Do Not Respond - Just Take It.

First of all, thanks to the blogging community for being patient over the last couple of days with my deatbeat-ness. Sometimes, you run up against a week that just owns you, and this was one of them. However, I haven't run out of opinions, of course. 

Let's talk about some things. (As usual, credit for this concept goes to the hilarious Mollie Erickson).

Dear Instagram,
Hi. I see that you have upgraded your situation to now feature "stories." I feel like there was already a social media service doing that. Instagram, you are stressing me out. Do you know how much pressure we all already feel to keep up with everyone's Snap stories, Instagram photos, Facebook feeds, and Tweets? Have you ANY IDEA how much of my day is spent speed-scrolling through these various mediums, barely even enjoying it, but doing it to make sure I've seen every single picture? You're making this REALLY complicated, Instagram. I haven't used your new feature yet. I'm mad at you for adding it. But I'm also scared I'm gonna like it and I can't deal with another "thing" to pay attention to. Tell your other social media platform friends to CHILL OUT because this is TOO FREAKIN' MUCH. Sincerely, An Addict. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Presidential Election Cycle,
Are you over yet? I am so, so tired of you. If I'm using my "feeling words," you make me sad and mad. Please hurry up. Goodbye. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Retail Customers,
I know you think you are being helpful by putting your own selections back on the racks after you've tried them on, and I appreciate the sentiment. What you're actually doing is creating a game of "needle in a haystack," in which retail employees must dig through the piles to find and correctly re-hang the item you've replaced. It's a lot. Just put those thangs on the "rejects" table and don't feel a darn bit bad about it. DNR - JTI. 

Dear President Obama, 
This morning I scrolled through an article about how much you love kids. It made me really happy. This isn't the first time I've gotten nostalgic about you lately - in the midst of all this turmoil and insanity, I am reeeeeeeeeeeeeally going to miss having a President who is such a dynamic public speaker and a charming personality. However people feel about your time in office, one thing that's hard to deny is how charismatic and awesome you are. One of my friends referred to you as "Season 8 Obama," implying that you have turned on an extra special level of frankness and swagger in this final chapter of your administration. I agree. I love you. I'm going to miss you so much. DNR - JTI. (But respond if you want, sir - I'm not trying to tell you what to do.) 

Dear Produce,
Please stay fresh for longer than a week. I know, I am  a complete lame-o and should've already cooked with you. But sometimes I'm tired and I just want to eat cereal for dinner. Is there a spell I can cast to make you stay fresh forever? Let me know. Especially you, brussels sprouts. You're stinkin' up my fridge. DNR - JTI.

Dear Chad from The Bachelorette,
Go ahead and be The Bachelor already. I feel it coming. I know it's gonna happen. I just KNOW IT. Don't get me wrong, I don't want it to happen. I want Luke to be The Bachelor (although I also simultaneously don't, because I want him to run far away from this franchise because he's #toogooforthisshow). But I feel like that rat Chris Harrison is going to do it. You are ratings gold, though I'm growing weary of the "is he or isn't he" game. Let's cut to the chase, Harrison. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Self Tanner, 
HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GET MY BACK???? How. How. Somebody explain this to me. Because right now, I have two big stripes on my shouler blades because MY HANDS CAN'T REACH THAT FAR. I guess I could just not use it, but then I'd also not be able to go outside because my lily white skin would scorch people's retinas and I'd be responsible for hospital bills. We can give people face transplants - we should have the technology to evenly apply tanning foam to a person's back. DNR - JTI. (Actually, please respond because this is so annoying.) 

Dear Weekend, 
Hello. I love you. Let's hold hands. Never leave me. DNR - JTI. 

Gilmore Gab: We Have a Trailer.

Oh my goodness. 

Like many Gilmore Girls fans out there, I have been freaking out and watching all of the things in anticipation for this new series to be released. 

"What are 'the things?'" you might ask. 

Well, I watched this hour and 45 minute long panel with the entire cast at the ATX festival, and this great interview on the Today Show a few months back. It's just really good goodness. 

So, suffice it to say that I have been amped for many moons. Word to the wise, that ATX festival interview basically serves as a podcast if you put headphones in and clean your house while listening. Just sayin'. 

So yesterday, when it was announced that the series returns on NOVEMBER 25, meaning I'm basically going to spend my Thanksgiving holiday unapologetically huddled in front of the computer, I was real pumped.

AND THEN THE TRAILER CAME OUT. 

Oh my gosh. 

Can we just analyze? 

First of all, I don't know about y'all, but with those first few guitar strums in the intro, I was COVERED in goosebumps. 

We get to see so many places! 

Luke's! It's still there!

The Dragonfly! (Where Melissa McCarthy better damn well be or so help me God...)

Precious lil' Stars Hollow in the fall! 

Then, the money shot: 

I mean, get out of here. It's so perfect. It hasn't changed a bit. Now all I want to do is go put twinkle lights outside my house. 

AND THEN WE GET TO SEE OUR GIRLS. 

Let's just run through a quick list of observations, shall we? 

• Coffee. Still. Always. 

• They're eating Pop Tarts. Still. Always. 

• The house looks pretty much the same! Rory's Yale pennant can even be seen hanging on her bedroom mirror. 

• Neither actress appears to have had any major work done to their faces. You laugh, but nothing spoils a reunion like bad plastic surgery. 

• Lorelai is wearing a Rachel Antonoff "I'm with Human" sweatshirt, but it's conveniently also nearly the same slogan as our Democratic presidential nominee. Including the arrow underneath the words, which mimics the arrow in Hillary's logo. Just sayin'. 

• They're reading papers - actual newspapers - but have an iPhone on the table. This suggests to me that Stars Hollow is exactly where we left it, but Rory, who most likely doesn't live at home, has a foot in the tech-savvy world (as she always has).

• NEITHER WOMAN IS WEARING A RING. This is a big one. No engagement or wedding bands on any hands. Does this mean that we get to see Luke and Lorelai get married?!?! Or does this mean they aren't together. What. Oh man. 

• They're talking about current celebrities who they would, of course, love - Amy Schumer and John Oliver. Hearing Lauren Graham say the names of modern-day celebs really made me so excited. So the reboot is set in real time, not in some other period in the last ten years.

• And everything else is pretty much a mystery. 

So here are the fun questions we still get to have answered: 

• What does Rory do for a living? 

• Is either woman in a relationship? And, if so, who's the guy? 

• How is Emily faring without Richard? 

• What are Lane and Zack (and the twins) up to? 

• Where does Rory live? Surely not too far away from SH. 

• Kirk? Taylor? Miss Patty? Babette? I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL NOVEMBER HOLY WOW. 

I am a huge TV girl - I feel like these people are my friends. It's been so hard to watch beloved series come to an end: Breaking Bad, Mad Men, LOST, The Office, etc.; to have something as tender and precious as Gilmore Girls resurrected is pretty close to unbeatable. And to have it in the hands of the creator, Amy Sherman-Palladino (who was famously not part of the final season of the show) makes it that much better. We're back to our roots. 

In other words, 

Let's get ready to GILMORE. 

DIY Episode III: Revenge of the Chairs

If you've been following this saga, you know that a few months ago, I bought some chairs at an estate sale. You can read about our first two rounds with said chairs here and here. 

This was round three. 

95. Beg your extremely handy husband for help. Admit he was right: that you had no idea how much work this project would be and SOS PLEASE SOMEONE HELP ME. 
96. Pick a day that is really, really hot. You'll want to make this experience as unpleasant as possible. 
97. Invent an excuse like, "Just let me clean up the kitchen and I'll be right out!" while your husband gets started on the real work. 
98. Look at the window and feel pangs of guilt as you watch him measure the drop cloth seat back cover and cut the batting. 
99. Try and decide whether you feel guilty enough to actually go outside. 
100. You do. Go outside. Admire his work. 

101. Listen as he gives you your instructions for cutting the rest of the drop cloth seat backs and cushion covers. 
101. Ask him if he's sure he wants you to cut the pelts - wouldn't he be better at it? 
102. Sigh as he confirms that you are definitely cutting the pelts, and would you please stop calling them "pelts" because a pelt is animal skin? 
103. Ignore him and get started on pelt number one. 
104. Grab what are, somehow, despite having taught school and bought your own school supplies, THE ONLY SCISSORS IN THE HOUSE. 
105. Make sure these scissors are nice and dull. You definitely don't want to make this easy on yourself. They should be about as sharp as one of your back molars. 
106. Measure out how big your pelts should be. Consider using the old seat cover as a template. 
107. Remember that time you found a single dried Band-Aid next to a single dried Golden Graham stuck to these chairs and decide to wing it in order to avoid touching that nasty thing.

Hard pass. 

108. Rip and tear at the drop cloth with your molar scissors. 
109. ...for what seems like A FREAKIN' LIFETIME. 

110. Look over to discover that your husband has successfully covered a seat back. Get invigorated at this progress. 

111. Go help him by staple gunning the drop cloth to the chair. 
112. Only get a little mad at him when he pretends that you've stapled his finger to the chair, which you totally should have seen coming, but still - the man is a dentist, losing a finger isn't that funny JORDAN. 

113. Go back to your place on the chain gang: molar scissors.
114. To confirm your measurements, place the old seat bottom on top of your newly cut seat cover. Admire your work, but know that your husband would've cut everything perfectly straight and your work is inferior. 

115. Temporarily stop progress because of a dog who apparently isn't getting enough attention right now. 

116. Obviously pet your dog because come on lookatthatface. 
117. Then, keep cutting. The cutting. The cutting never ends. 

118. Since there aren't any fun articles to read (on broccoli rabe or anything else), assess the current construction situation on your street with disdain. 

Just to clarify, that's one next door and one across the street. Are you jealous? 

119. To entertain yourself while cutting, imagine ways that you could drive this construction crew away. 
120. Decide that the best way to get rid of them is to somehow convince them that this neighborhood is haunted.
121. Delight yourself with fantasies of moving their tools around and blaming on a ghost. 
122. Imagine you and your dog both going over, covered in white sheets, and just standing in a corner until somebody notices you and either calls the police or runs screaming from the structure. 
123. Decide maybe none of that is as good an idea as you think it is. 
124. Complete the pelt project. Finally. 
125. Stop for the day because it's about to rain. 

126. After church the next day, stop by Lowe's. 
127. Beg your husband to get some ice cream with you because the social media gods have declared it National Ice Cream Day. 
128. Bother him until he good-naturedly relents because he, too, loves ice cream. 
129. Pull up to Chick-Fil-A for some of that sweet soft serve AND REMEMBER THEY'RE CLOSED BECAUSE #SUNDAY KILL ME. 
130. Gather your strength and go without. 
131. Arrive back home, where it's time to paint these suckers. 
132. As usual, find something inside to busy yourself while your husband is being an angel and working hard. 

133. Once you go outside, realize you have unwittingly taken the worst job by handing your husband the painting job. 
134. While your husband is painting, you have to go through the other two chairs with the dental explorer and get all the grime and grout and dust and disgustingness out of there before they're painted. 
135. Consider flinging yourself from the roof. 
136. Decide to just get on with it. 

137. Discover that you actually really like this job. 
138. Wonder if it makes you a sick person that you relish in removing imperfections. 
139. Wonder if maybe you should've been a dermatologist or a dental hygienist. 
140. Resolve that it's not too late, but also remember that there's a lot of math and science involved in those jobs. 
141. Remember that time you got an 8 on an AP Chemistry test. 
142. Reconsider the whole "medical career" thing. 
143. Turn your attention to the foam padding for the seats. 
144. Discover that the seat bottoms are not, in fact, squares - so your husband will have to Frankenstein them together. 
145. After all that, they still have about an inch and a half of wood hanging off the back, so watch your husband use upholstery glue to made a piece that fits. 

146. Think to yourself that after all this work, if anyone comes to your house and spills spaghetti sauce on the chairs, that you will probably actually murder them. 
147. Briefly consider not ever inviting anyone to your house again. 
147. Add another coat of paint to the two chairs your husband painted, then add two coats to the remaining two (which have now been scraped of imperfections).
148. Cover one seat entirely. 

149. Stand back and admire your work. After a coat of varnish and the nailheads, these things will be just about done. 
150. As you're cleaning up, notice that the text you sent your husband (about how he sent you an old copy of the grocery list and that there's a newer one on the legal pad and could he please take a picture of that one) is sitting, dormant, on his phone. Realize this is why you had to wing it, and also why a box of chocolate covered pretzels ended up in the buggee. Whoops! You didn't have a list, it's not your fault. Decide to forgive him since he's basically done this entire project for you. Go cook him a big meal in appreciation. 

DNR - JTI: Construction.

As usual, credit where it's due for the "DNR - JTI" idea, invented by the much cooler and funnier Mollie Erickson, whose blog can be found here. 

Dear Construction, 
You and I have a complicated relationship. In Jordan's and my first and second homes, we've unwittingly moved in next door to what would be a construction site. This year, as an added bonus, we moved not just next door to a construction site, but also across the street from one. By "complicated," I of course mean you make me want to pluck out my eyeballs out and throw them at you. DNR - JTI.

Dear Nailgun, 
sssssssFOOM. sssssFOOM. sssssFOOM. This is the soundtrack of my life. It scores my laundry-doing, my bed-making, my tidying up, my dinner-cooking, my bill-paying. I used to be scared of Javier Bardem in No Country For Old Men. Now I just want him to come cow-tranquilize me between the eyes so I can escape you, nailgun. It's not your fault, I'm sure you do a perfectly good job at what it is you do. But...I hate you.  DNR - JTI. 

Dear Head Guy of the Guys Pouring Concrete,
We live on a one-way street. You have chosen to park your very large truck in the middle of said street, and not in the gravel driveway that was, I should point out, built into the construction site for the express purpose of housing large vehicles like yours. When I politely ask you to park there instead, you look at me, wink, grin, and say, "No." I really should be congratulating you, because I don't think any one person has ever made me so instantly full of white-hot rage. If you think that because I'm a girl I can't come down there and kick your ass, you haven't seen Mulan. DNR - JTI. 

Dear 7:30 in the Morning,
I used to love you, 7:30. You were a sweet time full of soft morning sunlight and coffee smell. You were a gentle nudge into the rest of the day. Now, you are the sound of the "reverse" warning for backhoe digging up the lot across the street. BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP WAKE UP MARY CATHERINE THE BACKHOE IS HERE GET UP WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO TODAY I BET IT'S A LOT HAVE YOU EVEN PLANNED WHAT YOU'RE COOKING FOR DINNER I BET YOU HAVEN'T YOU'LL BE LATE FOR PURE BARRE IF YOU DON'T GET UP RIGHT NOW  TOM HANKS PROBABLY NEEDS TO GO OUT WHAT IS THE MEANING OF LIFE HAVE YOU FIGURED IT OUT YET BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP DNR JTI BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Dear Tree-Clearing Team,
You guys really are the worst. You stole our shade. You cut down the trees where all the bear cubs used to play. I don't mean to go all FernGully here, but you should really see that movie. It might change some things for you. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Big Giant Man,
I think you're a high-ranking person on this job, even though you flick your cigarettes everywhere. Every time I drive past your worksite, you look at my car and shake your head disapprovingly. Why is that? Is it because you assume I am not very cool? Is it because you think I'm a snobby little blonde girl? Is it because of that time you had your truck and trailer parked next door, but it was hanging like two inches into our yard and I asked you to move it? ...okay yeah, it's probably that one. You gotta understand, BGM, that my experience with construction is if we give you guys an inch, before long, you'll be chainsawing our porch off for some extra wood. Don't be mad. I really don't like when people don't like me. Can't we make it work? DNR - JTI. 

Dear Bears,
I love that you guys don't care about the construction and will wander down anyway. We were worried all this noise would drive you away, but we should've known better. Y'all are the native members of this neighborhood. You run this shizz. If you really like me, you'll show up in the middle of the day and make all these big tough construction guys, some of whom have been not very nice to me, tee tee in their pants. Check in and I'll point them out. I'd consider it a personal favor. DNR - JTI. 

Dear Future Next-Door Neighbors,
You'll have to forgive me if, when I bring you the customary "Welcome to the Neighborhood" casserole, I accidentally punch you in the teeth. It's going to be a reflex. I won't be able to help it. But I really do hope you like your new home. DNR - JTI (the casserole and the punch in the teeth).

For Your Entertainment.

Okay, so it's mid-week. We're probably slumping, reaching for the weekend, but it's just not quite here yet. 

We need something to make us laugh. 

One day over a year ago, Mom and I were on a big road trip, and unfortunately for her, I found this app called Heliumbooth. I spent conservatively 4 hours entertaining myself (and making her want to drive of a cliff) by making video after video. I thought they'd been lost forever when my hard drive crashed last year, but lo and behold, they survived. 

Like roaches. Because I would deem these videos "roach" quality in terms of entertainment. Like: 

Waaaaaaaay up here is Seinfeld, Curb your Enthusiasm, and the like...

...about right here is "Charlie Bit My Finger..."

...and waaaaaaaaay down here is these videos. (Except pretend they're like down on the floor of wherever you're sitting to read this. Or standing. Whatever works.)

If you watch these and think, "I don't get it." Then you're doing it right. There's nothing to get. They're just absurd characters I made up. 

Still. I don't have anything else to post today, so here they are. Oh God, I hope I still have friends after this. If you think I am a weird loser, you're right. 

SHUT UP AND JUST POST THEM.

Okay.

May Jesus Take the Wheel for you today. Happy Hump Day.