Now that I know how...

I thought I would post some pictures of my trip out to NYC, and share some of the beauty the country has to offer.

A freak hail storm we encountered in New Mexico.

4 of 10 spray painted cars on the side of the highway in Texas.

Signing the wall outside of Graceland. Unfortunately, we weren't able to go inside.

A shot from inside Bonaventure Cemetery, Savannah Georgia. This was the most beautiful cemetery I had ever seen.

Another shot from Bonaventure.

Annnd another.

And one more...

This is the statue from "Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil." She was on the cover of the book, and the movie. Originally, she was in Bonaventure Cemetery, but after the movies release, she was so popular, they moved her to a museum to cut down on the foot traffic in the cemetery. I had to sneak this shot. What you can't see is the security guard JUST out of frame, oblivious to my sneaky picture taking skills.

Leave changes in New York are as beautiful as I imagined they would be.

Update On All Things Emily

I'm slacking. I know. Let's recap on life, shall we?

First let me start off by saying Shawn's mom is doing fantastic. She will finally be going home, and can now walk with the help of a walker. I think that is what I'm most thankful for this Thanksgiving.

1. I had a battle with the Landlord. Think, grenade launchers, bazookas, angry buffalo and a 9 iron. The cause of the war? Shawn and I being allowed to do anything in the house.

No parking in the driveway.

No putting furniture in any room but our bedroom.

No touching the thermostat.

Landlord can come over, unannounced, whenever he feels the desire.

No cleaning any room without permission from Landlord.

No moving disgusting, mold infested items from the cupboard belonging to Landlord.

No cleaning any cupboards without permission from Landlord.

The list goes on..We made a mutual decision to meet the following day at noon to discuss everything in detail, write everything out in detail, and sign every clause. By the end of the "discussion" Shawn and I were so frustrated, we left the house for several hours until we knew he was gone.

The next day, 45minutes after the scheduled meeting time, the Landlord showed up, and we had our meeting. His attitude was completely different, and everything that Shawn and I had been saying the day before was agreed upon as being just and fair, written down, and signed by all parties. We even got the "OK" to get a dog. Something Shawn is just thrilled about.

I want one of these. It's a teacup Yorkie, and yes, they are cuter than a baby vomiting rainbows and unicorns.

I believe Shan's face looked something like this when the Landlord said I could have one of the above, should we decide to get one.



2. I made friends! No, I wasn't too horribly worried about making friends, but it can be tough. I met Erika one of the three days that we worked together. Her boyfriend works at the hospital on the campus that Shawn goes to school at. Like me, she moved to NYC from a small town. Like me, she has been with her boyfriend for 2 years. Like Shawn, Johnny is originally from New York, and met his significant other in her home state. We joke that we have been living parallel lives in different states.

I also met all of Shawn's classmates. I am in love with them, like he said I would be. All of them are from out of state, and were looking for new friends. They found each other at school, and I found them at a dinner party. Having a group of friends has made NYC feel more like home.

Some of the group. Shawn is taking the picture, and the others werent able to join us.

3. I came home for 2 weeks. It's odd. Part of me feels like I never left, but part of me feels like I've been gone forever. I find myself looking for food that I bought and have in the cupboards in NYC. I hesitate before trying to put anything down the sink, as the sink in NYC does not have a garbage disposal. I can watch TV. I can take a full shower without the water turning ice cold while rinsing the conditioner out of my hair. I can park in my own driveway. I feel by the time I have acclimated to being home again, and the 3 hour time difference, it will be time for me to get back on the plane.

Tonight, I am going out with three of my girlfriends, including Erin, Mandi, and my best friend Kay. Tomorrow I am driving to see Ty, my best friend since pre-school, and spend the night out dancing with him. Sunday, my oldest brother and nephew fly in, and Wednesday my other brother and his girlfriend fly in. It's looking to be a very fulfilling trip home.

Note: Shawn has requested that his photo not be shared. Therefore, any image used to represent him should be assumed to be a free image from Google, and not the handsome stud muffin he truly is.

Young Dogs Can Learn New Tricks Too

My parents like to call me the computer guru. I am very good with computers, however, I don't know everything about them, nor do I claim as such.

I have been wondering how to add photos and possibly video to this blog. It has simultaneously confused and amazed me, although I never really looked into how to do it.  I would prefer to look like this:

As you may have concluded, today I learned.

"How did you learn that magical new trick, Emily?" you may be asking yourselves. Well, friends, I hovered over the tools at the top of my editing screen, and read the hypertext links describing what each button does.

I am telling you this, because I may be adding photos to old posts. The soap mishap, for example, now has an image of the dishwasher.

Don't try to hide it. You're impressed. I can tell.

Put Your Big Girl Panties On.

Basements. Basements are not all that common in California...at least not that I'm aware. Every basement I have ever been in has been finished to look like a room, in which case it is then referred to as a "den."

Basements. The word alone gives me the hibity jibities.

Basements. We have a basement. Ours houses all of our landlords furniture cast-aways, including a crate of old playboy magazines, retro chairs, paintings of demonic looking kittens, bathtub bubblers, and mini ovens. It is also where our washer and dryer are housed, as well as the only way to get into the garage from inside of the house, which houses our trash cans

Basements. I am afraid of basements.

Because of this, Any time I want to do laundry Shawn has to accompany me.

"Hey, Em, could you go switch the laundry?"

I look at him like a small child looks at their parents for reassurance after learning about the Boogie Man.

"I'll stand at the top of the stairs..." he says, trying to coax me.

My fear remains piercing him through my eyes.

"Alright, I'll go with you," he always replies, defeated by my irrational fear.

It's musty. It's dark. It's infested with spiders, bugs, and who knows what other kind of creepy crawlers.

I managed to trek into its dark cold depths on my own once, but had to call my mother in case the monster I KNOW resides down there should decide that I would be a tasty mid-day snack.

He's lurking....
Maybe he ate my big girl panties, and that's why I'm unable to put them on to go down there by myself...

Testing, Testing.....Is this thing on?

Hello friends and family! I am requesting that you become a follower of my blog. By knowing how many people are reading, I will not only post more frequently, but I will be sure to give all of the nitty gritty details to make you, the reader, feel as though you were with me during my learning mishaps. It's a win win!

If you aren't sure how to become a follower, I have included directions to do so below:

1. To the left of the page, there is a white rectangle with a colorful "g" on it that says "Follow." Click on this.

2. A pop up will appear. (you may need to make sure your pop up blocker is off) If you don't already have a google, twitter or yahoo account, click on the link at the bottom that says "Create a  new Google account"

3. Follow the instructions and click "I accept. Create my account."

4. Click on "Follow this blog"

BAM! You’re a follower.

So, if you are, I don't know, say a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, or maybe a Vietnam vet who doubles as a rattle snake hunter, please please please sign up. Let me know you're out there.

Never Fry Naked

I have been a VERY busy girl. thus, my slacking in updating this diary..as most of you have noticed, and alerted myself, my family members, and anyone else who may be following along with me. Believe me when I say that you have not been forgotten. I have not lost interest in keeping this diary, and I am very grateful for all of your encouragement.

The truth is, being an unemployed 22 year old is a messy job. Literally. Between scrubbing the cupboards and floors of my house, and trying to continue looking for jobs, I have been driving up to visit Shawn's mom on weekends, trying to discover new things to cook, painting, unpacking etc. etc. Yesterday I even walked down to the local cookie shop and bought enough black and white cookies, calnolies and tarts to stuff a pig. It's a hard job, but someone has to do it. And besides, the pay's not too great.

Back to the topic at hand, however. Let me begin by saying that in order to fry ANYTHING, one should wear the following attire:

1. A full ski mask. Better yet, one of those welding masks that shields your entire face.
2. Large flame retardant gloves, preferably that cover everything up to your elbows. If these are too pricey, oven mitts will do just fine.
3. a hooded sweatshirt to be worn under the above stated articles.
4. Pants. Not shorts, not capris. Pants.
5. Boots.

No, I did not fry anything in my birthday suit, although, scalding my hands with molten hot oil has taught me this lesson in advance...had my common sense alert failed to warn me of such things in the future.

Tonight, after Shawn left for class, I decided to play the house wife roll and have dinner waiting for him when he got home. I also planned to bake sugar cookies. My intentions were for him to walk in the door, take a deep breath, and feel the plethora of flavors dance upon his senses. I planned out my meal:

1. Mild Italian Sausage sauteed with garlic.
2. Pasta with Alfredo sauce.
3. Baked yams with cinnamon, vanilla and nutmeg.
4. Sugar cookies.

I had made the yams for my lunch, so those were taken care of. The pasta and Alfredo was easy enough, but I had never cooked a large sausage. Small, breakfast sausages, or chopped up sausages, yes. Large, Italian sausages, however, were a new addition to my cooking repetuar.

I pulled out my non-stick frying pan and added in my sausages. I placed my heat on low. My sausages weren't making a sound. No simmer, no crack. Silence. I added in my garlic. Still nothing. I thought to myself "Maybe I need some olive oil.." I added it, accordingly. There was a soft crackle that began. Content with myself, I walked to the fridge to pour a glass of juice. Apple. My favorite. Suddenly, my pan erupted into a symphony of popping, snapping, and spitting...spitting flaming hot oil everywhere. Including on me. Don't fret. I'm wounded, but alive. Any horrific scarring that my hands undoubtably have coming in their future from the grease splatters will simply make me tougher, and allow me to educate those younger than myself about grease safety. (p.s. does sarcasm come across through text?)


Needless to say, my sausages turned out perfect, my pasta, although in need of a little seasoning, was superb, and the rest never got touched. Shawn was a very happy, very grateful camper. My kitchen, however....

Tomorrow's duties include scrubbing my kitchen ceiling, floor, stove top, and counters, and trying to get my parents to send me a splash screen.