone call the FBI because this guy likes to ogle teenage girls.
Inside the gas station mini-mart, there is a stoned kid behind the counter who encourages Alicia to steal whatever she wants. First she takes a pair of sunglasses. OK, cool, you might need those. And yeah why don't you go ahead and swipe a few more pairs, just in case.
In total, Liv and Alicia steal:
4 pairs of sunglasses
1 loaf of bread
3 candy bars
1 pinwheel
1 comic book
These girls suck at running away. What about water? Or at least booze? Come on, ladies.
To reward the clerk for letting them steal a bunch of worthless crap, they take topless photos in the photo booth for him. I can tell they were topless because of his reaction to the photos:
"Whoa, duuuuude!"
Oh and I forgot to mention my irrefutable proof that Alicia is portraying the same character as in the Cryin' video. Look, same patchwork purse that Sawyer tried to steal in the Cryin' video. Zing! It's sort of hard to see, but I swear it's the same bag.
Then they magically stumble across a club that is having amateur night with a prize of $500. They decide to do the classic "one girl dress up as a guy in a suit and the other girl strip down to her silver bra and bell bottoms" routine.
I am pretty sure it's a strip club, but it appears to be strip karaoke because Liv insists on singing along with her dad while she works the pole.
For the record, Liv was 17 when this video came out. According to Wikipedia, the director cast her based on her award-winning performance in a Pantene commercial and had no idea that she was Steven Tyler's daughter. OK fine, but you would think at some point one of them would mention it, right? "Oh, by the way, that's my dad and this video is getting kind of gross, especially when you cut between shots of me stripping and my dad singing." I guess it never came up.
Of course they win the contest with their teenage lesbian antics (I wonder if Alicia was mad that she had to be the one in the suit? Maybe she wants to strip once in a while?). With their prize winnings they get a motel room. Good thing they won the contest money because it turns out you cannot rent a motel room with four pairs of sunglasses, a loaf of bread, three candy bars, a pinwheel, and a comic book. I've tried.
The next morning, they get back on the road. Then they run across this guy driving a tractor, so they do the logical thing and invite him to go skinny dipping with them. I know they've learned about stranger danger in school, but look at that muscle definition!
The farmer boy leaves the tractor running, because you can do that, and then they all go down to the old swimmin' hole. Liv and Alicia get into the nasty brown water first, and then farmer boy gets in. After he removes his jeans in the water, Alicia and Liv get back in the car and make him run after them naked. Really dude? They already made you look like an ass, and presumably this is your farm and your swimmin' hole. Maybe you should just find your jeans and get on with the plowing?
Well it doesn't matter anyway because they slow down and let him jump in the front seat. And this is the face Liv makes when a wet, naked stranger wants to get in the front seat with her:
And dude may be hot and all, but he picks his nose in front of girls. Check it:
They drop farmer boy off by his tractor, which has miraculously spelled out the word "Crazy" in cursive. This is where M. Night Shyamalan got the idea for Signs.
The video ends when they see this hitchhiking parachuter by the side of the road, and decide not to pick him up, which pisses him off.
Now that I'm thinking about it, I think this might be the dude from the Amazing video. Yeah it's definitely Jason London in spandex. Which is why I guess I should have done these videos chronologically after all. Oh well.
If there's one thing in the world that makes me intensely uncomfortable, it's entering a public restroom that has a bathroom attendant. For the life of me I cannot figure out a) why they would ever be necessary, and b) why anyone would ever want that job. I think if given the choice between being a regular janitor and being a bathroom attendant, I would go janitor all the way. Sure, I might still have to clean toilets, but at least "sit awkwardly outside the stalls while people do their business" is not in my job description.
And of course the worst part of using a restroom with a bathroom attendant is that godawful tip jar. Why would I want to tip you for creeping me out? I actually feel that I should be the one getting the tip for having to pee while you are sitting outside the door next to your collection of lotions and stale mints. I can rip off my own paper towel, thanks.
On our way back from our honeymoon in Jamaica I had the misfortune of running into a bathroom attendant at the Charlotte International Airport. Are you kidding me? A bathroom attendant at an airport? There are so many things wrong with that I don't even know where to begin. Airport bathrooms are notoriously gross. You just need to get in and get out. Most people aren't going to be hanging out in there, testing out the latest Britney Spears fragrance.
The main problem with the bathroom attendant in Charlotte was that she was not even doing her job properly. The first stall I went into didn't have any toilet paper -- isn't replacing the toilet paper a major part of the bathroom attendant's job? That seems like a no-brainer. I left the first stall and walked into the second stall, which had a seat covered with pee. Once the attendant saw me emerging from a second stall looking angry, she directed me into a third stall that also had a pee-covered seat. I think I mumbled something like "But it's gross!" and then ran out of the bathroom without peeing. How does this girl have the gall to ask for tips when she can't even be bothered to restock the toilet paper or wipe pee off of seats?
In my haste to escape that awkward interaction, I had neglected to re-button my pants, which I had undone in the first stall. So now I'm walking through the airport with my pants undone. But I couldn't reach down and button them because it would look weird and creepy, and I couldn't go back into the bathroom because I didn't want to face that worthless bathroom attendant again, and I couldn't find another bathroom because our flight was about to board. So I was stuck in a precarious pants situation AND I still had to pee.
It wasn't a very long walk from the bathroom back to the gate where Matt was waiting, but even a short few steps can be traumatizing if your pants are undone in a public place. In addition to the fairly rational fear that my pants would fall down around my ankles, I was also terrified that security would notice my situation and mistakenly assume that I was trying to smuggle drugs or something in my pantaloons. You could say I'm a little bit paranoid even on a daily basis, so throw in the possibility of unintentionally mooning all of Terminal C AND getting strip-searched by a disgruntled airport cop, and I was really freaking out.
Almost immediately after I got back to our gate, they started boarding the plane. At least I had made it through the airport without incident. At that point I figured I'd just run with it, so I flew from Charlotte to National with my pants undone. It wasn't so bad once I was seated with my seat belt on. And by the time we got back to DC, my paranoia had dissipated a bit.
I tried to head to the bathroom after we landed, but there was this weird convention of old men milling around the hallway. I think they were war veterans. There were a lot of wheelchairs and a lot of slow-moving people in matching t-shirts. Anyway, they were congregating around the bathroom. Surprising, right? I didn't want to be that close to that many old people with my pants undone. It just didn't feel right. So I avoided the bathroom all together and just waited until I got home. Imagine how terrible it would have been if my pants had fallen down in front of all those old people? If that had happened, I would have calmly explained that it's not my fault that I'm flashing a group of elderly veterans. I'm not the anti-American one! Blame it on the bathroom attendant back in Charlotte who needs a little lesson in motivation.
Going back to my recent post challenging the Trustworthiness of Beards scale (i.e. Not all full beards are trustworthy. Why are you going to pigeonhole a facial hair style like that?), I'd like to expand on my argument with the "What Does Your Beard Say?" chart, as promised.
Please click the picture for a full-size version. Explanations below because I couldn't fit the whole thing in the chart. I worked very hard on this.
Beard 1: My husband Matt
His beard says: I like to party, but I also have a serious side. [author's note: this was my first drawing... I didn't think to start coloring in their faces until later.]
Beard 2: Spencer Pratt
His beard says: My beard is almost the same color as my skin. Why do I even have a beard? I probably suck.
Beard 3: Sayid Jarrah
His beard says: I keep my beard short in case I need to attack someone unexpectedly.
Beard 4: Rasputin
His beard says: Look how scarrrrry I am. I'm not even totally sure what my role in history was but I look terrifying!
Beard 5: Zeus
His beard says: I am the king of the gods! You can tell how powerful I am by how my beard blows in the breeze.
Beard 6: Peter Jackson
His beard says: Hello there! I'm very nonthreatening. I love to direct movies about hobbits. Would you care for a cup of tea?
Beard 7: Kimbo Slice
His beard says: I am going to kill you.
Beard 8: Joaquin Phoenix
His beard says: I look unkempt like Peter Jackson but where he seems mildly eccentric, I am just plain crazy! I'm liable to freak out at any moment.
Beard 9: My dad
His beard says: I'm conservative and I like to read books, but I also know some pretty good jokes.
Beard 10: George Clooney
His beard says: We shall let George's beard speak for itself. Can you hear it? Can you?
There are two things I know for sure about my relationship with my little sister Colleen. First, we are both nerds, and when we are together, the nerdiness is intensified. We masquerade as normal, but underneath our cool exteriors are a couple of ren-fest dorks just dying to get out. Second, 95% of our conversations will devolve into a back and forth of who can say the cruelest thing to the other. Colleen currently maintains winner status because of the time she casually said, "Dad told me he wishes you would commit suicide." Bitch. Below is a recent string of emails between my sister and myself. This will probably only make sense if you're familiar with the characters from LOST.
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Names
What if we named all our kids after LOST characters? But we have to do it sneakily so our husbands won't find out. Just combine any of these names:
Austen
Jack
Benjamin
Carlyle
Boone
Sawyer
James
Charlie/Charles
Pace
Aaron
Jacob
Christian
Hurley
Desmond
Daniel
Kate
Juliette
Charlotte
Claire
Penelope/Penny
Eloise
Alexandra
Like how about a boy named Austen James? or a girl named Sawyer Charlotte?
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Names
Genius!!! Who's Carlyle? Ok I want Hurley Eloise and MIB. Just kidding. I want James Pace and Penny Christian(na). See what I did there? Our husbands will never know!
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Re: Names
Carlyle is Boone's last name duh, not to mention it's very similar to Carlisle Cullen! [note: see what I mean about the dork thing? I'm not ashamed.] I want Sayid Reyes. And you can't have Penny because I am already using Penny. I just put it on there as an example. You could also do like DriveShaft Farraday. Or Eko Kate.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Names
Hahahahhahaha heck yesssss Driveshaft! I want Oceanic 4 8 15 16 23 42. It's a modern name, I'll be like a celebrity. For a nickname we'll call her 4 8 (that's pronounced four space eight)
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Re: Names
Or what about Vincent! Vincent Bernard. And Charlotte Rose. Isabella Alpert. Or Waaaaaalt Michael.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Names
How about Nikki Paolo? Sam is dating a guy named Niles and I asked if I can call him Miles, She said (sayid) she calls him Miles in her head.
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Re: Names
I know a guy named Miles, but I made the mistake of asking him if I could call him Smiles and now he doesn't like me anymore. Your baby will probably be named Keamy Widmore and it will kill people.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Names
Oh yeah well your baby will be named Sun Juliette and she'll be the biggest bitch and everyone will hate her. My baby will be Jackate and everyone will love her. Your baby will be named Mothernature Momfromjuno and she'll shave her legs with string and your grandchildren will hate her so bad that they'll kill her. My baby will be named Ricardo and he'll ride horses.
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Re: Names
Your point of reference for Allison Janney is that she was the mom in Juno? In that case, your baby's name will be Jacob's Ugly Mole and your other baby will be named Locke's Eye Scar and they will both be evil.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Names
Hahahahahhaha crap!!! Jacob's Ugly Mole is a good one. I like Locke's Eye Scar -- he looks like Scar from the Lion King. Then your baby's name will be Rousseau's Jowls and she'll go into a coma and only speak with a French accent. Your other child will be named Hurley's Sideburns, and he'll be the king of everything. No, wait, that's my kid. Your kid is named Ana Lucia.
To: Colleen
From: Emmie
Subject: Re: Names
All my babies will be named Hurley's Curly Lockes (see what I did there?) and they will beat up your babies, and pour ranch dressing on them.
To: Emmie
From: Colleen
Subject: Re: Names
Will they be obese and get sent to mental institutions? OOOOOOOOH BURRRRN.
This conversation took place while I was writing the previous post about beards.
me: I can't think of Mr. Manson's first name. (note: I suppose I could have just called him Manson, but I like to be polite at all times, hence the formal salutation.) Matt:Who is Mr. Manson? Matt: The killer? me: Yeah Matt: It's Charles, why? me: I was trying to think of an untrustworthy person with a beard. Matt: Jesus me: Jesus is trustworthy, he died for our sins. Matt: Oh yeah. Matt: Does that make him trustworthy though? Matt: Why isn't Charles Manson trustworthy? me: Because he killed people. me: He might kill me. Matt: He is in jail for life and every time his parole comes up, he tells the parole board that he would do it again. Matt: That sounds pretty trustworthy to me. Matt: What about David Koresh? He wasn't trustworthy. Or Ted Kazinski, the unabomber. He had a beard. Matt: Why are you thinking about this anyway? me: I'm writing a blog about beards. Matt: Are you writing about my beard? Because it turns red when I'm in the sun. me: I'll mention that. Matt: Mention everything I said. me: Ok, but David Koresh didn't have a beard. Matt: He had stubble.
So, for the record: Matt's beard turns red in the sun.
After landing in Jamaica for our honeymoon, Matt and I boarded a bus to take us from the airport to the resort. There were about six other couples on the bus with us and every one had also gotten married the previous Saturday and had come to Jamaica for their honeymoon. In fact, I think I was the only girl on the bus that wasn't wearing a bedazzled "Bride" tank top. Who told them that was appropriate travel attire?
Anyway, during two separate occasions -- once at a shack on the side of the road (where the bus driver had stopped so we could buy overpriced Red Stripe), and once when we first got to the hotel -- Matt was the first person to be approached by authentic Jamaican drug dealers looking to sell pot to stupid American tourists. I couldn't understand why both guys singled Matt out as the guy to sell to; everyone on the bus was in their mid to late twenties (OK fine, we're 30, but we look really good), and everyone seemed ready for a good time. So why Matt first? Then it hit me: Matt was the only guy on the bus with a beard.
A few months ago I saw this chart, demonstrating the trustworthiness of beards. Ignoring the fact that it is a total rip-off of the Facial Hair Cool Spectrum(TM) that I invented over 5 years ago, I'd like to challenge the trustworthiness of the full beard. I mean sure, a full beard is always better than a Hitler mustache, but just because Jesus, Santa Claus and my dad (all good men) have full beards doesn't mean that every full beard = trustworthiness. Charles Manson? Not very trustworthy.
This isn't to say that Matt is untrustworthy of course -- but maybe trustworthiness isn't the first thing his beard connotes. Just because two bearded men are both trustworthy does not mean that their beards tell the same story. For example, Ulysses S. Grant and my husband could both be considered trustworthy (depending on who you ask, I suppose), but Ulysses' beard says "I defended the Union and later became president," while Matt's beard, at least according to half the population of Jamaica, says "I like to party!"
I'm going to create a new chart, titled "What Does Your Beard Say?" and it will be much more accurate than that stupid trustworthiness scale.
I love you, I really do, but we have got to have a chat about your videos. I just watched the new Alejandro video, and while it was very visually striking and somewhat entertaining, I have a tiny piece of advice for you, (and I am going to keep this very simple):
About a year ago, I got a message on Facebook from someone named Saul.
Subject: say did you ever live in alexandria va?
this might be a bit weird but i think i use to write back N forth with ya. i was diggin through some old ass papers i had and found some old ass letters which were from a emmie [my last name]. i dont remember who that is. anyhow thought it might be you. [my address growing up]?
His profile was private, so I could only see his name, his photo, and that he lived in LA. He looked to be about 40. With this limited information, I determined immediately that this must be the young soldier that I wrote letters to during the first Gulf War, for a fifth grade project. I sent him a care package filled with Girl Scout Cookies, and then never heard from him again. Naturally I assumed he had been killed in combat -- why else would he not write me a thank you note for the Thin Mints? But all was forgiven. After twenty years, Saul had finally gotten back in touch with me!
Excitedly, I responded:
Yeah, that was definitely me. Crazy! Were you in Kuwait or Saudi Arabia maybe? If I'm remembering correctly, my fifth grade class wrote letters to service members during the first gulf war, and I think you were my pen pal. You sent me some foreign money (really can't remember where you were stationed right now) and drew me a picture of the desert. That's so weird, I think I might still have that letter. How are you?
A week went by and I didn't hear back from him. It was just like fifth grade all over again. I poured my heart and soul into a Facebook message and received nothing in return. The only difference is that there were no cookies involved this time. I was devastated, of course, but I decided that maybe Saul and I just weren't meant to be friends. Asshole.
Then about a month later, out of the blue, it hit me: my soldier friend's name was not Saul -- it was Ken. Shit. Not only had I sent a completely ridiculous message to a total stranger (and possible stalker, I might add), but my true soldier friend was still MIA, so to speak.
I racked my brain thinking of who this Saul character could possibly be. The only other pen pal I remembered having was a guy named Sergei from Russia, and this was clearly not Sergei. I vaguely remembered a short correspondence with a guy from a record label, so I wrote Saul again (it had been over a month since his initial contact, btw):
OK, I'm an idiot. I had a flash this morning - my pen pal's name was Ken, not Saul. So, my bad. I can't remember who you are though. When were the letters from? Did you ever maybe work for a record label?
Needless to say, Saul never wrote back. And I still have no idea who he is. But the good news is that I found Ken's original letter -- why I still have a letter from 1991 is another story. What a sweetheart he was to write back to a ten-year-old girl. I can only hope that the reason he never thanked me for the Girl Scout Cookies is that he was busy doing other things, such as writing letters to his real friends and family, or you know, defending Kuwait from invading Iraqi forces, etc.
Below is his letter, along with the Saudi currency he sent me. (Click to enlarge.) I hope Ken is out there somewhere, living the good life with his wife, two kids, and a golden retriever. And if you're reading this Ken, you should probably thank me for the damn cookies.
xoxo, Emmie.
My parents sent me to a Catholic high school in the hopes that I would receive a solid, college-preparatory education, as well as the moral and religious tools to help shape me into a good Catholic adult. I think it's no secret that the second part of that plan was almost a complete failure, but that's OK, I'm still a really nice person, I swear.
My sophomore year religion teacher was a nun in her early forties who wore lay clothing and motorcycle boots, I guess as some misguided attempt to appear cool to her students. But for all her fashion-forward ways, she was insanely conservative, and maybe just a little bit crazy. Case in point: it was in Sister A's class that I learned that thinking about sex leads to -- wait for it! -- serial murder.
Sister A explained that Ted Bundy once admitted that it was his sexual fantasies that led him down the path to brutally raping and murdering dozens of women. And we all know that Ted Bundy is not only perfectly sane and trustworthy, but he is actually THE go-to source for religion class curriculum. According to Sister A, sexual thoughts lead to masturbation, which then leads to porn, which leads to rape (oh, was that a bit of a leap? not according to Ted!), and then rape leads to murder. Makes perfect sense, no?
As you can imagine, telling 15-year-olds to not think about sex is like telling a baby polar bear not to be cute. It's simply impossible. So yeah. As far as I know, no one in my high school class has become a serial killer... YET. Evidently, it is thought that Ted Bundy's murder spree started in 1973 when he was 27 years old, and he wasn't caught until 5 years later. By that timeline, we still have two years before any of my classmates are collared for murder. I'll keep you updated.
I got a very important text message last night courtesy of my friend A, who informed me that the purse-snatcher in the video for Aerosmith's Cryin' is none other than Josh Holloway, aka James "Sawyer" Ford -- only my favorite LOST character ever. This is exciting news because it combines two of my favorite things: Sawyer (albeit in a shirt), and early 90's Aerosmith. I get a lot of shit for openly liking Aerosmith, but dammit, Get a Grip was a fantastic album (not as good as Pump, though). And I am only slightly ashamed to admit that the Get a Grip tour was my very first concert. Thanks, Dad.
Now, after rewatching the video for Cryin' to confirm that it is, indeed, Sawyer...
Shazam!
... I have determined that the video makes absolutely zero sense. In fact, it makes less sense now than it did when I was 13, which says a lot -- after all, I am the girl who onced asked her parents at the dinner table what a one-eyed trouser snake was, seriously. And for the record, I learned that phrase from an Aerosmith song. Full circle, nice.
So, I've decided to do a close reading of the masterpiece that is the Cryin' video, and I invite you all to watch along with me.
So. We start the video off with Alicia standing on a highway overpass wearing a totally awesome flannel plaid shirt. Then we cut to an utterly terrifying shot of Steven Tyler wearing the creepiest mask on earth. It is for this reason that I will now skip over every other scene in the video of Aerosmith playing. Inexcusable.
Next, a quick shot of 90s sorta heartthrob Stephen Dorff in bed with Aerosmith video goddess Alicia Silverstone. Stephen has a completely terrible half-heart tattoo on his hand that matches up with a corresponding half-heart on Alicia's boobie. These tattoos are just like those really cool "best friends" necklaces, only much more permanent and trashy.
Then we have a scene inside a movie theater where Stephen Dorff is making out with some floozie, and Alicia Silverstone is spying on them from a few rows back, and eating popcorn angrily. You didn't know you could eat popcorn angrily? Well you can. My question is, what are the odds that they would both buy tickets to the same movie, at the same theater, at the same time? It must have been a popular movie. Get a Grip was released in 1993, and of the top movies of 1993, only a few are suitable for make out sessions. Would you want to make out at Schindler's List? No. That would be disrespectful. So I've determined that they are either watching Sleepless in Seattle or Indecent Proposal. Of those two, it's much more likely that a man with a hand tattoo would choose Indecent Proposal. By the same token, a woman with a boob tatto would ALSO have chosen Indecent Proposal. Stephen should have known this and taken his skanky date to Mrs. Doubtfire instead.
Next we cut to a scene where Alicia is driving a badass vintage black Mustang convertible with Stephen in the passenger seat. They pull into what appears to be an abandoned train station. She straddles him, which he seems fine with, but when she goes in for a kiss, he pushes her away. Her reaction is to punch him, kick him out of the car, and speed off, leaving him in the dust. It's a really good dust cloud too. She's lucky it turned out that way, otherwise her dramatic exit would have sucked. However, she'd already determined that he was cheating on her. Why did we need to go through that whole song and dance?
Next she heads to the tattoo shop to covdr her lame heart tattoo into an equally lame mermaid.
We never get to see the finished piece, but I'm pretty sure it will end up looking a little something like this:
Ok, I lied. That's not lame, that's awesome.
Next we have a lovely flashback of Stephen and Alicia making out. This memory apparently causes Alicia's car to overheat, so she does the only logical thing: pull on a pair of jeans under her dress, and abandon the car. I think this represents her leaving Stephen Dorff, or some such nonsense.
Then she goes and gets her belly button pierced by the guy from Right Said Fred.
You know, when I wrote that, I thought I was being funny, but in fact, I am pretty sure that actually is the guy from Right Said Fred.
The excitement of getting her bellybutton pierced by a famous English popstar makes Alicia hungry so she goes to a diner to get pancakes. While at the diner, she spots Sawyer *ding!* and makes goo-goo eyes at him. When she turns away, he pulls a typical Sawyer move and grabs her ugly patchwork mini backpack. Cue lame chase scene through downtown; Sawyer trips on a lady, then Alicia karate kicks him in the chest and gets her bag back. Let me be clear when I say that this would NEVER happen in real life. Sawyer is a beast and there is no way Alicia Silverstone could ever take him down. If anything, he only let her karate kick him because he realized that she was having a bad day and he figured this would help boost her self-esteem a little. (If this were an episode of Lost, when she kicked him he would say, "Sonofabitch!" then he would look at her with a sly smile and say, "Hey, calm down, Shortstack.")
Next Alicia is using a payphone, presumably calling Stephen Dorff to tell him that his career isn't going to go anywhere after '94. Then, she stands on the edge of a highway overpass, waiting for Stephen and the cops to show up. When he gets there, Stephen tries to talk her down from the overpass, which leads me to think that maybe the local police force was really short-staffed that day. Shouldn't they have some kind of professional for the job of talking down a potential jumper? Apparently not. Stephen reaches for her hands, and Alicia takes that golden opportunity to jump backwards off the bridge, but -- surprise! -- she is attached to a bungee cord, which I always thought was connected to her belly button ring. I mean, why else would you get your navel pierced, if not to connect it to a bungee cord and carry out a fake suicide attempt? She flips Stephen the bird and laughs, and that is the end of the video. What they don't show is how stupid she feels when she needs the cops' help to get back to the top of the overpass instead of hanging on that damn bungee all day.
The moral of the story is, where the hell are this girl's parents?!? She's running around with older men, getting tattoos and piercings, abandoning cars on the side of the road, and faking suicides. Someone needs to go on Maury, and fast!
According to my calculations (see chart below), America is long overdue for a bacon backlash. The trend of putting bacon in and on everything has reached critical mass, and we are about to enter a period of strong anti-bacon sentiment.
Like the rapid rise and inevitable fall of other American favorites such as Uggs, ironic mustaches, and zombies, all fads must eventually come to an end. Bacon's time is up, and the only question now is: what's next?
Here are some possible future food trends:
-Buttermilk. Just as fattening as bacon. Why not? Try our new buttermilk martini.
-Gorgonzola cheese. It's delicious AND fun to say. How about a freshly scooped Gorgonzola cone?
-Caramel-coated vegetables. If you thought caramel apples were good, wait until you try caramel broccoli.
The only flaw I see in my theory is that bacon is, in fact, delicious. But I'm going to be the first to pretend that bacon sucks for the sake of looking cool. Is it working?
After our brilliant idea to post an ad on craigslist searching for a doctor to be our friend, W and I have received only one pathetic response.
Subject: You gotta be specific...
Surgeons don't know shit about medicine, but we sure do know how to cut.
It was not signed, and the name on the e-mail account was only a first initial and a last name. I guess we'll never know the truth, but I'm 99% certain that this was an e-mail from a serial killer. He (or she) is a well-respected surgeon by day, and a crazed, scalpel-wielding murderer by night. He finds his victims on craigslist. It all adds up.
This will be the first in a series of posts recognizing sexy pieces from days of old. I must give credit to my sister, who discovered our very first Hottie: Mr. Alexander Hamilton.
Vital statistics:
- 1755 or 1757 – 1804
- Founding father
- First secretary of the treasury under George Washington
- Total babe
The man who graces our ten dollar bill was, without question, a serious fox. Just look at that bone structure. And although color photos didn’t exist in his time, you can just tell he had piercing blue eyes. He was killed in a duel by Aaron Burr. A DUEL. What a bad ass.
Alex, (is it cool if I call you Alex?) today we salute YOU as an official Historical Hottie.
In my spare time, I have been conducting some scientific research on British heartthrobs and/or rock stars. It's tedious work, but I find it very rewarding.
This is not me. I look much better in a white lab coat than she does,
but I didn't have any photos handy, so use your imagination.
Allow me to present you with my first groundbreaking discovery.
Hypothesis: Robert Pattinson reminds me of a young Morrissey.
Evidence:
1. Both attractive, yet slightly ambiguous-looking.
2. Brooding; penchant for black jeans.
3. Sensitive, soulful eyes.
4. Artfully tousled pompadours.
5. Rebellious, devil-may-care attitudes.
6. Strong, caterpillar-like brows.
Conclusion: My hypothesis was correct and I am a genius.
I'm Emmie and I write this blog. I like polka dots, small animals, and infomercials. I hate everything else. Bad jokes and get-rich-quick schemes can be sent to caffeineandcupcakes (at) gmail dot com.
