Maybe I should have just ordered pizza.

I was babysitting one evening last week and things went totally fine you guys. I made dinner for the kid and he ate it and then we played some cards and then he went to bed. It all went fine.

Except I made way too much macaroni. Like…. You would have thought I was feeding a family of six. You would have been wrong because I was aiming to feed just myself and an skinny eight-year-old who also decided to have an avocado and HAD I KNOWN THAT, I WOULDN’T HAVE GIVEN HIM SO MUCH MACARONI.

Alright fine. If I’m being honest, even without the avocado, there was too much macaroni. If I’m being even a little bit more honest, I’m still a little bitter that he didn’t split the avocado with me. He didn’t even offer. Rude.

Anyway, after I put the kid to bed, I was suddenly very concerned about the mass amount of macaroni that was sitting on the kitchen counter. At first I thought “Well, I’ll just keep eating it until it’s gone,” but just the thought of trying to force that mountain of food down my throat was making me sad, which is saying something because I love macaroni. The problem was that I had already attempted to eat way more than my stomach could handle during the actual meal itself. There was just no way I could eat more before his parents came home.

That’s when I had my brilliant idea: Take the macaroni home and no one will ever know… So I put all the macaroni in a gallon-sized zip-lock bag and ran out to my car to dispose of any evidence. SUCCESS!!!

A few hours later, I woke up to the sound of the parents’ car doors closing and immediately sat up to pretend that I was totally awake and that I totally hadn’t made a ton of macaroni. They came in, we chatted, and I played it cool. I was very impressed with myself as I sleepily drove down the street to pick up Boyfriend who was waiting for me at his apartment so that we could go and sleep at my apartment because love.

When he got into the car I said “Watch out for the macaroni.”

Boyfriend: What?

Me: I made too much macaroni and I was embarrassed, so I stole it all to hide the evidence. And for lunch tomorrow.

Boyfriend: Seriously? I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded that you had some macaroni leftover…

Me: It was A LOT of macaroni.

Boyfriend: Why did you make so much macaroni?


Boyfriend: ……

And here’s where things get weird, you guys.

The next morning I was getting ready for work and just before I left, I was all “Oh!! I almost forgot my macaroni!” So I ran to the fridge and looked.

Me: Um… where’s my macaroni?

Boyfriend: Excuse me?

Me: My macaroni. I did bring it in last night, right? It’s not still in the car?

Boyfriend: What the hell are you talking about?

Me: My macaroni! Remember?

I proceeded to act out the conversation from last night.

Boyfriend: I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.

Me: What? Yes you do.

Boyfriend: I promise you that I don’t. You’re also going to be late for work.

Me: But…

Boyfriend calmly guiding me towards the car: Come on. We’ll find this “macaroni” when we get home.

And you know what? We never did. WE NEVER FOUND THE MACARONI.

This can only mean that one of us has amnesia OR that one of us is sleep-eating. Or sleep-hiding food. Either way, I’m incredibly concerned and entirely mystified.

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I’m kind of like a punching ninja when you think about it.

So last night we went to go see The Scorch Trials (which was delightful and I highly recommend. Unless – Spoiler alert – if you didn’t read the books, which you should – Zombies give you nightmares, because if that’s the case, you might not be in for the most enjoyable experience.) and to say that it was an intense experience would be underselling it. Especially if you were sitting next to me.

I do not watch movies calmly. In fact, I tend to treat all film experiences as interactive. Especially when things get violent. Boyfriend, apparently, finds this incredibly entertaining because at one point in the movie, there was a zombie way too close to the good guys and I was all “Punch him in the face!” and then I made some fists and tried to demonstrate to the actors how one would punch said zombie in the face at which point Boyfriend laughed with some surprise. I assumed this was because he had never seen this level of aggression from me until we got out of the movie.

Boyfriend: I need to teach you how to throw a punch.

Me: What do you mean? I can totally punch! *Aggressively starts punching through the air as we walk to our car*

Boyfriend: You punch like… a boxing nun – or how I imagine Tigger would punch.

Me: What? Is this why you were laughing at me?

Boyfriend: Why did you think I was laughing at you?

Me: I just figured you were taken aback by my toughness.

Boyfriend: No dear… I was laughing because your attempt at being tough was absolutely adorable.

Me: Well… crap. That’s not what I was going for at all…

But here’s the thing… I disagree completely because if I ever found myself in a fight, everyone would expect the normal punch, right? They’d be all “jab-jab!” and then here I come with my weird bicycle-pedal-fist swings that just confuse the shit out of everyone and THAT is how I knock ’em out.

Basically I’m so good at punching that my skills are unrecognizable. Like a ninja.


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WHAT DOES IT EVEN MEAN? And more evidence of my aging.

So I have this text chain going with some old roommates of mine. We lived together when we were studying in England and now we’re all spread out all over the States, so this is how we randomly connect and feel like we’re still sort of hanging out in our tiny kitchen with weird green chairs.

Anyway, I think it’s definite that we’re not in college anymore and that we’re all growing up because this conversation just recently occurred.

Fair warning: I’ve changed their names for their own privacy because no person should have to publicly admit that they’re friends with me.

Me: Also, does anyone understand this song about not being able to feel your face, but still loving someone? I’m super confused and I can’t get it out of my head.

Jessica: No!!! That song has ridiculous lyrics. We, along with my mom are all like whaaaaa?

Me: THANK YOU. Did the person drug the singer, making his face numb? So like “Hey, you totally drugged me and now I can’t feel my face, but I still love you, so nbd.” Because that’s unhealthy. In many ways.

Jessica: You’re not alone in not understanding… Those guys are making millions too.

Me: Well maybe they can use that money to seek treatment for their face-numbness.

Holly: Ignorant here. Who are these numbed face people?

Jessica: The Weeknd and they spell it like that too.

Holly: Because of course they do.

Me: I hate everything about them now.

Jessica: Not a typo.

So I think it’s official: I’m a cranky old broad now, but I mean, really… what does this song even mean? Can someone explain it to me? Does this band even know?

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More things.

Last night I read something I’d written at a public event.

To a crowd of people.

A small crowd, nonetheless, but it was still a group of people.

My friend/fellow writer/mentor was being named Poet Laureate of our town (yes, Stars Hollow has a Poet Laureate because DUH), and she asked our writer’s group to come to the open mic night that was being done in honor of this announcement.

And so I got up there. And I read. I also sweat a little bit, but mostly I read.

And you know what? It wasn’t that bad. I actually got laughs (in a good way) and people seemed to genuinely enjoy what I was reading. There was even some clapping when I was done.

It’s not like I’ve never read my stuff out loud before, but usually I only do that when I’m reading it to my writing group in order to get some feedback. I’m never “performing” it. And while posting my writing on this blog is a way of performing, I don’t get the immediate feedback. Sometimes I don’t get feedback at all, actually, but when I do get responses, they’re through the screen. I don’t hear you all laughing or sighing. I don’t see you all nodding your heads while you listen or read. I just push “publish” and hope no one writes me an angry or hurtful comment.

This is not to say that I don’t love hitting that “publish” button. I think I actually look forward to it more now.

Reading my stuff out loud to a group of people – most of whom I’d never read to before in my life – was an entirely new and thrilling experience. It made me want to keep going.

This past year has turned me into more of a writer than I ever was before. I can’t pinpoint what changed and when exactly, but I recognize that my desire, drive, and ability as a writer has increased and that’s exciting. I never would have done what I did last night before, but now that I’ve done it? I want to write more stuff to read out loud. I want to write more things to not read out loud. I just want to write more things.

And I just think that’s something worth noting.

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Just try and tell me you wouldn’t smile the entire time you iced a cake with this.

I think it’s fair to say that most of us are happier when things are cuter.

Puppies. Kittens.  Baby Bunnies. Little kids when they’re not being annoying.

Admit it, all of these things make you happier than say…

Grass. Flashlights. Junk mail. Dirty dishes.

Right? I’m right, right?

So, in my opinion, it only makes sense that when there is an opportunity to make something that isn’t ordinarily cute even cuter, that opportunity should be taken.

Which is why I can’t resist adorable kitchen items such as these:

Meet Pastasaurus and The Grumpy Egg Beater (who has justified reasons for his grumpiness, I mean, come on… you’re literally using him to beat his dead friends. It’s actually kind of morbid when you think about it, so I just try not to).

This brings me to this past weekend when Boyfriend and I were out lunching and wandering around on this quaint little Main Street strip of shops on a Sunday afternoon like we were in some sort of Audrey Hepburn romantic film in the sixties or something. We strolled into a kitchen shop and my eyes kind of glazed over because cooking is not really my thing, but it is Boyfriend’s thing, so I knew we couldn’t simply pass by without going in.

As he bounced around looking at really expensive knives I knew he would never let me touch and pans that I couldn’t understand why they cost over $100, I spotted it. The new object of my affection:


A pigula.

And he was only $4. How could I say no?

Me: I must have him.

Boyfriend: …seriously?

Me: Come on, you know I can’t resist something this cute. GEB and The Pastasaurus need a new buddy.

Boyfriend: Fine. How about this: You can have your cute kitchen items and I’ll have my practical ones.

Me: What, they can’t be both?

And then I got this look that seemed to say “You don’t really expect me to use a pig-spatula with any sort of seriousness, do you?”

So I walked up to the register.

Me (slightly louder than necessary): I would like this Pigula please!

Cashier: Oh, aren’t these great?

Me: I mean, I can’t resist something this delightful.

Cashier: And you know what? They’re actually really great spatulas, too!

I’m going to put this one in the “Victories for Emelie” column.

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Metaphors for writer’s block and other cliches.

I wrote this a few weeks ago when I couldn’t think of anything else to write, which was kind of refreshing because writing about the fact that I couldn’t write actually ended up helping me to write… Anyway, I shared it with my writer’s group and they all really liked it, so I thought I might share it with the rest of you as well because… well, why not?


I’m dying to write more often, but I’m finding that every time I sit down to look at a page, my mind goes completely blank. This weird whirring sound begins in my brain and my eyes tend to glaze over. What is that about? It used to be that I could get the words to start pouring out of me if I tipped my lexical pitcher just enough. Now, however, it seems like that pitcher is full of molasses instead of lemonade. It’s not that there aren’t any words at all within me (I always have words, ask anyone who has ever engaged in a conversation with me), but instead it’s like they’re all locking themselves up in some tower in my mind. They’re rebellious teenagers who refuse to come out for dinner. It’s infuriating. Almost as infuriating as the fact that I’ve switched metaphors three times within this paragraph.


So I’m getting the axe (and sticking with the locked up metaphor) and I’m busting down that door and marching those words downstairs because they’re mine, dammit, and I make the rules. Right? Ugh, I sound like my father… And you know what? Just like moody teenagers, words are going to do what words want to do whether you like it or not. Sure, you can force them to come out, but they won’t behave properly. They’ll still have an attitude. They’ll interact as minimally as possible and when they do manage to come up with a sentence, it’ll be a grumpy one that leaves you feeling hurt in a way you didn’t think possible.


So what do I do? I could go on a writer’s retreat. Take my words camping and get them to come out of that protective shell they have built so carefully around themselves a little bit! We’ll relax out in nature and interact with other words from other families! It’ll be refreshing! Until we get home and three days after the fact, we’re back in the same old place. The words are up in their tower and I’m down in the living room, just trying to figure out what changed.


So I guess the answer is to just keep trying. Keep interacting. Keep waking up every morning and making breakfast for the words. Keep going back to the words and keep trying to have a positive interaction with them until one day you’re having a full-on grand time with them. Sentence after sentence is happening and before you know it, you and your words have bonded and there’s a story there. It’s a story that you and your words will tell for decades and it’ll be your thing that the two of you have and that no one can ever really take away from you.


And then they’ll go back to being moody for a little while, and thus the cycle repeats itself.


But the stories will be the things that you think of at the end of it all when it comes to your words. It won’t be all the locked doors or silent treatments, but it’ll be the stories that the two of you created together. And, hopefully, you’ll end up closing your eyes and thinking, “Damn. We did good work.”

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And now I live in a hotel with a squirrel named Stanley.

It’s official: HE’S ALL MOVED IN.

His apartment is still in chaos, of course, but as of July 3rd, Boyfriend is a Connecticutian! HOORAY! I’m sure fantastic stories will follow about his adjustment process to living in Stars Hollow. I know that people were actually walking up to his parents while they were moving him in to ask all sorts of questions because this is small town life and when we see something, we say something. It’s sort of like an airport in that way (and in no other way at all).

What makes this extra special is that he moved in over the Fourth of July weekend and it turns out that this tiny town actually puts on one hell of a fireworks show, so we walked over to the high school to check those out and I’d be lying if I didn’t feel like the fireworks were actually in celebration of our own personal momentous occasion and not just the birthday of our great nation. It was pretty spectacular.

Also, now that we live so close to each other, Boyfriend thinks we should get Walkie Talkies. I am not against this idea.

Anyway, all this moving in and setting up apartments has gotten me all inspired to start doing stuff around my own house. While Boyfriend and I were on vacation, my friend Zoe watched the house and the dog and, being a chef/restaurant manager, she was appalled at my lack of a system in my kitchen, which is fair seeing as how my general process is this: “I need to put this somewhere… where does it fit? Ah! In this cupboard.” This is regardless of what else is in that cupboard.

And the fridge is just a pile of cold things, let’s be honest.

So as an early birthday present, Zoe came over yesterday and drank beer with me while we organized my kitchen. And now it is beautiful. IMG_3682

Zoe’s personal favorite area is the coffee corner: IMG_3688

Mainly because it has this feature: IMG_3689

Zoe says it makes her feel like she’s in a little hotel. I also think the fact that there is a squirrel involved has something to do with it because he is adorable. His name is Stanley.

So yeah, I guess this week has been pretty major. Boyfriend is living in town now and I officially live in a hotel.

With a squirrel.

Named Stanley.

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Goodbye Long Distance, Hello Neighbor

Don’t worry. I didn’t break up with Boyfriend and start dating my neighbor. That would be awful. Especially since my neighbor is an elderly woman with a herd of cows. No, my friends, Boyfriend is actually BECOMING MY NEIGHBOR.

This is insane to me, but in an awesome way, because we’ve been doing this long distance thing since we started dating (which, admittedly, was only about 6 or 7 months ago), but apparently he thinks I’m cool enough to just RELOCATE HIS ENTIRE LIFE FOR.


So yes. Boyfriend is moving away from his cool, hip, trendy city life to Stars Hollow, CT, where there is no cell phone reception and almost everyone in town knows who you are. Seriously. Everyone knows. People I don’t know are asking us about this situation.

And this crazy little town seems to be super excited for me over this whole scenario. People are coming into the bookshop and asking me all about it. There was literally applause from various town members when he picked up his keys. I think they’ve all been a little concerned that I wouldn’t last very long here because of the lack of young folks and social life. Oh, they have such little faith in what the Internet can provide these days… But now they can all rejoice (or cry) because I have yet another reason to not leave town.

And Boyfriend genuinely wants to live here with me. This is nuts! But it’s true. So, this weekend, he moves into his new apartment, which is right in the middle of town and across the street from the bookshop where I work. The only problem? Said apartment does not allow dogs (sorry Gio), but this also means that we’ll be forced to still maintain some personal space. We won’t be able to stay over at each other’s places all the time and I’ll still have to go home to do things. Like talk to the dog.

All of this rambling is basically my way of realizing that somebody really, really loves me. And that’s crazy because, well… have we all met me? But I’ve got to say…. this feels quite incredible.

This is going to be good, you guys.


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This is why I don’t shop at real stores.

First of all, thank you to all of you who responded to my post my last week. Thank you for the comments, the text messages, the tweets, and the emails. It was awesome to receive so many messages of encouragement. Especially this one:

Thanks, Mom.

Thanks, Mom.

I don’t know if this ever happens to you, but I feel like every time I write a post or even just talk to a friend about an issue I’m having, that issue almost immediately starts to go away.

After hitting “publish” last week, things started to happen that I felt like I could blog about and I started reading posts from bloggers who seemed to be going through exactly the same thing. It’s like there was something in the air. Or everyone was watching Orange is the New Black and therefore couldn’t muster the emotional energy to sit down and write.

Anyway, on to blog-worthy thing #1.

This guy, who was just hanging out so nonchalantly at an antique shop that I didn’t even notice him right away:IMG_3591

Now you might be asking “How the hell do you not notice a 15-foot-tall alien statue, Emelie?” and to that I say “I DON’T KNOW. MAYBE BECAUSE HE HAS ALIEN POWERS AND CAN BE INVISIBLE WHENEVER HE WANTS TO BE.”

But that’s just a theory.

The other logical reason is that there was so much stuff (weirdly none of it made it into this photo, so please just trust me.) outside of this antique shop that my brain was overloaded and I spent a lot of time looking down to make sure I wasn’t going to trip on something and subsequently fall straight into, oh I don’t know… an alien’s crotch.

I think one of my favorite things about him though is that he seems to be listening to all of your problems. Look at him, with his hands folded so peacefully, and his head tilted so understandingly as if to say “Yes, I can see why you’re so upset about that.”

Or maybe it’s a bride!

"I do!"

“I do!”

The possibilities are endless, you guys. ENDLESS.

P.S. I sent that alien-bride image to Boyfriend and apparently it is absolute nightmare fuel for him, so…. this can only get more fun.

P.P.S. I invite you to photoshop your own version of our new comrade here and post it in the comments section below or tag me on Instagram.


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Someone please get me to motivation station.

I get into these slumps every now and again where I lose complete motivation to do anything. I’ll cook dinner and then I won’t eat it because I’ve stopped being hungry. I’ll tell myself to write for half an hour and then instead I watch Archer for two hours… And then all of things that I need to do, like laundry, dishes, blogging, vlogging, and editing my book, pile up and I become so overwhelmed that I just end up saying “screw it” and I just sit on the couch and do nothing because I can’t for the life of me figure out which thing to do first. And then this spirals even further because I’ll realize that instead of doing something, I’ve done absolutely zero things, and that makes me mad at myself, so then I just sit there and distract myself by watching more Archer just to keep myself from yelling at my brain.

I am just now coming out of a 2-day slump of that very nature, and I’ve gotta say that the coming-out-of-it part feels awesome, but the getting-there part sucks, and then I’m forced to ask myself what it is that gets me there in the first place. Have I taken on too much or is the lighting in my apartment, while environmentally conscious, just so dim that it makes me sleepy and sluggish? Should I just start making another pot of coffee when I get home from work so that my energy stays up high enough to do all of the things that I want to do? Or should I start going to bed earlier so that I can wake up earlier so that I can do more things in the morning before work so that when I come home I don’t have to feel bad about being a sluggy slob?

Basically what I really need is a plan. I need a motivation plan to do all of the things that I want to do because I’m not really willing to give any of them up… So if any of you out there have really good systems for juggling all of your responsibilities, please let me know in the comments section below. And if any of you are also going through a slump right now, also let me know in the comments because it’s nice to know we’re not alone, and who knows? Maybe we can help each other.

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