Category Archives: One minute read

Jun 27 2012
19 Comments
Humorous, One minute read, Wedding

All I Want From My Sister’s Wedding is a New Prof Pic

My current photo….it’s been up for a year already. Time for a change.

As my sister’s wedding day approaches, preparations have ramped into full gear. Emotions are bubbling under the surface, as evidenced by my family’s facial complexions, and stress levels are ready to burst all pipes and frustrate every coping method.

I’ve also become increasingly aware that my Facebook profile picture is a little outdated. I loved the photo when I chose it about a year ago to be the face I reveal to my e-friends, but my biological facebook profile picture clock has been nagging me of late. Though I hate to say it, I believe it’s time to relegate that image to the the noble gallery of old profile pictures and choose a new one for the entire world to see and admire.

That’s why I’m looking forward to my sister’s wedding. I have a feeling that it will provide many, many opportunities for me to harvest a new profile picture, and with a professional photographer no less. I’m already devising strategies of how I can photo-bomb and otherwise dominate most of the pictures at the ceremony and reception, not to mention the photo shoot itself.

Should I bring my rubber chicken? Should I black out one of my teeth? Should I dye my hair a quirky color? Should I refuse to smile and thus garner the attention of the entire wedding party as they say in unison, “Emily! STOP IT!”

The options are truly endless.

And I’m just grateful to have a sister that’s getting married and providing not just me, but her entire family with the opportunity to spruce up their facebook timelines with tons of new pictures, both profile and non.

Let the tagging begin!

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Jun 20 2012
19 Comments
Best blog posts, Food, Humorous, One minute read

God in the Kitchen, Making Casserole

This is from The Far Side. Please don’t sue me.

This is the concluding post of the Miracles of Midwestern Cooking series.

Sometimes I think of the whole world as one big casserole, assembled in a glass dish God purchased at Wal-Mart and set to cook at 350 million degrees Fahrenheit, with all of the  creatures, both plant and animal, bubbling together for millions of years.

North America is the cream of chicken soup. England is cream of mushroom. France supplies the butter and cream, while Italy comes up with some carbs and Germany throws in its brats.

India and China add spice and Japan classes it up. North Africa brings the sweet with the salty, West Africa tosses in some peanuts, South America beefs it up and adds the lime juice and beans.

Other regions mix in their own special beats, the carbs and proteins they love best and all of the roasting and toasting and broasting they do to get them just right.

We’re topped with a combination of cheddar cheese ozone and fried onions that sizzle and melt under our very own star.

As the goop swims around we learn stuff, finding that some things are delicious on their own, but most often they taste better together. That’s why there should be world peace, because cream of mushroom soup is a physical abomination by itself and spices need something to go on.

I’m not advocating an Indian-spiced cream of mushroom soup, but you get my point.

And in the end maybe a casserole isn’t the best metaphor for earth, because casseroles can be kind of gross and uncivilized. Then again, so can humans.

Probably the best reason the casserole metaphor falls apart is because each of these regions developed at the same time over many years from the same primordial cream of human soup instead of being added separately. None of us could be where we are without the other.

But I still like the image of God in the kitchen, mixing together the most epic casserole of the day. I hope it tastes good.

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Jun 01 2012
20 Comments
One minute read, Travelling, Wedding

Maid of Honor’s Daily Drudge Report

This is before it started raining on our morale.

I’m currently in Chicagoland doing a mediocre job of handling wedding mania and a better job of eating restaurant food. The wedding still doesn’t seem real to me yet, but then again neither does the whole of the United States of America. This is what happens when you live in Cairo for a year. My apologies for erratic blogging and comment responding.

It turns out that all the time I thought I would have this week for innovative and fun blog concepts has been absorbed by family and soon-to-be-family. It’s not a nightmare, but it would be if I didn’t have internet at all. I look forward to being able to update everyone—or not—next week. It depends on where my whimsical flights of fancy fly me.

Sometimes at night I have visions of strange animals. I remember one night in Ethiopia I saw a bat that had the mouth appendages of a cricket or a spider. If there is anyone who would like to interpret this in a positive manner for me, please shoot me an email and address it “Your Wondrous Vision and the Miraculous Signs it Portends.”

Tomorrow is the bachelorette party. This town has never heard so many sassy bachelorette giggles. We’re doing a bunch of secret things for my sister and I think I’m going to wear my new cowgirl boots, which are cowboy boots for girls.

Recently I’ve been thinking that “Supper” would make a fetching girl’s name. I have fond memories of the word supper and think that the syllabalic structure is quite appealing. Speaking of words, did you watch the National Spelling Bee semi-finals tonight? How much would it cost to get one of those kids to babysit me?

I’m listening to the rain on the roof here in Chicagoland and realizing it’s a sound I haven’t heard in a long time. All things considered, rain isn’t that bad. This hotel music, however, is another story, as well as body odor, and eating while you have to go to the bathroom.

That’s the report for tonight. I’m not sure if I’ll have time to update tomorrow after the bacheloretocalypse, but if I don’t, you can count on something for next Monday.

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May 10 2012
20 Comments
Humorous, One minute read

Cats Are Attacking My Mind

The keeper of the gate to hell.

I was going to write a blog post, but instead I spent three hours looking at pictures of cats licking their paws. For one hundred and eighty minutes I was spun through various levels of cat-lover-heaven, which is most other people’s hell, as I saw photo after photo of Patches delicately cleaning himself with all the poise and precision of the Mother Queen. It was terribly mesmerizing and I lost track of time and self.

But the saga doesn’t end there.

Hours later, I found myself waking up from some kind of stupor and realized that I was surrounded by horrible, bizarre, and altogether disturbing drawings of—what else?—cats licking their paws. It looked like a crazed zookeeper had escaped from a lifelong prison sentence and gone on a grotesque artistic binge.

The obvious, though terrifying, conclusion was that I had perpetrated these awful depictions, depictions that could only be used to cause human torment. I had been taken by cuteness-madness. What does this mean? Is my mind so fragile that something harmless like a few hours spent enjoying pictures of cats cleaning themselves could cause me to lose consciousness and perform acts of unspeakable horror?

Does this mean I’m unfit to live in this society? What if I’m walking through a park and see too many babies, puppies, or volleyball players and the madness takes me again? How will I explain my sickness to my family? How will I hide the monstrosity that is me?  I can only burn so many pictures before I start trying to sell them on the internet and then how will I explain myself? I certainly can’t blog about it.

Maybe I will find healing in twitter, and through tweeting the disfigured demons of my own creation to my small following I will be able to purge myself.

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May 01 2012
22 Comments
Food, Humorous, One minute read

How Many Capri Suns Does it Take for the Pain to Go Away?

100% Fruit Juice and 100% blindness cure

Sometimes there’s only one way to soothe the ache that comes from living on this crazy ball of dirt. When the pressures of life worm their way into my brain and my mouth gets dry from the non-stop screaming, I shut myself in the coat closet with the lights off and suck back those sweet sweet Capri Suns like there’s no tomorrow and the night is truly endless and all-encompassing.

I drain pouch after pouch of sugar juice until my stomach swells and the pain dulls behind the sinking realization I’m going to have to buy more, slinking in front of the eyes of suspicious Wal-Mart employees who know I’m back at 3 am again to buy another 24 pack of Capri Sun.

Scientists say that Capri Sun is the healthy way to self medicate and recommend that everyone drinks at least one a day in order to keep down hair follicle aggrandizement. But I don’t care about the health benefits. I drink C-S because I know no other way to cope.

The amount of Capri Sun I need to consume in order to feel like my life has some kind of worth to it differs from time to time. Based on my years of experience, here’s a rough guide to how many pouches go with various kinds of emotional, physical, spiritual, or financial trauma.

No more poptarts left: 4 Capri Suns (preferably tropically flavored)

Stressful paradigm shift: 22

Un-stressful paradigm shift: 8 (it’s still a big change)

Personal breakup: 30+ (embrace the hopelessness)

Hole in the crotch of one of your favorite pairs of pants: 2

Celebrity divorce:0-18

Too many voices in your head: 3

Silverware crises of various kinds (attacks, thefts, displacements):8-12

Your best friend turns out to be a potholder:27

You can’t sleep because your dream self keeps on trying to kill the president and you have a habit of sleep walking: 50+ (make a game out of it so you don’t fall asleep)

Poorly executed exorcism: 14

Broken arm: 5-7, or however many you can get before your family makes you go to the hospital

Sister ate your peanut butter: infinity. No amount of Capri sun can soothe this pain.

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