United Spanxs of America

Before college, I vaguely knew spanx and other bodyshapers existed and thought that I knew their purpose - to hold in fat...duh. However, I went from thinking that they were for people who had an awful lot to hold in, to becoming a faithful follower.

It all happened one Halloween in college when an acquaintance-turned-friend, who was as lithe as the day is long, decided to be Uma Thurman from Kill Bill in a form-fitting yellow jumpsuit. We walked into their apartment and there she was, fighting with her girdle. Why you ask would a 110 lb. dancer need a girdle? Well because that bodysuit left nothing up to the imagination and getting the sleek look that Uma sported, was not possible in the suit alone.

And thus began my spanxs journey... After countless outfit changes and tight-fitting dresses, worn only on days when I skipped lunch and a week after my period, I discovered my first bodyshaper. No longer are they limited in my mind to being for BBW, but are meant to be worn after eating one too many scoops of ice cream/cookies/tacos/margaritas. I discovered that I can wear that tight-fitting tank-top with no jiggly bits, which = #winning. Now bodysuits and bandage dresses are no match for my trusty undie-tectables.

Life's big decisions Part 2: I scream, you scream...no just I scream a lot.

So as I'm perusing my blog stats, I come across most referred site. Obvi, Facebook is at the top of the list, but hidden down in the corner, are search terms that people put in and ended up on my blog, and that's where I see it: screaming woman. This means that A. somebody actually Googled the words "screaming woman"and B. I'm what came up.

I thought to myself "Self, when did 'screaming woman' suddenly become my label? Does Google intrinsically know I'm the loudest 25-year-old in three states?"

I scream when I'm excited and wave my arms around like a crazy person.

I scream when I'm sad and wave my arms around like a crazy person.

I scream when I'm happy, which is usually also accompanied by gesticulation.

I do a soft-scream, more like an extremely loud talking, when I get carried away in telling a story.

I scream when I laugh and often times I am quite unflattering.

I scream at the very tippy top of my lungs when I've mad, which is usually 75 percent of the time.

So as it seems, I am a screaming woman. Thanks for clarifying Google.

The Bachelorette

Here's a rundown of my bachelorette party that happened this past weekend in Annapolis:

- Bought a backless bra for my 36Cs... could have been potentially dangerous, but worked out okay.
- Wore white pants and a cute, one-shoulder silk BCBG shirt
- Ate Mexican food/drank margaritas (yes plural) made with grain alcohol and tequila, obviously not a good way to start the night
- Party went from myself and six people, to myself and three ladies I barely know after a series of unfortunate events
- Pusser's Painkiller cocktail
- Chocolate Cake shots
- Bachelor party where everyone but the groom was creepy
- Chocolate Cake shots
- Wedding attendees who were very friendly
- Chocolate Cake shots
- Taking a cab literally 4 blocks because it was raining
- Meeting up with my fiance's bachelor party
- 007 cocktail
- Moving to the final destination in the pouring rain = hair ruined
- Dirty Shirley cocktail with plastic wrap over the top of the glass because I was apparently tipsy (good looking out bartender)
- Dancing like fool to a DJ
- Dirty Shirley cocktail
- Dancing like a fool to Single Ladies
- Returning back to our host's house and promptly falling in the driveway after eight hours of being out without spilling anything on my white pants
- Ripping pants and a bloody hole in my knee
- Waking up the next day to find that a little chunk of my hair had been cut to about four inches long- WTF.

McDonalds - I'm lovin' it...literally.

Each morning is a struggle in the Newman-Edwards home. Not only is it a tremendous task to drag myself out of bed, but then I'm faced with finding a work appropriate outfit and washing my hair all in the same day - which is why some days I look like the only working girl with clean hair on Mechanic Street and others it seems that the smartly dressed reporter should probably reconsider her hygiene regimen.

But I digress.

Due to my stressful mornings, I normally do not make coffee at home and am therefore forced to either drink the asbestos-laced sludge that my co-workers call coffee, or stop for a delicious iced coffee, black, no cream, no liquid sugar from the nearest McDs.

Each time I pull into the drive-through and hear that high-pitched slightly nasal voice, I know that a world of red-headed kindness awaits my transaction. Yes, Darlene is the highlight of my mornings.

I love Darlene and here are three reasons why:

1. On any given Monday she is the only pleasant person I encounter until noon.
2. She always gets my order right. There's never any question as to why I do not want 2 cups of half and half and 1 cup of liquid fat added to my delicious black beverage. Ask and ye shall receive.

and most importantly....

3. She ends every transaction with "Have a nice day baby."

She has no discrimination between the working girl with clean hair, the truck full of construction workers or the lawyer in his Audi - we are all her babies and she makes it known every day.

Thank you Darlene for making my horrendous mornings a bit more bearable and for always being your baby - when Paul/my mother/my grandmother and my bank teller all hate me since most mornings my personality is that of a troll.

Open letter to Hallmark

Dear Hallmark -

I want to start by thanking you for your quality sentiments that always seem to have the right wording when I don't know how to say "Happy Birthday/Thank you/They found Osama bin Laden."


I want to secondly express my disappoint. When creating your cards, you take into consideration all walks of life: "Happy Birthday to a super-fab Husband! Love your more-fab husband!,"¡feliz cumpleaños! Muchacho" and "Sorry we haven't seen each other in years, here's a Big Burrito gift card - love dad" 


One category that you've seemingly forgotten this Mother's Day are the procrastinators. How am I supposed to provide my mother with a 4-day fashionably late Mother's Day card and consolation candle when you pull them from the shelves?!


Imagine my shock when while in Martin's the day after Mother's Day I am diligently shopping for a Mother's Day card, to give my mother and they have all be replaced with Father's Day Cards even though it is not until June 19.  Rude.


In the future I ask that you give us procrastinators, who end up working 11 hours on Mother's Day, the opportunity to redeem ourselves with paper gifts.


Sincerely a disgruntled customer,
Emily J. Newman III

Life's big decisions: Part 1 To Danish or not to Danish

Lately I've found myself in compromising situations where my actions could potentially bring me embarrassment or awkwardness - yes people, I'm talking about continental breakfasts, dinners and other buffet-style luncheons.

I'm not shy, but when it comes to going back up in front of 50 people at a continental breakfast with the West Virginia Board of Governors - I must admit I'm hesitant to take that second (okay fine third) cheese danish. Here's how it happens:

Me: My plate is empty. I want another cheese danish.
Danish: Well since I'm the only one left you better scurry up here and grab me before that fat secretary gets the chance.
Me: Shit I better get up there and get that danish before that fat secretary steals it.
Danish: I'm only chock-full  of 1,000 calories no one is going to be judging you thinking "Really, lady are you sure that's a good idea?"
Me: Maybe I can just pretend to be getting fruit, but in reality slip that cheese danish onto my plate while everyone stares and wonders if I'm seriously taking the last danish.
Danish: You're only getting married this summer, another 1,000 calories in addition to that quiche, muffin and two danishes you've already eaten isn't going to matter.
Me: Maybe I shouldn't,  I am getting married this summer...but my dress does lace-up the back....
Danish: iloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.
Me: Okay fine here I go...(Danish in hand)...Do not put it in your mouth until you sit back down...Suck it in... - Oh no! the waiter cleared my plate do I go back and get another one in front of all of these people or just sit it on the table - (wolfing down danish while walking) - Hopefully no one saw that.
Fat Secretary: Drat, that stupid reporter with the low self-confidence took the last danish. I hope her skirt seams hold.


*As a general rule I do not eat from buffets restaurants; i.e. Hosses/Ryan's/Ponderosa/Country Buffet/Panda Chinese due to the old man/screaming child/truck driver/loud-mouth woman who spread salmonella and other ickies around the marinated mushrooms- gross.