January 30, 2014

let it snow (on the beach), let it snow (on the beach), let it snow (on the beach)

Frederick and I had this deal, this pinky promise, this let's shake on it type thing. 

If it snows in Charleston, we will get to the beach and stand in all its snowy-sandy-beachy glory. 

I mean, that's the kind of deal that no one would want to break. Snow! Beach! Ocean! So many crazy and wonderful things! Sure enough, the same crazy Mother Nature and her minions that reeked absolute havoc in our hometown of ATL decided to bring some snowflakes this way towards the coast. 

But you see, the thing about where we live is that you kind of have to cross a bridge to get just about anywhere. (Anywhere other than the grocery store, the movie theater, the best burger place, and my studio, that is). Standing at the grocery store/movie theater/Coleman's/ballet studio as it is snowing just isn't the same as standing on the sand by the ocean. And here's the other thing, when it is sleeting, freezing raining, and snowing bridges have a tendency to get crazy slick and icy which causes said bridges to be shut down. Closed off. You may not enter kind of thing.

This is the part where Frederick and Emily can't get to the beach. Not by car. Not by foot. Only by our private jet that we have yet to purchase (I knew I forgot to buy something at the store before the storm...). Cue the extreme teary eyes emoji! Wah wah.

So we spent our time looking at frozen palm trees (the oxymoron-ist of oxymorons, I know).

And boat-cicles.


And we looked at pictures from our families in Georgia where the snow looked like this:

And we were like yeah, whatevs cause our snow looked like this: (oh wait, they have tons more. cool.)

Yesterday a few of the smaller bridges opened again and the roads seemed drivable so we hit up Publix for some brownie mix because brownies and snow days are like a thing? Yes? Well, in this household we made them a thing. Yesterday...so it's a fairly new thing. As we got to the turn lane to our apartment complex we could see the bridge to Sullivan's Island. Right there. Open to traffic. And we were like kbai, apartment! Let's go see this snowy beach.

Freddie using his shoes as ice skates, Winter Olympics style.

Sand dunes or snow dunes? Or ice dunes? I'm so confused.

And this ^^ became ^^.

We stood there in all its sandy-snowy-beachy glory... for a good 30 seconds until the wind made it feel like Jack Frost was eating off our skin so we ran back to the car. I mean ran like we were marathon runners getting to the finish line. We jumped in the car, blasted the heat up to 90+, and squealed about seeing snow on the beach. Eeeee!

Then we drove back home and made brownies.

And that is the story of how Frederick and I kinda sorta kept our deal and went to the beach after it snowed in Chawlston.


January 28, 2014

a not so snow day

Hello, My name is Emily and I live in Charleston. I live less than 2 miles from the beach. And by beach, I'm not talking the "beach-y" part of town. I'm talking about toes in sand at the edge of the ocean beach. Chyeah, that's right down the street. Hashtag yolo...or something.
A 4 minute drive from our digs. Can ya dig it?

Charleston is expecting some crazy weather today and tomorrow. Please note: crazy weather for Charleston, South Carolina is considered a warm and mild day in any northern city. Which is exactly why I can never move more "north" than Charleston. My best friend is living in Ohio and she sends me the craziest pictures everyday. Snow! Shovels! Cars not starting! Negative temps! My Southern butt just doesn't get it. It rains here, occasionally. We have shovels for sand castles. The only reason my car might not start is because...I did something dumb like left a light on or something. And negative temps? Psh, I claim to be freezing in 40 degree weather. Yes, that sounds right. 40 something degrees is actually a freezing temperature in my book. Forget what they teach you in school. 32 degrees FEELS LIKE NEGATIVE FIVE. My body was just born knowing these things, I can't help it. 

When I got the word that my classes today are all cancelled after noon, I wondered to myself what does one in Charleston do on a "snow" day? Same as they would in Atlanta on a "snow" day, I'd imagine. Which led me to creating this list of things I will be doing during the snowbeachpocalypse. And yes, a snowbeachpocalypse is way more serious than an actual snowpocalypse where actual snow is involved. (because down here in the South, it really only ever rains. And ices. And rains. And ices. And stuff).

I plan to...

Wrap up in multiple layers all while cuddled under blankets. 
How ordinarily cliche of me and the cold weather. Whatever. Cliche rhymes with me and Emily so this is what we're doing. 
Layering includes (but is not limited to): Socks. Fleece lined leggings. Sweat pants. 1-2 long sleeved shirts. Jacket that zips up over my neck and can cover my ears.   Sweet baby Jesus. I'm just excited I won't have to wear a leotard in -5 degree weather. **Remember -5 really means 32 degrees on this here blog**
When the world's fashionistas compiled a list of clothes NOT to wear in the winter, I'm fairly certain leotards took the #1 spot. I mean they are like super warm when it's hot outside and you're dancing your patootie off. They are so like not warm when you are dancing in a big warehouse studio in freezing temperatures. 

Netflix the you-know-what outta some tv shows.
This one is hard for me to type as I am still in the early stages of denial with Dexter being over. It's not very fun going to Netflix, seeing Dexter, knowing I've already finished it, knowing there are no more episodes, and then trying to come up with something else to watch. I mean, come on Netflix. Could you please have 150,000 options instead of just 100,000?! Really throwing off my groove over here. 

Stock up on wine.
My explanation for this is...I've got a really large wine fridge that needs to be filled? Or I have a lot of wine glasses so I could drink a lot of wine without ever having to wash a glass? Or maybe drinking wine as it is "snowing" on the beach sounds like a fun thing to do. Take your pick. 
Snow on the tablecloth and "snow" outside? = a party inside.

Stock up on the most readily available holiday candy. 
Which happens to be Valentine's Day with a dash of some premature Easter candy. 
Ever had these babies?
I've had 'em. And by that I mean I have about half a bag a night. Which means I'll probably be averaging about half a bag per hour during the snowbeachpocalypse. 

Play the Wii.
For starters, a Wii is the best. No, I'm sorry. Nintendo 64 is the best. Wii is second best. Forget about all those fancy schmancy Xbox Ones and PS 4 or 44s or whatever they are on now. Those gaming systems only have shoot 'em up games and I despise playing shoot 'em up games. On the flip side, I do love me some singing, dancing, singing and dancing, and Mario games. All of which the Wii provides for me. So thank you, snow days, for giving me the chance to catch up to Freddie's level on all of the games. Side note: I married a gaming champion. I used to think I was good at Mario Party. Jokes on me. Ballerinas who spend 99% of their time dancing, .8% of their time eating and hanging out with friends, and .2% of their time playing video games with their siblings are not good at video games. 
Here's a picture of me asking Freddie to let me win just one single game during our lifelong marriage. He has yet to answer with a "Sure, schnookums. You should win this time."

I'm off to teach for a few hours. As long as I don't turn into an icicle when I go out the door in this -5 32ish degree weather. 
What do you like to do during snow days?
Real and/or fake Southern snow days count. 

January 24, 2014

the mysterious dial of the buttocks

My dad butt dialed me yesterday. I know what you're thinking.  Butt dialing? That is so 5 years of technology ago. I thought the same thing. Anyways, so I get this butt dial and I'm all like Hello? Hellooooo? Russell? Dad?? ::hang up and call back:: Because even when you're 99.9% sure it's a butt dial you still have to make sure that the other .10% is wrong and your dad isn't lying in a ditch and only able to reach out his finger far enough to tap your name on his contact list. 

I KNOW, I think everyone in my life is always in trouble. I have a problem. Whatever, I just finished the entire Dexter series so of course my brain is messed up. 

Sure enough, it was a butt dial. Or, as he described it, a thumb dial. Now a thumb dial is so not 5 years ago, but rather so this year. Ah, lovely touch screens. This thumb dial turned into a little 5 minute conversation. We talked about life. We about how my mom and sister were still in bed and living the life. We talked about how I should write a post explaining to people how to comment on said blog post since my stats claim people actually read my blog! They just don't know how to comment? Who knows (There's that tongue in cheekness again. Guuuuys, all jokes here). Anyways, this thumb dial turned into quite a nice little Thursday morning chat.
Thumb dials make us so happy we have to dance it out. 

Which leads me to say...2014, I vow to make more thumb dials this year. More thumb dials and less thumb texts (is that even a thing? Butt/thumb texts? I'm making it a thing. A thing of which I do less this year).

May you all have at least one good butt/thumb dial this weekend.
Please note: thumbs dials and drunk dials are not the same thing. Important clarification. 
Happy Weekend!

January 22, 2014

on being the bar cart less blogger

Do you ever feel like taking a big bite out of the blogger sandwich? You know, the sandwich made up of a few selfies, some Starbucks and arm candy, a pinch of hashtags, and of course topped off with a big 'ole slice of bar cart.

Sometimes I think I really really want a bite of that sandwich. I mean, hello! Starbucks? Yum (although only hot chocolate for me, please). Accessories? Necessary. Selfies of said arm candy and coffee drinks?! Duh. Bar carts?! Totally adorable and cute. And necessary, too. I think...

But here is what happens when I take a bite of that sandwich...

I use up all my Starbucks gift cards (teacher perks. Every holiday equals a plethora of gift cards), and realize that I probably won't ever enter a Starbucks without a gift card. Also, there's only so much hot chocolate one can drink. Also, I hate coffee.

I never had lessons in the accessorizing department. I think I look dumb in earrings and don't care to wear them. Unless you can find the world's teeniest studs. My wrists decided to stop growing when I was 1 and finding cute bracelets and watches for a 24 year old with a 1 year old wrist is next to impossible. But hey, I do wear my engagement ring and wedding band. Bling bling, what what.
The was taken pre-sizing the ring down 4.5 sizes.  I should have worn the ring on my wrist! Genius ideas always come way too late.

Selfies? I need no words (other than these) to show you the pain of Emily selfies. Just look and see.

The I don't know what to do with my mouth so I open it ALL THE WAY selfies.

The I don't know what to do with my face so I'll just do the weirdest thing I can think of selfies.

The I'm so uncomfortable taking these that I think I'll make you uncomfortable too selfies.

The I've had some wine at this bachelorette party and must get my phone out selfies.
Only good ones of the group, right?

I have no justifications so let's move on to bar carts.
Bar carts went from being something you could make out of any regular shelving unit to Holy Bar Cart That Is Totally Different Than Any Other Shelves And I Need It Now. This transition happened overnight. One night Mr. and Mrs. Jones were stocking their liquor on top of their fridge and their wine glasses in the cabinet with all the other cups/glasses. The next night Mr. and Mrs. Jones were the most outdated couple in all the land. Such a sad story.

For about 3 hot seconds last week I decided I needed a bar cart. N-e-e-d-e-d it. No more gin on top of the fridge. But then I remembered that our apartment is already filled to the brim with furniture and bar carts are meant to go on the ground--not stacked on top of the dining room table. And then I remembered that Freddie bought me the coolest wine fridge and made me a wine rack and I am already Miss Fancy Wine Storage Pants. And finally I remembered that I don't drink anything other than wine so why would I need an entire cart to put _____ on? (but it would be another space for me to stack papers and stuff...)
Eat my wine rack, you silly bar carts.

Which sandwich are you eatin'?

Disclaimer: This entire post is what they call "tongue in cheek." I am not-so-secretly absolutely jealous of everyone that can accessorize well without thinking, take selfies and look like models, and come home from work and make a drink off of your cuter than Pinterest bar carts bar cart. Let's Freaky Friday it up and switch for a bit, okay?

January 16, 2014

my life, the TV show

We all have our long list of TV shows we must watch every single week. If you are like me and Freddie (read: awesome) then you watch said TV shows every night thanks to a genius of an invention called Netflix. 

Hey, suga' muffin! I'm home! 
Oh yay, I've got Dexter all cued up and ready to go. 
*presses play*

Ahh, the world's finest romanticism at work.

Important things to note:
1) Neither of us call the other suga' muffin, but Holy Horrible Pet Name I wish we did. 
2) Dexter is part of our family now. Period. The End. Dexter Morgan Weiss. It's a thing.

But have you ever noticed that these shows, these alternate realities, influence our lives in huge ways?

Pick me! I've noticed. 

Let's review, shall we?
How I Know or wish My Day is Straight Out Of a TV Show

Every morning I wake up and just know that today is going to be a day with 1) a problem 2) a resolution to said problem and 3) some a lot of funnies along the way. Any regular TV episode, erm I mean day, has to have these things! It is a must!

Pick this particular day, for instance. I woke up and knew it was the day to take down the Christmas tree. My problem was that the tree was more dead than the roadkill that all Northerners assume we Southerners eat. My solution was a broom and a vacuum cleaner. The funnies part is that 3 weeks later I'm still finding pine needles every where in this apartment. And car. And my clothes. ISN'T THAT FUNNY? Isn't that the best story line for a TV episode ever?

Moving on.

Whenever I can't get in touch with Freddie when I'm on my way home from work I automatically assume he is either A) showering the apartment with rose petals, chocolates, and all things romantic and surprising or B) some mad serial killer has been hiding behind our closed shower curtain this whole time.  I must enter the door with caution.

Now, I do realize those are two very big extremes, however you have to understand we fill our time with TV shows like Parks and Rec where this happens:
blurry pic, high five.
And Dexter where this happens:


So you can obviously see my dilemma in assumptions when my husband does not answer his phone. I think the only time Freds has successfully surprised me is when he proposed. Which I don't think he is planning on doing again anytime soon. Which leaves me to believe option B is happening.

And finally, I now know (thanks to TV!) that any dramatic moment in my life calls for slow motion and wind. Two simple ingredients that create one big impact.

Got my leotard on, hair in a bun, and tights on my legs. 
slow motion lock the door and walk to the car

No, little ballerina! This floor is slippery in tap shoes!
slow motion run in for a save

Honey, I'm home from work!
slow motion walk for a kiss

Goodnight Freddie, love you.
slow motion hug action
Here's a prime example of slow-mo windblown action.

There you have it. Now where are the writers and film crew that are basing a new show off of my life?
What shows take over your day?

January 9, 2014

on gender roles

The other night as I was doing some ironing I realized a few important things:

A) I am very grateful that Freddie and I do not have high end corporate jobs where a wrinkly, not perfectly starched shirt would instantly put us on the loser list.

B) I really do not like ironing. At all. On any level.

C) I really do like chocolate. And chocolate breaks are a necessity when doing something as grotesque as ironing. 

You see, I went to a women's college. Go Scotties! Insert all the lesbian/women's college jokes you can think of because 1) I can make those jokes better than you and 2) I don't care. It was an amazing 5 years (college take me long time) and I cannot imagine having a better college experience. With a women's college comes a whole lotta raging (and I mean raging) feminists. Don't get me wrong, I believe in equality. I believe women are the higher, smarter, and most full of common sense gender, duh (wink). I've been around strong women my entire life. From the drop dead amazing world famous ballet teachers I studied under growing up to the 10+ girls with whom I grew up dancing and spending more time with than my own family. To the professors, the lecturers, the workers, the friends I met and made at Agnes Scott. To my mom!--all of these women made a huge impact on my life.

But but but but...

I like doing laundry. So sue me. Sue me and lock me up in a special unit set aside just for those of us fueling the gender stereotypes. I don't care. I'll still do laundry when I'm locked up in there. I enjoy feeling productive. When there are mounds of dirty clothes, washing/folding/putting away said dirty clothes feels productive. Probably because it is productive. Are there days when I don't want to do laundry? Yes. Do I do laundry those days? No. Guess what? I have a brain. I can decide whether to do or not to do laundry on any given day. 

On the other side of the spectrum...
I dislike cooking. Freddie loves cooking. GASP, but Freddie doesn't have a vagina. How do I keep my husband happy if I'm not serving him a warm dinner in my pearls and high heels as he walks in the door from work?! For starters, Freddie gets home before me. And when he gets home before me 9 times out of 10 he starts dinner and ho hums like a merry 'ole Julia Childs Jr. in the kitchen. Do I sit down and refuse to cook because I want to protest gender stereotypes? Hell. No. (excuse my French, Daddy-O). I sit down and eat Freddie's delicious creations because I am hungry, he cooks amazingly well, and he loves cooking almost more than he loves me singing. Which is a lot, by the way.
Freddie, could you please stop cooking? It looks really unappetizing and I would much rather do it--said no one ever.

Him cooking also gives me more time to do the laundry.
That's a joke. Laugh!

Lookie there, a little give and take. A little compromise. A little living in the gender stereotypes and a little living on the edge of gender stereotypes. You know what makes a relationship work? Heterosexual, homosexual, bi-sexual, transgender--all of them. It works when the people in the relationship use their skills, their talents, their passions to benefit the relationship as a whole.
Holding hands and getting along. Happy as clams. 

Should I sit on my booty and refuse to do anything cooking/cleaning/general housekeeping related because I shouldn't have to live trapped by female gender stereotypes. No. Because that's dumb. I said it. Dumb because Freddie and I both do these things together. Do I leave dirty dishes in the sink? Yes, sometimes. Does Freddie leave dirty dishes in the sink? Yes, sometimes. Do I always go back and clean said dirty dishes? No, because sometimes Freddie has beat me to it. Aha! God dang him taking away all my wifely duties...

 Maybe I should stop washing my hands, too. In protest of, ya know, being told to do something my whole life. That'll show 'em!  

The point is...this is an argument that will never end. There will always be men who are jerks and women who are being treated unfairly. There will always be women who are jerks and men who are being treated unfairly. And there will always be a ton of women (and some men) on the sidelines protesting their place in this world.  Maybe instead of trying to beat a solution out of the stereotypical world we should all take a little bit of time to focus on finding happiness within ourselves. Within our situations. Within our lives. 

Unlike this argument never ending, this blog post will have an end. An end where I say, screw it, raging feminist Facebook friends. I'm bleeping happy with my life, my marriage and my place in both.

Freaking, bleeping happy.
But Freddie does have to always kill the roaches. Period.

January 1, 2014

the lone picture: 2013 edition

2013 was the year I felt like a lost puppy. You know, the puppy frantically looking for home? For the mom or dad dog? The puppy who has no idea what is going on (don't worry, I was the lost puppy that didn't pee everywhere in fright). I thought that marrying Freds, moving to one of the prettiest towns in the country (I mean, the world!), and getting some fresh non-ATL air would kind of solve all of my problems. Surprise! It didn't. I am clueless as I ever have been as to what I want to do right now. Where our life should take us.
Surprise surprise, though! The marrying Freddie part? That part was pretty great/wonderful/fantastic/smart/amazing/all the other adjectives and synonyms for marvelous. Freddie told me last night that marrying me was/is the greatest thing he will ever do in his life. Which I then had to remind him that there's still a chance that he could cure cancer or something, so wait a few years to tell me that. Winky face.

But 2013 was also the year that I learned (more like, was reminded of...) the best life lesson: Nothing is more important than family.
Nothing. Period. The End. Between two of my grandparents dying this year, one of them happening just last week, and two weddings, my family got to be together way more frequently than most years. And it was a party every single time. Whether we were together mourning or celebrating, it was the best. So, no matter how lost or uncertain I sometimes all the time feel, family is always there. Always ready for hugs. Kisses. Laughs. Always like an eraser that can wipe the worries away.

My 2014 "goal?"
Find something I love doing and go for it.
Gag me, so cliche, right? Right. But it's not January 1 without some cheesy, cliche goals. Now give me some wine to go with these cheese.

I love teaching, but I hate (selfishly) that I'm not really dancing to any extent anymore.
I've been waiting to get certified in Pilates since 2009, but haven't yet.
Maybe in another 365 days I can say DONE and DONE, son.

This time last year I had no idea how much was about to change. Within 6 weeks of January 1, 2013, Freddie had not only interviewed and been offered a new job in Chucktown, he had moved and started said job. Within 4 months we were engaged. Within 8 months we were married and I was a Chucktown resident as well. How the effsicles am I supposed to sum up this year in one picture? (no, but really, does a picture collage count?)

Just me, Freddie, and the prettiest oak trees you ever did see hanging out in our new town.

Are you as surprised as I am that I didn't choose a wedding picture? I know, right?! But this picture, this picture from Chucktown, from near the water, with Freddiefriend when he was still just Freddiefriend and not Freddiefiance or Freddiehusband, this picture sums up this crazy, crazy year.

2014, thank the LAWD you are here.
Now, let's go not break some goals.

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