Wednesday, August 28, 2013

This is how dumb I am. Also, I went to NYC.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, I have a blog?

Guaranteed this is what I'll be like if I ever have a child. Oh, you're 4 months old? Cute little thing, arentcha? 

So, I do a lot of really dumb shit. Like, stuff where I basically seem mentally handicapped (to others and myself) and need someone to check in with me on a daily basis just to make sure I'm holding up ok. I don't even want to talk about it.

Except I will talk about this one example:

Yesterday, I was at work - that's typically what I do on a Monday through Friday basis, ya know. And, I have to park my car in a parking garage on those mornings. This is precisely when the day starts to get tough for me. So, I roll in at 9:15am because 9am is for silly sallys, and I park my car on parking level 6 (crucial information). There are 7 parking levels total.

Now, normally, when someone tells me their name and I'm trying to focus and remember it, I'm thinking about unicorns or ice cream cones instead. Same thing goes with this parking garage madness. I repeat six, six, six in my head a few times, which I should remember cuz it sounds like sex, which I'm sort of a fan of. But, instead, my brain is all like "ooooooooh, I wonder if there is free breakfast. I was supposed to meet our new Regional at 8:30am, but I totally missed that. Let me get inside ASAP, completely neglect my parking garage memorization responsibilities, eat food, and think about unicorns. Einstein bagels hopefully, yum!"

The free food does not look enticing. No after thought of my car.

I get through my work day. I walk to the parking garage. Light bulb: I have no clue where my car is located. I have a 2008 car with only a manual key entry (I know, wtf?), so I can't do that little clicky noise thing.

I at least manage to remember I was on a higher level, so I actually try level 6 first. I walk down the 2 rows of level 6, but no car. I do the same thing with level 7, then 5, then 4. Then, I try 6, 7, 5, and 4 again looking even better this time. Nope, no car. At this point I'm thinking my car is stolen. I try level 3 and level 2 just for shits and giggles. Not giggling; almost shitting.

It's like a whole half hour later now. Visual: I'm swinging my lunch box in my hand, water bottle, purse, and I'm getting sweaty because it's Florida - in the middle of summer - in a parking garage. So, I'm looking pretty cool, obviously. Where is my car?!? People driving down starting at level 7 have probably seen me on level 7 and then level 4 by the time they exit their lucky asses out of the parking garage. I just keep walking along though smiling casually as though it's all normal, I do this all the time, and I'd prefer to get my nightly walk in, with a variety of items in both hands, before I'm at home.

Welllllllll, I call my friend at work to complain or to come drive me around the parking garage levels while I scour with my head out the window. No answer. I try to think if I have any other friends. Nope.

Now I'm getting pissed. Not about the friend thing - mostly about my car. I decide to try level 6 one last time. Oh, so simple, there's my car in plain fucking sight. Just sitting there all happy looking and light blue. I think someone must have moved it and then plopped it down just to mess around with me.

I guess what really happened was my car was waaaaaaay at the end of one row and must have been behind a van/truck, so I didn't check down far enough. And, this time, the van/truck was gone so I could see my car in sight.

I've never been so happy and pissed (I felt like my car played a trick on me) to see my car.

Today I walked to work, across a highway bridge.

Speaking of bridges, I went to NYC and visited my dear friend Danielle, rest her soul. Jk, she's still alive! I no longer call her "Pip" since I have a dog named "Pippi". Instead, I call her "Don-yell" in a really weird, manly voice. What? It's cute.

Anyway, here are some pics:

Friday, April 19, 2013

I was the head lifeguard...

yes, me.

It's no secret that I don't look like the strongest swimmer out there...and, I wasn't. I was the weakest swimmer, actually. I also had the worst swimming time. I also looked and was the weakest, just in terms of general muscle health.

During a lifeguarding class, my lifeguard partner (who is now my best friend, Danielle) told me, while practicing her skills as I feigned drowning, that saving my life was equivalent to dragging a stick out of the water. She was concerned about how her abilities would hold up in a more real world scenario.

What was even more concerning though was my lack of any recognizable skills.

Every other lifeguard except for me had been on the swim team in high school. Every other lifeguard could swim 20 laps in under 10 minutes. I got 10:06, promptly slit my wrists and then tried again the following week. To be fair though, the lifeguard swimming next to me did most of his 20 laps using the backstroke...and, that was fine and allowed. Because, if someone is drowning and it's your responsibility to swim out and save them, the backstroke is clearly the best option for a successful completion of that task.

So, this all begs to question, why did I become a lifeguard and how did I then become the head lifeguard? Obviously that journey involved a whole lot of careful traversing which is now worthy of a blog post? Welllllllllll, not really.

The short version is that during my junior year of high school, my mom thought I'd make a good lifeguard. I believed her because I was decent at swimming, and I had made it all the way from "minnow" to "shark" during those lessons at the, there had to be something untapped there. Luckily, I was also very interested in sitting in a chair all summer long and working on my tan while getting paid a pretty high hourly rate.

The decision was made. I then went to a one week lifeguarding class, did a pretty shitty job the whole time and ended up as a lifeguard. I then continued to do a pretty shitty job for about 4 summers in a row and ended up as the head lifeguard for summers number 5 and 6. Apparently, seniority (and maybe the fact that I was responsible), instead of an unparalleled swimming skillset, is paramount when it comes to potentially saving the lives of drowning victims. This line of thinking is good news for my future career path.

It's important to note that I wasn't a lifeguard at a beach. I was a lifeguard at a cushy pool/lake in a man-made lake community in the northwest corner of CT. It was fairly small, so after a short while, you knew everyone and became familiar with all the kids' swimming abilities. Oh, he's fine, I don't need to watch him.

The lifeguards biggest issues here had nothing to do with saving lives. It was pretty much a whole lot of "no running" and "no flips in the deep end". But, we also mixed it up with:
1) Consistently making sure the mentally handicapped 40 year old had on his water diaper any time he came to the pool
2) Carefully watching the obese man, who used an oxygen tank, sit on his noodle (because none of us knew what the hell we'd do if............)
3) Helping the weekend New Yorker kids find their nannies when their mothers were no where in sight
4) Gossiping - that was also very important
5) Making everyone get out of the pool for 30 minutes at even the slightest sound of thunder

My biggest challenge as head lifeguard was getting teenagers to show up to work according to the schedule I made each week. Who would have thought teenagers would be unreliable? Ohhh, you got drunk aaaand high last night? What nerve I have for scheduling your shift at 11am...please, proceed with taking the day off. That's my bad. 

Turns out my actual lifeguarding skills weren't that important after all.

Thursday, April 11, 2013


Well, yes, I do have what some might consider above average looks, but that's neither here nor there.

What I mean to say is:
Smoking cigarettes...
Gross! Vom! Uncool! Waste of money! Cancer! Smelly! Stupid! Waste of time! Puke! Ugh! Trashy! What year is it?!

These are pretty much all my non-deep, surface layer thoughts on smoking. 

I'm honestly baffled any time I see someone above teenage age smoking. Sure, I'm aware it's super addictive, and I'm not a smoker, so I don't reeeeeally know what it's like. But, I sure as hell know how effing stupid it is for a plethora of reasons.

Back in the day, before people really knew how bad smoking was, it was like, the coolest thing ever. When my grandmother found my mom's matches in her pocket one day while doing laundry, my grandmother was like, "Yay, now I have someone else to smoke with"...seriously. It still sometimes seems cool when I'm watching "Mad Men" or some sort of indie film...but, then I remind myself of the sentiments explicitly stated above, and I come full circle. Just to put things in perspective, I'm 30, and my mom was allowed to smoke cigarettes in her hospital bed while I, a newborn resting snuggly inside a Christmas stocking (because I was born on Christmas Eve), lie beside her. That was only 30 years ago!

And, you used to be able to smoke on an effing airplane. Because a flying object in the sky is a great place to have some sort of fire-y little torch in your hand. Planes stay up in the air by sheer magic and wizardry (at least I think so), so let's test our luck even farther.

At my job, I'm in a department of about 5 people, including me. So really, 4 people, excluding me. Why am I doing math? God, I hate math (not as much as I hate smoking though), but that little subtraction problem was easy.

Are they all fat chefs you might wonder (all fat chefs smoke, FYI...just watch an episode of "Hell's Kitchen" and prove me wrong)? No! Although, it would be nice to have 4 chefs around me at all times while I tend to the administrative duties. That'd be the life. I'd have a bunch of delicious food, and they'd all die an early death due to the smoking, and then I can take over and get a lot of money. Huh?

Wow. The point is, all 4 of these people smoke! WTF!?! They are all pretty much my age too. Am I the only one that got the fucking memo?? Where the hell am I? Central Florida? Oh, riiiiiiiiiiight. Touche, self.

At one of my previous jobs at an advertising agency in Connecticut, there were about 50-60 people that worked there, and not a single person smoked. I kid you not. It was the best thing everrrr. I was so happy everyone was so smart (at least in that regard).

My parents both smoked for about 20 years, and now you'd never know it. They don't seem like smokers at all. Nowadays, they're into juiced kale, chia seeds, Dr. Oz, gluten free diets, they have 15 bikes of different varieties, etc. But, like I said, back when they were younger, it didn't seem nearly as bad, and everyone smoked.

I've tried smoking. I used to smoke 'socially' at some points in college while I was drinking. But, even then, it was because I was already kind of drunk and looking for something else to do...because smoking makes perfect sense under those circumstances. I never got to the point where I actually enjoyed it though, got anything from the nicotine, or bought my own packs. It actually would give me a headache a lot of the time.

I'm not a genius, but I'm assuming that's the way it starts for many people that still smoke up until now. It's just that, they probably have more addictive personalities than me, persevered a little more, maybe had some issues going on, got a little more into it, started buying their own packs, etc. And, then they're hooked before they know it. I mean, I do get why it happens.

It's just that, once you get to the age of say 25 or so, for the love of Mother Nature, fucking quit!!!!!!!! I know you have to be "ready" and it's hard, but have some self control and self respect and do it. It's worth it for so many reasons!

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Controlling Birth

By the looks of Facebook (with people in my age group), particularly this time of year with babies dressed up as bunnies or sitting in a basket full of eggs, you'd never think birth control was even an option. But, it is, so most people in my age bracket are obviously having children willingly? That's a new concept I'm getting used to as I embark on my journey of being 30!

No, seriously, I know some people want to have kids and think they're a blessing and all that jazz. Take Mrs. Duggar, for example...who is not my friend on Facebook, nor anyone's friend, nor a good example of pretty much anything. But, still, look at the woman. I think she just had her 18th kid or something heinous like that. Well, now that her whole vagina has exited her body simply by being too flappy and just falling right out, she wants to adopt. I swear, I heard this on the radio recently. So crazy. This woman looooves kids. Who the fuck cares that population growth is exponential, your children will likely follow the same bad example and have millions of kids themselves, there's no way you can possibly give 18 kids everything they deserve in life, your newest kids are actually being raised by your oldest kids, etc.? Who gives a shit about all that? Minor details. This woman thinks she's going to heaven, but she'll be going straight to hell. Her husband too.

Anywayyyyyy, the point of this post is birth control. Since I don't intend to have a child of my own sitting in a basket full of eggs by next Easter, I'm a big fan of birth control. Aaaaand, seeing as I just went to the gyno for my annual (well, when I say "annual", that implies I go annually, but I hadn't gone in two years, so yeahhhhh, shhhhhh...), I decided to ask about birth control while I was there.

Can I just mention that my gyno's office was bright pink...because women go there, and all women LOVE pink and vaginas are pink. At least, these are the reasons I imagine were specified when they were trying to decide on the building color.

So, I was on the pill in the past for a few years, and I hated it. I hated having to take it every day, I hated putting fake hormones into my precious body, I hated having a fake period, I hated not living on the edge and being surprised each month (jk). So, off the pill I went, and condoms were the next easiest answer...super easy answer for me actually, haha.

Anyway, when I was at my "annual", I was asking about birth control options aside from the pill. I know there are tons these days, but I made the mistake of not googling any of them first. Normally that's the first thing I do (doctors loooove that..."well, I read on that you're silly goose and your 8 years of extended schooling!"), but birth control options isn't exactly the funnest google search in the world, so I was probably volunteering drinking/having sex the night before my appointment instead.

Here are the horrible birth control options (some of them, anyway):
~ Well, there's the pill...terrible
~ Condoms...terrible
~ Women's condoms...uhhhhh? nope
~ Shots...not only do you have to get a shot every 3 months, but you'll most likely get fat from them
~ way, that's just a fancy way of saying "sticker"
~ There are plenty more I'm leaving out (like the NovaRing) that are equally as bad

Ok, so those listed above are the worst ones. But, this one also sounded pretty bad...the ParaGard Copper IUD. The way this little gem works is it gets inserted up you WHILE YOU HAVE YOUR PERIOD, and the device causes an inflammatory response in your uterus. Already, this sounds great. Essentially, this inflammatory response then makes your uterus so inhospitable to sperm that a baby could never possibly grow in such a god awful environment. That's convenient because I love to poison myself and bonus, cancer usually has a lot to do with an inflammatory response in the body, so let me willingly go ahead and do that. Also, it'd be extremely comfortable to have a device inserted into me while I have my period. That would be so fun! Sounds like a well rounded example of everything I enjoy.

It kind of reminds me of those commercials with a million random, horrible, side effects that makes you wonder why you'd even take the drug in the first place. Like this:

Sadly, the best option sounds like Mirena...which is another device (that looks extremely similar to a chicken wishbone) that gets inserted up you, but instead of causing an inflammatory response in your uterus, it uses hormones (like the pill). It stays there for up to 5 years (and when you take it out, it's supposedly reversible), and the hormones make your uterus so thin, that again, a baby would never be able to grow and thrive in such an environment. A lot of women don't even have their period while they are on it because there is hardly any uterus to shed. Now, not having to worry about birth control and not having a real period for any length of time sounds awesome, but maybe I'm just old school or a hippie...because something about having a foreign object inside me for YEARS and something about my body not having its normal period, just doesn't sit right with me.

P.S. Please do not take my thoughts, opinions, or "medical advice" seriously...however, I am a, there's that.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Where am I and how do I get home?

I might be the worst person at directions in. the. world.

No one has ever said Emily has a real knack for directions, we can count on her. That thought has literally crossed no one's mind on the whole planet.

Contrarily, it's more like, How long have you lived here? Aren't we about 5 minutes away from your place? And, my response is usually something like hell if I know, let's see what my phone says. And, let's see what my other directional phone apps says. And, then let's also plug in Magellan. And, let's also check what my handwritten directions say that I so painstakingly wrote out because I don't have a printer and need as many directions as possible around me at all times. If all else fails, let me call my mommy.

It's even worse at night when my vision is a little compromised.

When someone tells me to look at a map, they might as well have asked me to knit them a sweater in 5 minutes flat or write them a haiku about worldly events. My brain can't even process such an impossible task.

When people talk about locations being North, South, East or West in relation to other places, I have no idea what is going on, and they may as well be speaking in Mandarin Chinese. I just nod and say things like yes, I'm pretty sure that's East of there. Meanwhile, I have no idea which way East is in relation to where I am, and I certainly don't know if such and such is East of such and such. A whole conversation could take place, and I'm just looking up at the sky trying to figure out where the sun rises and sets.

You might think I'm exaggerating, but sadly, I'm really not. Ask anyone that knows me. It's embarrassing.

Then, add in one way streets, downtown areas, or pretty much anything except for an expanse of rolling hills with one scenic road, and my directional skills plummet even farther.

The only way I know how to get around certain places WELL is if I've done it a million times before.

Sometimes I'll randomly end up on one of those long bridges that says something like "Check gas tank. Long bridge ahead," and my thought is not Gee willickers, where did I go wrong? It's more like How the shit did this happen again?, and when I get over this bridge, I'm going to murder someone.

I'm scared for anyone new in my car that doesn't know me that well because it doesn't portray me in the most positive light, and I'm also nervous I might kill them accidentally.

I'm impressed if anyone has the slightest clue of where they're going without the use of an app or a map or some sort of device. I really am. I assume they're really smart. Like, my mom and brother are geniuses. The two of them will talk about shortcuts and how getting somewhere takes them only 12 min. (there's only 10 min. or 15 min. increments in my mind) and yada yada yada. And, they enjoy that shit. It really gets them going.

Meanwhile, I'm like well, I already know how to get there with my 30 min. way, so I'm just going to keep doing that. And, my dad and I are like that's great and all, but we're going to go over here now and talk about last week's episode of New Girl.

Let's take today for example. I was actually excited that I made it to my massage appointment on time using only one directional phone app. And, I've already been there before. This was my second time. And, the massage place is located in the town in which I currently reside. Also, as I'm cruising down the highway knowing full well that I need to get off exit 23B because I've obsessively checked the directions on my phone multiple times, you'd think I'd be over in the right lane in preparation, right? Wrong! I'm in the left lane thinking gee, I should really get over soon, see the exit, and barrel over two lanes to the right. Much better and safer way to do things. But, this is how I do things on the reg.

If I haven't gotten lost, had to pull over to refresh the directions because I've missed a turn, pissed someone off, arrived late, or almost got into an accident, it's a directional success story for me.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

A Crappy Dream

Since this blog is the host of many embarrassing, unusual, crass, etc. ramblings, I figured why not divulge the details of my crappy, shitty dream.

No, was a dream about poop.

In my dream, I was driving down the road in an orange Fiat (Good job dream mind! Even in la la land, I still have an affinity for the color orange and small, gas efficient vehicles), and I felt like I had to go to the bathroom...number 2, in case you couldn't guess. Conveniently, at the time, I was pretty sure I was driving past my friend's grandparent's house...the perfect place to veer off and take a crap, evidently. I was like good, I sort of know these people, I can poop here. Sounds reasonable. So, I pull into their driveway and go inside. Just let myself right in without knocking. Also reasonable. Then, following good house guest etiquette, I decide to duck into the bathroom without saying 'hi' first.

Seems normal so far, right? It's about to get a lot worse.

Well, I'm in the bathroom, and then my mind goes blank about how to proceed. I'm just standing there perplexed. Like, I see the toilet but I'm confused about how to use it and pondering what to do? what to do? Keep in mind, this is a dream. In real life, I'd be so fully capable of knowing what to do next. The next thing I remember, my friend's grandparent's are banging on the door asking who is in their bathroom in their old, crotchety voices. We didn't expect guests, who's in there? 

Startled that they would want to have some knowledge about the stranger pooping in their bathroom, I look down and realize I'm going number 2 in the top part of the toilet...ya know, like, where all the toilet inner workings are located. So, I guess my confusion was never alleviated.

Then, in an epiphany, I guess I remembered how to poop appropriately because I think this is really bad. I also think what am I going to do?

So, these random grandparents are getting pretty upset. And, I'm saying things like Don't worry, I'll be right out, tee hee, it's Emily, so and so's friend, this wallpaper in your bathroom is really soothing. Then, my dream brain kicks into high gear and tells me to scoop out the poop from the top part of the toilet, and put it into the correct part of the toilet. Since this logically seems like the next best move and since my brain didn't want me to wake up yet (that would have been nice and way too easy), that's precisely what I start to do. I roll toilet paper all around my hands and get to work. I'll spare you the details since I'm sure you can imagine how delightful this must have been.

The whole time I'm thinking this pooping business is tough stuff. Really not that complicated though when you don't break into someone's house and then shit in the wrong spot. I think that's the moral of this story. I woke up before I saw the grandparents. It was probably best that way though because I'm not sure what sort of story I would have unfolded for them.

I was a little concerned this dream meant I was either becoming mentally handicapped or had shit the bed, but luckily, neither was true...yet. I felt assured when my friend told me I had nothing to worry about.

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

Yeahhhhhh Maaaaaaaan...

Well, Cosmo left me. All the people that are supposed to be stable, consistent figures in my life leave me. Nah, I'm messing with you! That'd be a heavy post, eh? It is true that Cosmo left me though. :-( 

He went from CT to Myrtle Beach (I'm not even going to say "SC" because then it seems decent and open to interpretation, like ooooh, there are so many good parts of SC, which part did he choose? Eh, nope, he chose M.y.r.t.l.e.) to Tampa back to CT. 

Does he have family in CT you ask? No. Does he particularly like the cold? No. Did he at least kind of like Tampa? Yes. Does he have boatloads of friends in CT? Eh, not really, but some. Did he somewhat inexplicably feel like CT was home and get a good job opportunity there? I suppooooooose. And so, I digress, with a little head scratching. 

Anywayyy, I met Cosmo back in CT when we were both working at an advertising agency of our first "real" jobs after college graduation. He was a copywriter, so naturally I assumed he was cool because I enjoy writing and I'm, ya know, that was the main reason.

Him, me, and this other girl named Laura who I also worked closely with were having a slow day at work one time. Naturally, Laura and I decided it would be a fun game to see if we could name the 50 states. Yeah, instead of enjoying our downtime by just relaxing or taking a trip to Starbucks, we were like let's do some United States trivia! I was kind of like oh no because this is exactly the kind of stuff I suck at and people often wonder how I've made it this far in life. But, anyway, it seemed like a fun-ish game, and I was pretty confident Seattle was indeed a state, so it was full speed ahead! We decided to invite the "writer" (not sure why I put that in quotes, haha, he was actually a real copywriter) to play. Don't worry, we knew his name was Cosmo. 

He was the only Cosmo either of us had met in real life.

I'm pretty sure we set a time limit, and then we reviewed our answers at the end. I think Cosmo won, Laura came in second, and shockingly, I lost. My Seattle plan kind of backfired. Washington and Seattle, separately, did not count as two points. I know! Rule sticklers.

The rest is history. Tale as old as time. ........and whatever else they say that allows me to wrap up this post nicely even though those sayings don't really apply, and this is not even close to a common tale. Plus, there's more to the story, so perhaps it was the wrong time to say that.

After a few years at the advertising agency, Cosmo moved to Myrtle because he wanted to be near a beach, and...oh wait, nope, that was the only reason and as far as the thought process went. You really have to admire guys sometimes, eh? He lasted there for a few months before moving on to Tampa. Ironically, I then moved to Florida shortly after! 

Is this the worst story ever or what?

Nowwww the rest, as they say, is history. We were friends in CT and then we were friends in Tampa. It was fun the whole time! 

It's one of the easiest friendships I've ever had. Ya know how father/daughter relationships just have that something special about them? Well, I think it's along the same vein with guy/girl relationships when it's a true friendship. There are no expectations and it's just simple (Oh, you don't want to go out tonight? Ok, have fun bangin' Susie.). No conversations are really off limit, there is no weirdness, and it's just easy.

Thanks for all the good times maaaaaaan! I hope all your wildest dreams come true in CT (if wildest dreams ever happen there, that is). ;-)


2007 (That's Laura, the 50 states girl!)






2012 - Barf, wtf happened to both of us?




Sunday, February 24, 2013

Ben's 26th birthday and more!

Today is Ben's 26th birthday! Technically, we aren't formally celebrating it today as a family though...we are doing that during the weekend of March 9th instead to combine his birthday and my Dad's birthday (which is on March 30th).

And, less importantly, it's almost the one year anniversary of this blog! I started it last year on the day after Ben's birthday. It's weird to think where we all were just a year ago. Ben had moved out of our parent's house not too long before that and has since moved to Winter Park. I was living with our parents at the time, and now I'm in St. Pete. And, although our parents still live in The Villages, they are in a different house. 

Last year at probably right around this time, we were eating cake, drinking wine and smoking cigars out front. Side note: How come no one told me I looked so gross and fat faced? Geez.

Soooo, happy birthday Ben! I love you!

Since I'm pretty good about posting photos to Facebook and Instagram but not my blog too often, I figured I'd put a few up of this weekend. Here we go...

Proof that I did the 5K on Saturday morning!

Birds in Florida are so awesome

This photo of my dad and me cracks me up

Pretty, huge flowers in downtown St. Pete

Miss Pip!

My parents

Hope everyone had a nice weekend! Although I'm happy I did the 5K, I'm a little bummed out I only got to sleep in one morning. It feels like tomorrow should be Sunday.

Ok, time for me to focus on wine and the Oscars! 

Friday, February 22, 2013

5K and Whatnot!

I'm doing my first, official 5K tomorrow! I'm not running it though. I'll be walking. It's still exciting news in my world.

Also, in blogging news, I updated my header image and description! I figured it was 2013 and time for a change.

Oh boy, oh boy. 5Ks and updated header images...what the frig is next for this girl?!

Thursday, February 21, 2013


The first time you fall in love, it’s such a transcendental feeling, you know? It’s like eating pizza-flavored ice cream. Your brain can’t even process that level of joy. And love makes people do crazy things, like kill people, or shop at Crate & Barrel. It makes us all a little delusional. I think our whole lives, no matter how low our self-esteem gets, there’s some part of us that thinks, ‘I have a secret special skill that no one knows about, and if they knew, they’d be amazed.’ And eventually, we meet someone who’s like, ‘You have a secret special skill!’ And you’re like, ‘I know! So do you!’ And they’re like, ‘I know!’ And then you’re like, ‘We should eat pizza ice cream together.’ And that’s what love is. It’s this mountain of pizza ice cream and delusion.
Mike BirbigliaSleepwalk With Me

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Warning: I'm going to hell!

Dating sites are so funny with the stuff they make you fill out.

On, if you end up leaving any of your stats blank like your height, body type, religion, smoking habits, education, etc. it automatically defaults to "I'll tell you later"...which I find hysterical. I mean, these are important things, that someone probably wants to know right now. I don't want to find out later that you're super short, obese, smoke like a chimney and/or barely graduated high school. I want to know that shit right now! That way, I don't have to meet you. Chances are, if you're leaving this sort of basic stuff blank, it's not a good all.

That being said, I'm going to totally contradict myself here because I always leave the religion question blank. I don't really want to put "atheist" because of the negative connotation it holds (i.e. I want to kill all your friends and p.s. I believe in Satan), and I don't want to put "agnostic" because I don't want to be associated with "I don't know, I don't think so, but maybe?, because I don't want to go to hell in case I'm wrong." Then, there's the option of "spiritual but not religious"...which I also don't want to put because it's just a bullshit bunch of fluff. When you put "spiritual but not religious", it likely means one of three things 1) I'm some sort of Christian but I don't go to church 2) I don't know what the fuck to put for this, so I'll pick this one because it contains the most words 3) I want you to think I enjoy meditating and star gazing.

So yeah, even though I would associate most with the atheist, agnostic or spiritual but not religious options, I don't like choosing any of those, so I leave it blank. Therefore, for me personally, when my profile says "I'll tell you later", what it really means to say is "I'll tell you later that I don't believe in god and think organized religion is a bunch of malarky." I'm pretty sure that's what it also means for most people that go this route (it's never like "I'll tell you later"...Guess what? Good news! I'm a Christian!). The only time this line of thought might lead you astray is when someone is a polygamist mormon or a scientologist or something along those lines. In those scenarios, "I'll tell you later" most likely means "I'll tell you much later because I have some pretty fucked up views, and also, I'm trying to work through some things with my therapist."

Why does it have to default to "I'll tell you later"? Your guess is as good as mine. Are you supposed to communicate during relationships and tell each other these types of things? I don't know. I think it should just remain blank. Most of the time, people just look at your photos anyway.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

I'm not drinking tonight

Blog: Welcome back Emily. I hope you enjoyed your one and a half month hiatus. I also hope you enjoyed your birthday, Christmas, and New Year's. Happy 2013!

Me: Thanks blog! You're so kind. Now, let me write about something inspiring and thought-provoking.

I'm not drinking tonight. That detail might be hard to gauge on your own judging from the conversation above, but I'm not. This is not a common thing for me...mostly because I have alcoholic tendencies enjoy the relaxing routine of having a drink or two at some point after work.

My drinking routines are quite specific, and if I don't stick to them on an almost daily basis, by God, I lose my shit. Tea in the morning, coffee at work, water during the day, a beer while "cooking" dinner, a glass of wine while watching TV or reading. Could I wake up and have a beer with breakfast, wine at work, and coffee or tea later on? Pffft, sure, that might actually be preferable on some days, but mostly no. Mostly, I enjoy the routine.

It's not like I'm this caffeine and alcohol crazed junkie/honey badger that needs her fix, otherwise I'm all crazy and wild-eyed. No. It's just that I truly enjoy these beverages, and I truly enjoy the routine of having them in the order specified above. It's not at all like truly enjoying crack or enjoying the routine of smoking crack nightly on the porch. It's not. For example, if I don't have these beverages on hand, it's not like I'd go suck a dick just to be able to get a sip of some tea. See? Not like crack. Yes, my palms might get a little sweaty when I realize fuck, this is the last tea bag, I better fucking remember to buy some tea bags before tomorrow morning. But, mostly, I just miss (and wouldn't suck dick for) these beverages when I don't have them.

My take on juice, soda, lemonade and the like? GARBAGE. There's just no need for the stuff. I like an unsweetened iced tea now and again, and coconut water is great when you're hungover, but otherwise, noooope. Soda is silly. That's what I say.

Let's continue on with the most unimportant post in the world, shall we? One of the problems I have with alcohol is that I'm not picky about it. Actually, I guess that sounds like the opposite of a problem, depending on how you look at it. So, I guess it's an alcohol solution? I like all kinds of beer, except for IPAs. I will happily drink light beer, lager, brown ale, red ale, wheat beer, flavored beer, stout. And, when I say happily, I mean, like, I'm actually smiling. I tend to draw the line at malt beverages since I'm not really a big fan...oh, and I'm not in the 11th grade anymore. I like all kinds of wine or white, sweet or dry. I like all kinds of mixed drinks. Well, I can drink all kinds of mixed drinks, but I usually prefer vodka ones. I will even drink bourbon or scotch on the rocks. That might be where I'm a little girly though...I can't do that kind of heavy duty drinking in true Don Draper style. Scotch, neat, and warm is gross to me. On the rocks, with a little extra water added, bingo. Yes, I know it ruins the drink, I'm well aware. The one thing I can't do for the life of me is shots. I sip shots like a school girl. I imagine school girls sip shots.

In case you're wondering, the reason I'm not drinking tonight is because I figure a person should be able to take a night off from drinking...even when they're not sick or not hungover. It's a hard concept to grasp, I know. I also figure one less drink that I have tonight is one more drink than I can have tomorrow. It's sound logic.

Seriously, I know I sound like an alcoholic because I think the majority of people, if and when they drink, tend to drink mainly on the weekends (I do that too). But, even though I consistently drink, I don't usually over drink. I'll drink more on the weekends than during the week, but I don't get drunk a lot. I get hungover easily and hate it. So, what's worse? Someone that doesn't drink during the week and then binge drinks on the weekends or someone that consistently drinks small amounts all week long? Yes, those are the only two options. Obviously I think the latter is better. I'm pretty sure my doctor would agree.

Now, there are many many many reasons to not get pregnant. One of the most important reasons to consider though is you can't drink for 9 months! I can't even imagine. That's almost like a whole year of not drinking. That's like 279 days of not drinking if every month had 31 days in it and your baby was born at exactly 9 months. That's like, horrible. Really, the only good thing to come from pregnancy, if we're looking for the silverest lining here, is you don't have your period for 9 months. Still not really worth the trade off though. Plus, you can just starve yourself and get the same no period result, so I'm not impressed.

Anyway, talk about a death sentence, that pregnancy business. What a BUZZ KILL (pun intended, boom!) If I found out I was pregnant, I can tell you, the first thing I'd want to do is get wasted. Not only because fuck, I'm going to have a baby, that's a bad time, get me a drink!, but also because I'm pretty sure I'd have to move in with my parents, quit my job, get huge and a bunch of other equally drastic scenarios.

And the thing is, you can't get an abortion just because you can't imagine not drinking for 9 months. Nooo, I'm sure that would be viewed as being an unfit mother. Imagine telling that to Planned Parenthood? Actually, I'm sure they hear that all the time. I need to plan my parenthood around my drinking habits, so yeahhh, I'm gonna have to go ahead and get that abortion. Can I come in on Saturday? Yeahhh, thanks. (Office Space. anyone? no?)

Not to mention, abortions in Florida are just frowned upon in general, regardless of whether or not the reasoning behind it is you're an alcoholic. I'm constantly reminded by countless billboards that my baby's heart beats at 18 days and that my baby has fingernails the very moment the sperm latches onto the egg. Either that, or it's just a scowl-faced looking Jesus with some proverb written underneath him which I'm pretty sure roughly translates to "I will damn you to hell if you get an abortion, even if it's because your uncle raped you"...or, something like that.

Ok, I guess that's enough alcohol and pregnancy talk for one night.