on solving a mystery

Back in October when we moved to our new place, I was most excited about the hardwood floors. Hardwood. Floors. So classy! So grown-up! So nice looking! I had had it with nasty carpet. I was a hardwood floor girl, and I was wanted to scream it from the rooftops.

But after about 27 days living with my new lover, hardwood floors, I realized they weren't so easy and wonderful... You sweep and mop and sweep and mop and clean and scrub and they look so beautiful and shiny that you kind of want to kiss them. And then, then, then, then! Then you take one step. Just one--that's all it takes, and suddenly your pristine and shiny hardwood floors have a toe print on them. After that, all hell breaks loose because the door opens and the wind blows in some old Christmas tree needles that are still lingering outside, mourning their departure from your apartment. And then it rains one day, and you hurriedly run in the door, and your slippery, muddy shoes leave slippery, muddy prints on the floors. 

Life is hard. Excuse me, life with hardwood floors is hard. 

Every Thursday between 2:30 and 4 o'clock I sweep our apartment. (You see, that is what adulthood is about, after all--scheduling your cleanings). Every Thursday around 2:48 I am shocked at what I find. 

As I sweep our hallway I somehow start gathering 3x as much dust, random crap, pine needles, and hair as I gathered in any other part of the apartment. The hallway? The hallway! Why yes, it all makes sense. Freddie and I do spend about 0.5% of our week in the hallway so it totally would accumulate the biggest amount of dusty piles to sweep. Oh wait, that doesn't make any sense at all. 

Why is my hair all over the hallway?! I shower, brush my wet hair, dry and then brush my dry hair, and style my hair (a.k.a. ballerina buns) in the bathroom. I spend a decent amount of time in my bedroom. I spend the most amount of time in the living room, but my hair is sparse in these other locations. 

My only conclusion (and it's a good one) is that my brain lets my hair know when I am taking my daily 3 steps across the hallway and suddenly my hair starts parachuting to the floor. Weeeeeeeee! We'll show her where we want to be!

And that, my friends, is the great mystery of Friday life. Have fun solving it. 

Happy Friday!

And a shoutout Happy Birthday! to Lawyer Katie. She was my first female friend in Chucktown and I kind of like her a lot. 

a hard day's night

Do you ever steal really good ideas? And not necessarily to claim them as your own brilliance, but more so just so you can be part of the cool, smart club and do cool, smart things, too?

I totally steal ideas. I'm not afraid to admit it. Plus isn't the whole point of Pinterest "stealing" ideas? Borrowing. Stealing. Tomayto, Tomahto. 

One of my great friends, Ruth, had one of those amazing-must-steal-ideas. Every day in 2014 she and her fella, George, took a short 2-3 second video of something happening in their day. Sometimes it was something big that they were celebrating--Anniversaries! Birthdays! Weddings! Family! But sometimes it was just a little thing like someone sitting on a counter swinging his feet. I teared up watching the video because A) I'm a freak and B) It was just the sweetest. It was the best reminder that life is about those little moments--when you are stressed and when you think nothing is going the way it is supposed to...it's those little moments of counter sitting, swinging legs that make life really beautiful.

Sigh.

So I immediately did what any good friend would do and I texted Ruth to let her know that their video was golden and that I would be doing it.

First thing to note: I am horrible about remembering to do said daily videos. It's only the 22nd day of the year and I'm already short four videos. Oops. 

Second thing to note: it's already SO FUN.

Third thing to note: It made me realize how Freddie and I don't really do too much in the evenings after work...

As in, we do nothing. As in, a lot of my videos are of The Office playing on TV. Or a newly bought and constructed bar stool sitting at our bar. You know, the really important moments of life. Inanimate objects. No noise. Darkness all around since I usually forget to take said video until the dark hour of 11 pm. 

But now since you're all so curious and I've got your attention, let's go over the ever-so important way Freddie and Emily (hey, that's me!) spend their week night time. 

one

I obsess over filling the little cubes in our shelves. So I take pictures and send them to my mom with texts like, "Soooo?! Yes? What else? I need more. How do people decorate?" And so on and so forth. It's an equally thrilling experience for my mother, I am sure.

two

While waiting for my mother's responses, I screenshot the crap out of internet things. Sometimes it's from workouts I think I'll do in the morning. Sometimes it's from home decor ideas that I want to steal borrow. Sometimes (a lot of the time) it's me being a creepy stalker and doing a screenshot of something or someone on Facebook. Hashtag creepcreepcreeper. 

Literally 75% of my recent photos in iPhoto are screenshots. So basically that means if you post something cute, or silly, or funny, or stupid, I will screenshot it. 

three

While I'm doing my research and work, Freddie is busy playing Clash of the Clans. I have absolutely no ideas whatsoever about that game. I know that it is a village or something. And that he presses a lot of buttons. And sometimes it refreshes and a cloud pops up and disappears. Or something. Wow, I obviously know a lot more than I give myself credit for. 

Side eyes.

four

Netflix is our jam. Along with everyone else in America. When something is so good and precious then it kind of has to be everyone's jam. So we jam away.

Current shows being viewed on the Freddie and Emily profiles: Gilmore Girls (guess whose profile that is on?), Friends, Psych (gag me), The Office (for the hundredth time), Heroes, Bob's Burgers (for the thousandth time), and Parks and Rec (for the millionth time).

We like our shows and we like 'em Netflix-y.

five

Don't fret. We do feed ourselves in the middle of such hard night time work. Meet our candy bowl.

Candy bowl, meet everyone. Since I try to do some kind of exercising five days a week, I can totally justify eating a few pieces of chocolate and/or (always and) gummies at night. Now, here in my dictionary few means 10. Ish. 

No wonder I'm not ripped and toned yet...

What do you do after work?! 

Happy Friday!
Linking up with Karli.

i'm the...

This picture has been floating around the internet lately:

You may have seen it. You may have not. You may have thought Ohmigawd that is so true. You may have thought Mmm nope, wrong. 

I thought the latter. You see, my mother sent this picture to me and my siblings and asked if we thought it was true. It took me all of half a second to type my response. 

Totally applies to my sister, the youngest, and is complete opposite of me (the poor, lonely middle child) and my brother (the oldest). 

Why is it oh-so-true of Ann you ask? Examples A & B:

A

Mom: Well it's Friday that means it's cleaning day! Hooray, now go clean your assigned bathrooms. 

Joseph and Emily: Yes, mother (big, happy, agreeable smiles).

Mom: Oh Ann, not you honey! You can go to a friend's house and play. Have some fun!

B

Dad: Children, it sure does look as if there are still quite of lot of sticks and pinecones in the front yard. Rawwwwwwr. RAWWWWWWWWR, grrrrr sticks and pinecones. Don't come back inside until they are all gone this time. 

...

Oh Ann, sweetie! No, you don't have to. Go back to the TV. I meant the teenage children. 

Now let's move on to those other two children. The two who cleaned bathrooms, and vacuumed floors, and picked up sticks and pinecones. Those precious angels. 

Joseph, the oldest. He did not make any rules.  Because Joseph is very complacent and okay with whatever. Oh, my sister just slapped me with a soft taco? Eh, I won't move or say anything. Oh, my sister just finished hysterically yelling at me? Maybe I'll grunt. Maybe I'll just continue to sit here in silence. <<<you see how hard my childhood was?! No one ever would fight back with me! #hardlife #whineandcheeseplease

And we'll finish up with moi, the monkey in the middle. There were rules, yes. But I'm the reason my mother wished rules had been broken. I never ever ever broke (or break) the rules. In home life or real life. It's my lil ole quirk. I'm absolutely terrified of breaking the rules. Terrified.

So let's go with something along the lines of I'm in the middle. I'm the best.

friday five

As I sat down to write this Friday Five post I requested help from Freddie. 

Me: I need a topic for a Friday Five post. It can be anything. Literally anything.

Freddie: I don't understand.

Me: Any topic. That I can write 5 things about. Anything.

And now may I present to you, 

5 Potential Bog Posts Thanks To FreddieFriendHusband

one // Top 5 Favorite Lists of Top 100 Favorite Things about Freddie

two // 5 Favorite TV Shows

three // 5 Favorite Blogs

four // 5 Favorite Fingers (In No Particular Order)

five // Top 5 Michael Scott quotes

There ya go, Friday Five, there you go.

Speaking of TV shows, I need this ballerina blouse April wore this week on Parks and Rec. Need. Neeeeeeeed. 

And as far as idea #4 goes... ring finger (duhz, so shiny), pointer, thumb, pinky, middle finger. 

Happy Friday!
Linking up with Karli.

smoothie king

Once upon a time I claimed Sperry's were the dumbest shoes ever. Then suddenly I had to have a pair. Had to. 

Once upon a time I claimed I would never get married outside. In a strapless dress. With my hair up. Then once upon a time I did get married outside. In a strapless dress. With my hair up.

Once upon a time I laughed at people making and drinking smoothies like they had just made an entirely new discovery. Then on this past Sunday I decided that I needed to be making and drinking at least one smoothie or else I would never be cool or healthy again. 

See a pattern? I eat my words a lot. Okay, I eat my words 90% of the time.

Speaking of eating, let's go back and talk about the non-eating task of smoothie making. 

There I was on Sunday, in the kitchen (as all women should be) and determined to make a mean smoothie. As I told Freddie my plan to add in water and spinach and such, he looked at me like I was nuts. 

He continued to look at me like I was nuts as my smoothie kind of turned into a sludge. I assured him I knew what I was doing and that it was totally supposed to look like that. I said a quick Please Dear Lord, help this smoothie not to taste like sludge prayer before I sipped it and lo and freaking behold, it didn't taste half bad.

Ha! Take that, Mr. Judgey Eyes Weiss. I was successful in the kitchen. No one can stop me now! I'll be a smoothie maker for the stars. My sludge will be famous worldwide. Everyone will be healthy and toned and lean all thanks to my smoothies that taste only not half bad. 

My mind continued to wander as Freddie shooed me out of his room the kitchen explaining that he was going to fix my mess. 

4 minutes and a lot of Ninja-ing later Freds turned the corner with a better looking, smelling, and tasting smoothie. It was delicious. Period. No further explanation needed. 

I did what any proud woman would do. I threw my smoothie creation down the drain and filled up my cup with his smoothie. 

Once upon a time I said I should marry a man who was good in the kitchen. And I did.

The End. 

on being 3

Growing up is fun. Suddenly you can wear fun clothes. And text on your new cell phone. And drive and stay out late at cool places like parking lots. And oh my god, the first time you get to wear a bra is like...whoa, huge deal (and then becomes the worst thing in the world every day after that first day). 

But sometimes not all of us grow up.

Like my wrists, for instance. Let's talk about them.

Okay, Emily!

I've always had baby wrists. It's kind of my thing. Everybody's like Oh, there's baby wrists Emily. Again. (I've also always had a baby width face, and baby fingers, and...well that's just a post for another day).

But my wrists, they are tiny. Abnormally tiny. Don't fit with the rest of my body tiny. Definitely don't go with my birthing hips width tiny. I've always known they were tiny. I've accepted that bracelets will just slide up to or past my elbow so I don't wear them. My tiny, itty, bitty, baby wrists are naked wrists. 

There I was on Tuesday, getting measured for an upcoming show I'm in (yay, dancing! yay, performing!) when the seamstress decided to measure my wrist. As she wrapped 1/10 of her measuring tape around my wrist I made some wise crack (that was obviously super hilarious) about having tiny wrists.

Seamstress: Oh honey, wow, you do have tiny wrists.

Me: I know. I guess they just never grew with the rest of me. Hardy har har. 

Seamstress: Yeah, like that girl in here before you, your wrists are even tinier than hers. You're the tallest one I've measured so far and you've had the tiniest wrists so far. Ha! Barely 5.5 inches. Ha!

I got home and thought to myself, Self, I wonder what the average wrist size of a child is?! Let's look it up.

Guess what? 

My wrists are just barely the size of an average 3-year olds. 

Age: 25

Wrist age: 3

Chest age: ...oh wait, that's right, that's for another post.

Happy Friday!

 From me and my 3-year old size wrists to you and yours

currently: the no resolution edition

New month (erm, and year), new Currently linkup. Because nothing gets you through your Wednesday other than hearing what I'm up to right about now.

Well, what I'm up to other than mourning the end of a very, merry two-week holiday break. And sitting among mounds of dirty laundry that I just kinda don't care about right now (jay kay, I totally care and already started the washing process). Long hair, loves cleanliness, don't care. 

planning

2015 vacas, babays. Freddie and I have big ideas about trips, but somehow our money tree isn't on the same page as we are and has yet to sprout. We might have to go along with some of our smaller ideas for this year. DC, we be coming for ya. I lived in DC one summer while I studied at Washington Ballet and I will forever and always claim it as the best summer of my life. And hey, I got married during the summer months so obviously this means something deep and important about that one, fateful summer in DC. 

hoping

I'm hoping that Netflix realizes what a horrible mistake it was to take off Desperate Housewives when I was 10 episodes away from finishing the series. Netflix, why? Why, why, why?

baking

Good question. If by currently you mean recently then I could say some Christmas goodies. If currently means actually factually currently then I'd have to say nothing. Zilch. Zero. But I am very thankful for those who "bake" Kind bars because those babies are my busy teaching day jam. 

wearing

Holy Cotton/Not Spandex, I got to wear real clothes every day for the past two weeks and my closet was like Whoa, girl, get out. You're not allowed in here so much. Suck it, closet. I enjoyed every stressful second of picking out real clothes for 14 days. And now it's back to the leotard grind. I never realized how many different ways I could wear my 5 chambray shirts. Why explore the world of color when there is chambray in the world?

resolving

I have resolved to make zero specific resolutions this year. Instead I will live my life and have a shiz ton of fun this year. Deal?