when your dipping dots run dry

Oh hey, it's the last weekend of August 2015. How old does that make you feel? Because it makes my bones creak. Next week my family is taking over Houston and I. Can't. Wait. I'll be posting pictures of my brother's face when he tries Tex Mex for the first time because #babysfirsttexmex is a real thing. By baby, I mean grown man. 

For now, please drumroll for this week's Five Favorites on a Fine Friday, friends. 

Favorite Song

If you can listen to this song and not want to get up and dance then...who are you and why are you so lame? Get up, up, up and daaaaaaaance! 

Favorite Recipe

On our anniversary we BOTH got in the kitchen and made sweet potato gnocchi. Together. And I didn't screw it up. And it was fun. And hard. And I still think I prefer Freds cooking and me just sitting back and drinking wine, but compromise! And all that. 

Professional photography by yours truly. Look at that angle and set-up, dudes! 

Favorite Food For Which I Don't Need A Recipe

Brookside Dark Chocolate Pomegranate a.k.a. the POMS. I eat at least hundreds of these every night. That's probably an exaggeration. I eat more like ninety a night. That's also an exaggeration, but they are so dang good. Go! Go right now and get some! 

Favorite Expensive Thing I Want 

(as of 8 am this morning) (apparently I want a lot of expensive things) (it was hard narrowing it down to just one) 

You know how people say to wait to make a big purchase, and if you still are thinking about it and wanting it in a certain number of days/weeks then you should get it. That's crap. Get it when you want it, people! And while you are at it get me these pants, too. Plz and kthnx.

Favorite Oh No No

When my Dippin Dots cup was suddenly empty. This is my favorite because it means I GOT Dippin Dots. This is an Oh No No because there was no Bottomless Dippin Dots option. 

Happy Friday!
Linking up with Amanda and Karli!

on being the eighth out of seven

Sometimes I get really into a certain topic.

Like really, really into a topic. 

There's usually no rhyme or reason for this. I just randomly stumble across a piece of information which sneakily steals my attention and then BOOM, ten hours of Google later I'm suddenly an expert in said topic. Excuse me, a top expert. I immerse myself in said topic and can't stop reading about it, learning about it, and stalking it (creep creep) (promise no people stalking). I guess you could say I have obsessions.

My latest obsession is over the start of the space program.

I KNOW. AREN'T WE ALL OBSESSED WITH THAT?!

As I mentioned one or four times before, I started watching The Astronaut's Wives Club. Which led to me Googling the cuh-rap outta the Mercury 7 and everything or anything related. I could not get enough. Which led to my mother buying the book for me (probably in an attempt to shut me up). Which led to long discussions with my grandfather who worked with NASA in its early years. Which led to YouTube-ing news coverage videos from the launches and blah blah blah, promise I'm not crazy. 

I was about to type out that there are several reasons why I am obsessed with NASA's early years, but then I realized I couldn't think of one legitimate reason I became so intrigued. I just am. 'Cause my brain said so, that's why! Alan, Gus, Wally, Gordo, Deke, John, and Scott. Louise, Betty, Jo, Trudy, Marge, Annie, and Rene. I guess you could say we're all biffles and I am the eighth of Mercury 7, obviously. I mean I do live in Houston so Houston, we do not have a problem with this intrigue of mine. 

I'm obsessed. You get it. Moving on.

Reasons my obsession makes no sense:

one ||

I wrote an entire post once about how I was a terrible, disappointing wife. The sixties would have destroyed my set-up of no cooking, all eating, and flat, greasy ponytail hair. Sometimes I wonder just how those women got their hair so flouncy, bouncy and fun. And their cat eyes so perfectly curved. And their jello salads so...well, jello salads are just gross. 

two ||

I am terrified of the thought of space. The thought of being straight up shot off into oblivion. I panic on roller coasters that have drops in them so ain't nobody (me) got time to have a permanent stomach-in-throat feeling. But I'm sure I wouldn't be the first person to wet my pants in an astronaut's suit, amiright or am I right?

Let's ignore the facts that I could never be an astronaut for important reasons of intellectual levels. We'll stick to it's because I'm scared of stomach-in-throat feeling. That makes more sense. 

three ||

On that note, the thought of having my husband blasted off into the open ends of space would make me sick to my stomach. I am a top notch worrier. Like I could get a medal for worrying and then worry that I wasn't worrying enough. I worry when Freddie rides his bike without a helmet so I can't imagine how I feel with him shooting off to space. Although...space suits have helmets so maybe I'd be better with him doing that on a week night... 

So here, I'll go from weird blogger to good little blogger in a jiffy and make this a book review post.

The Astronaut's Wive Club: read it.

While you're at it you should probably read Aziz Ansari's Modern Romance.

And all of Liane Moriarty's books.

Back to weird blogging...

What are you obsessed/fascinated/intriqued with in the totally not weird at all obsessed kind of way?

seven hundred and thirty days

I never know how to start important blog posts like birthdays or anniversaries or something. There's a lot of pressure, I'll have you know, to be the right amount of sweet and sappy, but also clever and hilarious. I'm sweating just thinking about how I'm going to write the rest of this.

You see, today marks TWO YEARS of marriage for us. Two whole years! Two years of marriage feels like two blinks. Literally. One blink for year one. One blink for year two. Soon we'll blink, blinkity, blinky and have five kids and five times twenty gray hairs. Chyeah, I want a whole brood of children, okay?

I feel silly saying anything about marriage because my parents are celebrating thirty-two years in three days and that is a number to celebrate, people! I feel like anything I say here or any wise words I try to share with you is just more leverage for my thirty-two-year veteran parents to be like Pfffssshaaawww, what do those young newlyweds think they know?!

Side note: Are we still considered newlyweds two years in? Now there's an important question for you.

^^for realsies, been-married-for-thirty-minutes newlyweds

Anyways, two years! I'll just keep saying those two words since I can't seem to say anything else.

In two years we have lived in three apartments and in two different states. We have acquired zero pets, and also zero children (Freddie is somewhere reading this and going High five, anyone?? Anyone?? No kids? High five, ANYONE?) (We love children, calm down). We (I) have eaten lots of delicious food that we (he) have cooked. We've also eaten a lot of delicious food that we haven't cooked because we've lived in Charleston and Houston. Both top contenders in BEST FOOD EVER CITIES in America.

I think the greatest thing about marriage or just relationships in general is love. Stay with me here. I knew I wanted to marry Fredster for many, many reasons, but really because sometimes when I looked at him I would be completely and utterly overwhelmed with the amount of love I had for this person. It always happened in candid moments like when he was biting his lip as he concentrated putting the egg whites in with the sugar during bake time fun time. Or when he was staring at the TV thinking What The F*&# was happening with Lost. This all still happens and in the most random moments it will hit me and hit me hard. I just want to run to Ricky and pinch his cheekies and squeeze him real hard just so he can get somewhat half of an idea of how much I love him.

That's marriage, folks. Spending the rest of your life trying to figure out how to convey how much you love this person. Because it is actually something that can never be accurately described. Yet, I've managed to fill an entire blog post about it--about something indescribable. Oops. And yes, you still feel the indescribable love even though he never puts down the toilet seat.

I'll just stick with saying this: Freds, I love you a lot! A whole heck of a lot. Now let's go celebrate 730 days of laughs 'n' stuff with more laughs. And maybe (definitely) some ice cream. 

a fine five for a friday

Five things for which I am hoping on this fine Friday:

one // I hope that all of our future children get Freddie's dancer feet. Wouldyalookatthosearches? 

two // I hope that my car magically decides to fix itself. And then pigs will fly and unicorns will exist. And that dang money tree will finally grow. That's a lot of hopes for just one bullet point. My b.

three // I hope that when I order this shirt and wear it all fall no one will realize that it is called the Summer Daze top. I'll make up for it by totally not wearing white after Labor Day. Ha, just kidding. Winter white IS so a thing! I read it somewhere! So it counts!

four // I hope that one day teleportation will actually be a thing so my sister and mom can just appear in my kitchen whenever I want. I want what I want and I want it nooooow!

five // I hope that year three of marriage is just as exciting as year one and year two! But I also hope that we move less than we moved in year two, i.e., I hope we don't move. At all. Unless moving our butts from the couch to the bed counts. Monday is our second anniversary which means this entire weekend will be spent eating celebrating! Bring it on, year three! 

Happy Friday!

advice on (not) driving: part II

It's Wednesday afternoon and I'm sitting in Target writing this. Not in like a classy Target Starbucks chair, but on the disgustingly gross benches out front. The level of filth on these benches makes me question my basic girl attitude of must-spend-$200-every-visit love for Target. But that's not why I'm writing. 

I'm writing because my car won't start. My car won't start on the day Mother Nature decided to grace Houston with rain torrential downpours for the first time in weeks/months. I know what you're thinking: What are the chances?! Lucky you! And you're right, it is luck, but remember there are two kinds of luck. I swear I didn't find a four-leaf clover this morning, but I SHOULD HAVE. 

My car also wouldn't start last night when Freds tried to pick me up at the airport after my flight had been delayed two hours, but that's a complaint story for another time. 

Sometimes I wonder why I'm allowed to be an adult? And who decides when we get to be adults? Riddle me that. Because at twenty-six years old I had no idea what to do once my car wouldn't start. I was perplexed. Confused. Intrigued. Even though this car had done this to Freddie the night before I was convinced I would be fine with it today. I mean, come on! I'm a wife and my house was out of laundry detergent! I had to get to Target to fulfill my destiny on this Earth of making sure my husband always has clean clothes! How could the universe not let me fulfill my destiny and get home with the newly purchased laundry detergent?!

Because sometimes the universe laughs at us and says LOL, humans. I don't think so. You don't get be an adult today.

I texted Freddie, but he was in and out of meetings. I texted my mother who was in Georgia, so that wasn't smart. Dear God, Emily, why can't you do something or contact someone who could actually help?! My texts read somewhat like that of a child as I conveyed my level of frustration and annoyance through emojis instead of words.
Example:

Problem solving when it comes to adult decision is not my forte <<something I learned during this rainy, dead car moment. Also anything car-related is not my forte as we all discovered last year when I burst my tire all because of a bug. 

Freddie was able to skip out of a meeting and come save me and the car. I'm sure it was like a kid getting to skip school to watch The Price is Right! Not. Ish.

Anyways, now that I am home and it's Wednesday night, I am going to put on my bright pink polka dot American Eagle sleep shorts that I've had for ten years. And put on my fuzzy Santa socks with the holes in them. And eat some freaking chocolate for dinner because since I am an adult I can choose to act like a child.

The End. 

purple things

I ate mashed cauliflower last night. <<Words I never thought I would say. Ever.

Correction: I ate mashed purple cauliflower last night, and I didn't hate it. I'd even go as far as to say I kinda liked it. A lot. Toeing the line of maybe loved it. 

That's the funny things about marriage, isn't it? (just go with me here...) You do all sorts of things you never thought you would do. All because you have this other person around shoving things in your face saying, Come on! Try it! Try it. I'm serious. Try it. I'm not kissing again you until you try it. Nope. How do you know you won't like it? Oh, you say you've had it before? When? Name the exact place. You can't because you've never had it. Eeeeeemmmmiiiiilllllyyyyy. 

^^word for word what goes down in our household on a daily basis. Especially with food. Especially with green food. I have this thing about green foods and it's all green beans' fault because gross.

As I sat there last night. eating this bright purple mash, I couldn't help but think of all the things I have tried (eating and doing) just to appease this person with whom I vowed to spend forever (side note: my vows said nothing about trying weird new things. I'm just nice like that).

• Dragonfruit (ew)
• Lychee (ew)
• Brussel Sprouts (okay then no thanks)
• Call Of Duty (Dear God, why?)
• Any and all card games (aside from Go Fish)
• Mango (Why are you not feeding me chocolate?)
• Long bike rides (bye bye, crotch and legs)
• Zoodles (um, yum! Game changer)
• Avocado (give me all the avocados you have)
• Scallops (also give me all the scallops you have)
• Soda water (this and wine are the only two things I really ever drink. #yesplz)
• Calling offices to make appointments (No, Emily. I am not calling for you) (ugh)
• Watching Dexter and Lost (two shows that made me love them and then destroyed me with their horrible endings) (Still not over it) (And never will be)
• Country music (I still kind of hate myself for knowing all the words for all the songs now)
• Pretty much anything good in life (<<Freddie's words when I asked for his blog input)

He's still working on lamb, golf, camping, coffee, and more bike riding (no, not really, only if it's glamping, double no, and ouch). 

I've successfully gotten Freddie to try...watching dance performances. Doing Pilates. And...that's probably about it. 

Wait! One time he listened to Justin Bieber's Baby with me. Go team!

Sigh. Time to go eat roasted sweet potatoes with a fried egg on top for breakfast and actually enjoy it all because of Freddie. 

a follow-up

Raise your hand if you ever blog stalk yourself. 

(I should see lots of virtual hands raised in the air like ya just don't care). 

I came across a VIP (very important post) recently when I was blog stalking myself where I talked about how I can't dress or put makeup on myself worth a flip. That post is 1.5 years old so I thought, Shucks, y'all! Time for a li'l update! Actually what I really thought was, Heeeey, blog post topic about which no one cares.

Official update: I still can't do makeup. I still can't do hair. I still can't dress myself. Whoever said change is inevitable obviously never met the fashion skills portion of my brain. (i.e.: I have no fashion skills portion of my brain). 

1 | 4 | 5 | 6

ONE | Rompers. Wait, what did I just say?! Shut up. I know. I knooooow. I shouldn't want a romper, but I kinda do and I don't care who knows it. Except...don't tell my sister, she'll make fun of me. Everyone can know but her. Do I want a romper? Yes. Can my size ten-year old upper body and size you-just-birthed-a-baby lower body pull it off? No. 

TWO | Beachy Waves. I WANT LUXURIOUS/WAVY HAIR. I want it! I want to wake up with waves! Not ponytail holder creases. Listen, I straight up used every product in the state of Connecticut to curl my hair for the wedding two weekends ago. In the middle picture you will see my hair after ten minutes of the product explosion and curling. In the right picture you will see my hair thirty minutes after. What even. Tears in my eyes. 

THREE | High Heels. How do people just casually wear them? I mean, I'm not only talking comfort level here. I'm just talking legitimately basic how do you wear them with regular clothes level? I either get four plus blisters per hour and feel like a giant or I just feel like a freaking giant! Win-win (lose-lose)! Heels make me over six feet tall and shoot, that's practically Andre The Giant height (minus a foot or so). So do I just bend my knees when I wear them? Actually scratch that. Tall people just got that show on TLC so I need to wear some actual platform heels and/or stilts and find the film crew. Done. 

FOUR | Lipstick. Bright, in-your-face lipstick, at that. 1) How does one pull of this look? and 2) How does one get lipstick to stay put? Similar to the length of time my hair stays curled, lipstick literally jumps off of my lips. One minute I'm applying it and looking in the mirror, seeing it on my lips. The next minute I'm blinking and looking in the mirror post-blink, and my lips are naked. Life is full of mysteries, people. 

FIVE | Half Up Top Knots. Not gonna lie, I've rocked (term used loosely here) this halfsies top knot several times since I chopped off my hair last month. I want to rock this trend and not have to use the term 'rock' loosely. Send help. 

Linking up with Karli.

currently: the let's talk about food edition

Happy August (fifth)! Part of me can't believe August is already here. By part of me I mean all of me. Well, except the part of me that is dying from summer heat. That part totally gets that August is here and can't wait for August and September and October to get here and go, too. Hey, apparently it stays hot forever in Texas. 

creating //

 Pilates classes. Sometimes my brain feels like it is going to explode with all of the movements we're learning/observing/practicing/teaching for training, but the good part about that is I don't even need my brain! I just need to be able to maintain a neutral pelvis throughout life and I'm good to go. 

Kidding, it would be good (for my body and for my life) to keep my brain. But anyways, creating new Pilates classes is (mostly) fun. 

wishlisting //

It's Houston Restaurant Weeks right now. Yeah, you read that correctly. WEEKS. Plural. In Charleston, we got ten days and under fifty restaurants for restaurant week. I thought that was heaven. My current heaven wishlist for the next few weeks only includes six restaurants, but that's because Freddie wouldn't let us choose all of Houston's participating two hundred something and made us pick our top five. So naturally I chose six. 

hoping //

If we're being completely honest here, I'm hoping this zit on my chin would disappear. Abracadabra, Mt. Vesuvius.  

eating //

If you follow me on Instagram or stalk me on Facebook you already know this, but Freds made some macaroons this week. He's been talking about how he wanted to try to make them. I've been trying to convince him that I've heard they're super hard and he shouldn't get too cocky. He's been pfsssssh-ing me. And then he made them, they taste delicious, and we've almost eaten all of them. I know I'm supposed to say that I, as the female, am always right, but that's super wrong. Freddie's right. Now hand me another macaroon. 

Poll: how does one spell the word macaroon? One 'o' or two?

watching // 

The Astronaut's Wives Club. Sometimes I think I get caught up in the stupidest shows, and...this is not one of them. I promise. It seems pretty accurate based off of my wiki stalking of the Project Mercury people. And if wikipedia isn't 100% correct then PIGS ARE FLYING.

Linking up, as always, with Anne and Jenna!

monday mops

I had a good Monday this week. It was like...chocolate sprinkles on top of whipped cream on top of ice cream (because ew to cherries on top). It was that good. And holy cow, now I need ice cream with whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles on top. Or just The Tonight Dough. 

I did two very important things that made Monday rock:

1) I mopped the floors

2) I got a chocolate stain out of our white chair

I KNOW! It all sounds so easy, and I pinky promise it makes the best of Mondays. 

Let's start with Number One. The mopping thing. It's no secret I enjoy being a Cinderella, but literally nothing makes one (me) feel as productive as sitting back and seeing completely clean hardwood floors. Does anything make you (me) happier?! I try to stay seated as long as possible after mopping because it makes me really sad to walk on the newly clean floors and get them newly dirty. I wish my feet were mops! Or something. Anyways, clean floors = happy wife = happy life. That's what they say (I think it's they who say that. They should).

Number Two. The chocolate thing. When we moved to Houston we got white dining room chairs, even though I love chocolate. Because while I do love chocolate, hey! I'm not five years old and we don't have a five-year old in our home. White chairs are safe, right? Especially with Scotchgard! God bless Scotchgard!

Wrong. White chairs are not safe (even with the blessed Scotchgard) and before long, one white chair had a nice chocolate stain right on the seat. And yes, we did call it the poop stain. But yes, I promise it really was chocolate. I did what any adult woman would do and I...texted my mother to see how she would get out the stain. I did exactly what she said and BAM! Stain gone. Mom's always right. Mom's stain trick is magic. The End.

And well, that's it. That's how my Monday rocked. So hashtag old or notyoung or showingmyage or whatever and slap me silly because Monday rocked!

Uh, Happy Tuesday. May your Tuesday be as great as a chocolate sprinkled, not stained, Monday.