tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50110141886587882122024-03-12T17:07:47.237-07:00See Emily PlayThe sometimes cohesive ramblings of me as I live on my own in St. Pete, Florida! I used to live in a retirement area with my parents, but now I'm all grown up and shit.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-12472863773883121732016-01-17T19:23:00.000-08:002016-01-19T15:28:11.348-08:00I'm Old and Suck at BloggingIn 2012, I was really killin' it with this blog. In 2012, you really got to see Emily play. Well, as much as someone my age could 'play' while living with their parents in a 55+ retirement community. So, mostly riding around in a golf cart, joining in on the Metamucil conversations and being tucked into bed by 9pm. <br />
<br />
2013 promised much of the same fervor until I had to get a real job and my blog started sucking wind. Such was the trend for 2014 as well. <br />
<br />
2015 was weak af. It's 1/17/16, and I managed to write one blog post last year. And, technically, it's not even a real blog post. It's something I wrote separately and was just like "let me do a little Control C and Control V action here and boom, tricky way to pass this off as a blog post." I mean, it's a swell blog post and I love my darling parents dearly, but it wasn't intended for here...until I needed to make myself look mildly better.<br />
<br />
It's like I blinked and it's the beginning of 2016. I can't believe I've been in Florida for over four years. I'm 33 now. 33!!! Read my blog header/description and you'll realize how pathetic that sounds coming from someone my age. Oh well, as my jacked up/blown out tattoo says, "it's all an adventure." Indeed indeed.<br />
<br />
Speaking of being old, a few days ago my mom told me the 'new age' to start getting mammograms is 40. I said "oh, ok, that's the age I thought you were supposed to be." And, her reply was "you haven't been getting mammograms??" She said this with the same inflection one might when berating another for leaving the milk on the counter overnight. As though I've been craftily maneuvering my way around the mammogram system for years. Uhhh, don't you think that's something I <i>might</i> have recounted with you mother dearest? Like "hey mom, I had my first mammogram today, it was the worst thing ever." My own flesh and blood, who I talk to and/or text with daily, thought I've been getting mammograms on the reg. She thought I was at the age in which I've already received at least one, if not more than one. I mean, in a certain regard, it's kind of flattering because the notion that my boobs might have enough volume to actually fit in a mammogram machine is rather complimentary. But alas, apparently I have 7 years to go before that fun adventure shall begin.<br />
<br />
Anyway, it's the start of a new year - woo hoo! My new year's resolutions are always the same: avoid mammograms (jk, jk), eat healthier, exercise more and drink less. I'm not terrible with any of these things, but I can always be better. 17 days in and I've eaten the same, exercised the same and discovered I now like dirty martinis. So really, I've gone backwards. It's ok, at least I'm not like "I've really gotta start doing less cocaine and less stripping." I don't feel too bad.<br />
<br />
Re: dirty martinis<br />
I'm really a pretty non-picky eater, but there are a few things I hate: caraway seeds (straight from the devil), cilantro (a.k.a. soapy mint) and tuna fish with mayo (sickening). Green olives used to be on this list. However, they seemed the most palatable out of these four items, so every once in a while - let's just say every 24th bloody mary for those of you looking for specifics - I'd do a 'green olive check-in'. Pop one in my mouth and see if I still hate them. The answer always used to be 'yes, pure hatred through and through' until recently. I gave that green olive a whirl again and ta da, I liked it. I'm not sure why - I think it's just because I like salty food and maybe my taste buds are changing. Maybe I'll be eating tuna mixed with cilantro on rye bread in no time. OMG, THAT'S SO SILLY, I'D DIE. So yeah, then I made the small leap that I might like dirty martinis now too. And, I did. The End.<br />
<br />
I'm going to be better with my blog in 2016. It's going to be one of my new year's resolutions. I've been very good with my new year's resolutions.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-28287379919785008982015-03-01T10:36:00.004-08:002015-03-01T10:38:11.488-08:00February 6th<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">February 6, 2015 was my parent's 33rd wedding anniversary, and this is the letter I wrote to them...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>Dear Mom & Dad on your 33<sup>rd</sup>
wedding anniversary,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>We’ve always been an outwardly loving family.
The modern day group texts with updates of our day, funny random comments, lots
of good nights, lots of good mornings, lots of xoxo’s, lots of I love you’s. Lots
of love, really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>The phone calls, the get togethers, the short
stretch of miles between us (I’ve always made sure of the “short” part), the
unspeakable bond between us four. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>I’ve always known I was lucky. Not only to
grow up in a family where the two parents were still together and happily in
love but also to have pretty much anything I wanted at my fingertips. A nice
place to live, plenty of food, cars paid for, college paid for, a fostering
environment, the list goes on and on. The necessities were more than covered,
and I had so much more than that too. So much more.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>I have always appreciated it. I have. It was
never lost on me. It was just never fully realized either when I was younger.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>Time and winding your way through your youth
has a way of uncovering these truths for us. As I get older, I realize the
importance more bit by bit, and I’ve been meaning to write this letter for a
while now. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>We all go about our lives and we have good
times together and everything is great, but I don’t want you to just hear about
how much I love you in broad strokes. I want you to REALLY know. And, I’m sure
you already get it, you do, but just in case, here are some examples:<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I call mom and often get put on
“speaker” so dad can hear because it’s more of an event than a simple
conversation – even if it’s the third time I’ve called that week. And, the
“thanks for calling” at the end like it’s a favor to you two even when it’s
something I genuinely enjoy and want to do. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I went through a particularly difficult
break up and mom was there the next day, no questions asked, even if she
already had other plans.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When no guy I ever date is good enough
because dad is too damn spectacular – at EVERYTHING.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When we watch home videos of Ben and me as
children and you two are flirting with each other in them, deliriously happy,
despite your sleep-deprived faces. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When mom never complains about having
diabetes – 28 years and counting.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When dad is stressed but you would never know
it because he rarely shows it, rarely complains and rarely acts less than 100%
present.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I have a bunch of sh*t to hang on the
walls and dad is genuinely happy to help me. Like, smiling widely wielding a
hammer.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I’ve just had a quiet morning or maybe a
particularly overly introspective day, and when I see you two, it’s all chatter
and happy and hustle bustle. It kind of has a way of setting things back to
neutral for me. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When dad would never yell at us unless he was
REALLY mad. When mom would always yell at us. You guys had the balance down right.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When there is some type of family event and
mom has everything planned including itinerary/food and makes it look easy and
never seems “put out”.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When you two talk to me about things
concerning Ben because you want my opinion, and I feel validated in giving it
since I’ve known my brother during his whole span of time on this earth.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I can come to you with anything and
never feel judged. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When the best thing for each of you, truly, is
seeing Ben and me happy. Sometimes our happiness might be derived from us
having really active social lives and not having as much time to talk to you or
see you. That does not bother you though because this is just one example of
how your love for us is unconditional.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I can call at 3am, if needed, and mom would
answer – because she’s never truly had a goodnight’s sleep in over 32 years.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When I’m sad about something and maybe I’ve
talked to other friends about that something, but when I hear mom’s voice on
the other end of the line, it instantly makes me break down and cry.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When dad had a pretty terrible upbringing,
but despite all odds and probably in spite of all odds, still became the best
father either of us could have ever dreamed of.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When Ben or I tell mom we want to buy a
table, or something along those lines, and instantly, we have five to six links
of table options waiting for us in our email.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When you gave me Ben when I was four because
even though we are so different in so many ways that is mostly why I love him. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>When we just have fun together and are the
“loud family”.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>There are so many more examples, but I
digress.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>Your love, support, selflessness and patience
is unwavering, year after year. It may shift and change shape with the passing
of time, but it’s always there, strongly rooted. And that is just something, in
and of itself – to know you’ll always be there, no matter what. It’s a
grounding and peace provoking feeling. I know you’d tell me that’s what family
is all about and that’s what family is for, but it’s not. It’s the best gift
anyone can be given.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>I’m one of the truly lucky ones. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>I don’t even know where I’d be or who I’d be
without you. I like to think I’d still be “me”, but the truth is, so much of
me, is you.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>Don’t get me wrong; I know it’s been hard. I know
I was a terrible baby, and I know Ben was no cup of tea as he got older. I know
you both continue to work super hard in different ways, but damn if you don’t
make it look easy, worthwhile and graceful.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>I already have so many special memories, and
I can’t wait to make more. I love seeing how our relationship evolves as we all
grow older and continue on this journey together. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>I know they say no one can prepare you for
how fiercely and powerfully you’ll love your children. But no one prepares you for
the first people who will steal your heart either. Out of the seven billion
people on this earth, I’d choose you two every time.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>We are four, but we are one. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>For all the ways you’ve “showed up”, in every
sense of the word, I’m so very thankful. Everything you’ve done for me is
everything to me. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>You’re the greatest loves of my life.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>xoxo,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><i>Em</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-76416525332329970332014-10-14T15:06:00.002-07:002014-10-14T16:20:33.337-07:00Coast DentalOur dental plans just changed at work recently. My company offered a completely free, company-paid dental plan during our last dental plan choices and our most recent dental plan choices. This time and last time I chose this free, company-paid option because it was pretty much just as good as the ones I'd have to pay for out of pocket. The only difference is the last free plan was a DMO, and this time the free plan is a PPO. Wow, this is getting confusing and super boring already, so let me offer you a bulleted list to ease your confusion and pepper in some excitement:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Our free, company-paid dental plan from a few months ago - DMO!!!!!!</li>
<li>Our free, company-paid dental plan that is currently offered - PPO!!!!!!!</li>
</ul>
<br />
This doesn't seem like much of a difference if you don't know a lot about DMO plans vs. PPO plans, but I assure you, it's QUITE different indeed. With my previous DMO plan, a terrible dental facility (in which the dentist has barely graduated dental school and maybe knows a little more about teeth than I do) gets <em>assigned</em> to you.<br />
<br />
I think it's like when people barely graduate hair school, so they go work at that "Blow Bar" chain where all they do is blow dry hair all day long because haircuts and hair coloring are too lofty of a goal. At least, I <em>think</em> that's what their shtick is all about at "Blow Bar". I don't know for sure because I can generally manage to dry my hair by myself without the aid of someone meagerly skilled - and also, the air, in general, does a pretty fine job of that. Probably not the <em>best</em> name. The point is that the people working there most likely aren't very good at their job.<br />
<br />
Getting back to the dentist thing; you don't have much say in the matter in terms of the dental facility you get assigned to. I was assigned to a Coast Dental close to my condo. I've seen many Coast Dental offices around (mostly inland - that's a hilarious joke), so I knew it wasn't any type of luxurious, one-off dental facility, but beggars can't be choosers, right? I'm not paying a thing, so if you're gonna clean my teeth for free, ok, let's do this. Also, the reviews online said cute things like "they pulled my teeth out unnecessarily", "run for the hills", "this is the Walmart of dentists", "I think I was roofied", etc. <br />
<br />
During my first appointment, I was told they would do my x-rays and an exam and that I would then have to schedule my teeth cleaning separately. I said I would like them "all together please", and the woman assured me their dental staff couldn't handle <strong>ALL</strong> of these complicated dentals tasks on the same day without a good night's sleep in between. After looking around, I thought "yeah, that sounds about right", so I scheduled my cleaning for the next day after gagging through my x-rays (yeah, that's an adorable thing I do). She then told me that I could actually come back in three hours for my teeth cleaning if I wanted - as if she was pulling some strings specifically for me. Three hours? Nice try Mrs. Migillicuddy. I have to get to work. Tomorrow it is.<br />
<br />
When I arrived the next day for my teeth cleaning, I was in and out of there in like 20 minutes flat. No joke. The dental hygienist glanced casually at my teeth with measured interest (like one might when trying to determine if the pile of debris on the side of the road is a garbage bag or a body), waved a magic wand in my mouth's general direction, chanted some mantra under her breath, and then I was sent on my way. <br />
<br />
Seriously though, that's pretty much what happened. I'm still used to the days where dental hygienists really scrape at your teeth and you leave bleeding - like you've been licking an iron skillet for an hour. Instead of "scraping", the dental hygienist educated me by explaining that if she holds this new fandangled contraption somewhat close to my teeth in a super lackluster manner while simultaneously using her other hand to smoke a cigarette or whatever the case may be, the wand is so powerful that my teeth magically become clean. Ok, cool - I'm not skeptical at all. <br />
<br />
Needless to say, I was pumped when our free dental plan option changed to a PPO. I was able to choose my own, fancy dentist now! And choose it I did! And fancy it was! I no longer had to go to a non-updated dental office that looked exactly like one Kevin Arnold may have visited on "The Wonder Years".<br />
<br />
When I just got my teeth cleaned at my new place, they did the x-rays, exam, and teeth cleaning all in one appointment. And, they had things like iPads, mouth wash, skilled dental staff, etc. I felt like my teeth actually got cleaned. It was a delight! They were sure to mention that it looked like my teeth hadn't been cleaned very well during my last teeth cleaning. I nodded emphatically, told them I had gone to a Coast Dental and explained about the wand thing. They understood. There was really no need to expound on anything else after that.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-36828303123360062412014-10-03T15:31:00.001-07:002014-10-04T14:22:02.416-07:00Llama Tell You A Story!I was on a date recently, and talk about high school came up, as it usually does (or am I the only one talking about high school memories, like being arrested, on dates?)...so, it dawned on me that I've never written a blog post devoted to my high school history. I guess I should write a blog post about being arrested too, eh? Noted. We'll save that little gem for later.<br />
<br />
The first high school I attended was in Fairfield, CT. It was the standard 9th through 12th grade, and it was pretty big - about 500 kids in each grade. As you probably know, CT is pretty well off in general; particularly Fairfield County. So, there were the stereotypical popular/preppy kids, the nerds, the theatre kids, artsy kids, the kids that pretended they were hippies...ya know, kind of like you'd see in a movie about high school where 35 year old actors and actresses pretend they are 17 year olds, and then there's a HUGE house party that looks like no party I've ever seen in real life because it's even more elaborate than a wedding. Oh, and Jennifer Love Hewitt is there, just like standing in the middle of the party. It was like THAT.<br />
<br />
Anyway, there were the "cool" smokers on the corner, lots of BMWs in the parking lot, lots of sports teams, lots of dances, lots of lots of lots, etc. I had grown up in Fairfield since 2nd grade, so it was all I really knew, and this all seemed normal to me. I even got a Saab and a car phone because............duh. I was definitely not in the so-called popular crowd at this school, but I wasn't dorky either - I was comfortably in the middle. And, I liked it there. In terms of high school, I liked it. I had good friends, I learned how to get drunk after some perseverance, I was the main chorus part in some of our musical productions (a highly selective role), I used AOL like a champ when my parents weren't picking up the phone...things were good.<br />
<br />
Thennnnnnnn, my parents decided to drop a <i>bomb</i> and tell my brother and me that we were going to move - in the middle of my junior year of high school! Cue the sad Ben Folds Five music and torrential rain while I sit and write in a journal on my bed with a forlorn look on my face. I'm also saying into the phone to my friend, "I know, it's just not fair! No, I guess my parents DON'T love me anymore!" Oh, sorry, I'm getting distracted as to how my life would be depicted in the movies.<br />
<br />
My parents told us we were going to be moving to Goshen, a small, rural town in the northwest corner of CT. I was not impressed. This obviously sounded terrible. My parents were getting tired of Fairfield because it was pretentious, getting more expensive, more crowded, etc. "It will be a fun change" they said. "You'll make new friends" they said. That all sounded pretty silly. I think they were forgetting about my current friends and the fact that I liked <a href="http://thereisnootherday-emily.blogspot.com/2012/03/do-you-remember-your-first-time.html">getting drunk behind elementary schools</a>.<br />
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I don't really remember the details in terms of how long I knew we were moving before we actually moved or how the house sales panned out, but that's probably because I was grasping at making all the memories I could before my certain and untimely death.<br />
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And so, we moved...to the middle of bumble f*ck. See ya later everyone! Come visit me never.<br />
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When we first got to our new house, I remember being shocked at how dark and quiet the street was at night. There were no street lights, electrical wires, or noises aside from nature. Nature, tee hee. What was that? The stars seemed so much brighter. It was very new but strangely nice. I was thinking, <i>this could be ok</i>.<br />
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That was, until I got a tour of my new high school the following day. Now, when I say the word "high school" you most likely picture a structure with walls, ceilings, and a floor like a normal person would...but, <i>no</i>. This special high school I would be attending was under construction, so the floors were made of cement with stains on them, and the ceiling was also undone with all the electrical wires hanging out. Gross. This high school was also regional and comprised of three towns - Warren, Morris, Goshen (so, obviously it was named "Wamogo"). Oh, and it was 6th grade through 12th grade. Benny Boy and I were back at the same school! There were like 98 kids in my grade or some comical number like that that seemed fictional. I kept wondering when Ashton was going to show up with Dax and take me to tour my REAL new high school.<br />
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Clearly, I wasn't impressed with the way the school looked, but there was also something more alarming that I had noticed before even entering. There were a couple tractors parked in the parking lot! And, no BMWs! WTF? Were these people poor?! Did they even like Dave Matthews?<br />
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During my first homeroom during my first day, I was told everyone had been "expecting me", and I was complimented on my Saab even though I told no one I drove a Saab. Ok, thanks for creeping me out immediately potential new friends. I also wore hiking books to try to make myself fit in and not appear as cool as I obviously was. They would figure out the cool thing later - I didn't need to rub it in.<br />
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I think I got high on my first day after school. Or at least the second day. See? I was making friends like my parents had hoped.<br />
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I'm typing this on a really old laptop, and now that it's been on a while, it's getting super hot and has started to emit a strange smell (I swear, it's not me). I hope it doesn't explode before I finish this important post.<br />
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So anyway, in an effort not to ramble on, that was the basic gist of it all. I ended up liking Goshen a lot because it was so different from Fairfield. It was beautiful and scenic, and I made some really good friends along the way. One turned out to be my very best friend in the world. Don't get me wrong, it took me a while to adjust. High school is freaking tough even when you're not forced to move in the middle of the school year to somewhere so different. But, looking back at it at the ripe age of 31, it was a great experience.<br />
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FUUUUCK, I forgot to mention the llamas - the whole subject line of this post. I am SO smart. At Wamogo, there were llamas chillin at the back of the school. Ya know, because that's a normal thing to have at a normal high school. I was solving complex mathematical equations while the Ag kids got to pet llamas all day. So unfair.<br />
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Ok, that is all :)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-11868995979012290682014-09-07T18:25:00.001-07:002014-09-10T15:53:49.629-07:00Rhode Island VacaHey Guys! It's only been less than four months since my last post - not too shabby para mi.<br />
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Soooo, update time: I went to Rhode Island at the end of July and saw all my good friends and listened to some folk music and skipped along hand-in-hand beside the ocean. It was swell! Seriously though, I had a really fun time. I left on a Thursday at 7:40am and landed at 10:20am - easiest direct flight ever from Tampa to Providence.<br />
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Why do they still pass out peanuts on planes? I don't get it. Some people are so allergic to peanuts that even if someone breathes on them and that someone has eaten peanuts in like the past 7 years, that person could die just from their breath alone. Yet, we are still handing them out happily for consumption on a flying object in the sky. Even if you aren't allergic to peanuts, does anyone actually enjoy them? You might as well be handing me a piece of trash. I take them from the flight attendant with as much enthusiasm as I would muster if someone were handing me their dog's poop bag. Give me a container of peanut BUTTER and a knife (for eating the peanut butter; I don't know what you're thinking) and then we can talk.<br />
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Right before getting on my plane, I got all set up at the gate with my egg sandwich and grande vanilla latte from Starbucks. Things were shaping up nicely until I look over to my left and realize, as my luck usually goes, I have like the strangest person at the whole gate area sitting right near me. He is overweight (that fact really bears no significance) and does not seem to have any belongings of any kind with him. Perhaps he checked a bag? During my analytical thought process about where he is hiding his murse, he interrupts by saying aloud to no one in sight "I'm so stressed out! I'm soooooo stressed out!" Now really, the hardest part is done. He's already made it to the airport, through security, to his gate, his flight is on time, etc. There is nothing to be stressed about. He literally has to get on the flight and sit down and eat his god awful peanuts. This is when I start worrying that perhaps he is the pilot. Luckily, he wasn't. Maybe he was stressed out to fly or maybe he was just a little psychotic or maybe both. Either way, he wasn't helping my vacation vibe.<br />
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The flight was pretty seamless and actually landed 20 minutes early. The pilot made a hilarious joke as we were exiting about how we should tell our friends and family about the early arrival since we always bitch about the late arrivals. I would have maybe taken him seriously if not for the whole peanut thing. Also, now I had to wait 20 minutes. No one arrives 20 minutes early to the airport "just in case" their friend's flight might arrive early. Personally, when I'm picking someone up from the airport, I add a solid five minutes to the arrival time and then maybe another five to allow them some extra time to poop. I don't know, it seems normal.<br />
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So, Nicole picked me up from the airport in her Mini Cooper and we were off to Trader Joe's. She really knows the way to my heart. We got a bunch of food for the weekend and the BBQ she was having at her house on Saturday. That night we went out to dinner, just the two of us, and it was great catching up. Nicole is one of my most favorite people, for so many different reasons, and I really miss having her closer sometimes. After dinner, Amy, Tamara, and Susan arrived, and then it was full on slumber party mode. Everyone slept over Nicole's. Pillow fights! Not really.<br />
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Friday was the Newport Folk Festival which was super fun. We took a ferry from Jamestown to Ft. Adams, and there were three stages with different bands playing at different times. I really liked Lake Street Dive, Phox, and Band of Horses. The only thing that kind of sucked is you couldn't drink alcohol while watching the performances. You had to drink in these little partitioned areas which meant everyone was just chugging their booze as fast as possible and then heading back to the stage. Oh, another thing that sucked was their one variety of "white wine" kind of tasted like urine. That was not my favorite. Friday night we all went out to dinner and celebrated Nicole's birthday.<br />
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Saturday morning Don-Yell arrived. Now you'd think since we are best friends and talk literally every day either via gchat, text or by phone, she'd give me some type of warm greeting upon arriving at Nicole's house. Nope. She breezily says hi, blows past me like she's queen Elizabeth, and gives NICOLE a hug first. Alas, she's a bad egg. After we exchanged our usual pleasantries like me calling her a bad egg, her telling me I'm a skinny bitch, me telling her she has a lot of freckles, her telling me I'm unusually dumb, me examining her eyebrows and telling her to keep up with plucking them, etc. etc. etc. we had to go buy some alcohol. It was like 11am, but Don-Yell had proclaimed she wanted to do some "day drinking" (sorry everyone if you had anything else in mind) and then do stand up paddle boarding. This seemed like a pretty good plan to me; at least the alcohol portion of it. Stand up paddle boarding on a chilly 70 degree summer day (I kind of say that with sarcasm) in cold water seemed kind of, well, cold. I get goose bumps nowadays just <i>thinking</i> about cold weather. Florida is no joke. Perfect for Don-Yell though since she actively sweats while sitting still in 40 degree weather.<br />
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Anywayyyy, Saturday night was the BBQ and Nicole had some more people come over to her house. We finished the night off by playing Taboo. Ya know, that game where someone said "hey, let's take "Catch Phrase", which is a pretty fucking fun game in its own right and just piss people off by adding a shit ton more infuriating rules." It might be good to note here that there was a 5 year old in attendance. So, if it didn't already seem inappropriate for Don-Yell to be dropping the F Bomb during her every turn, it certainly was now. And, even though Nicole fed us all with lots of delicious food, I guess the alcohol was still making Don-Yell hungry because in between cursing, she kept asking if I had any beef. Yeah, I brought some beef with me from Florida...I just totally forgot about it until you asked me ten times. Good one. When that didn't go over well, she asked if I could order her some General Tso's chicken. I couldn't.<br />
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Earlier in the weekend, Nicole was imparting some of her wisdom on us about tampons. About how they are laced with bad things because of the cotton crops getting sprayed with pesticides. And about how plastic applicators are bad because they never disintegrate, etc. Now I'm all about buying organic as much as I can and stuff being natural, but certain things are a little <i>too</i> natural. A good example would be brushing my teeth with fennel flavored toothpaste. Not gonna do it. Tried a few natural deodorants, and I might as well have sprinkled fairy dust on my underarms. It would have been exactly as effective. So, I was skeptical about these so-called organic, no applicator tampons that cost $5 for like four of them.<br />
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As luck would have it, I got my period on vacation. Yes, that's right, it's what every girl dreams about! I wasn't prepared for it. You'd think that after getting my period super regularly for like 20 years now, I'd have a clue, but nope. It's always like "oooooh, so that's why I have <strike>a pimple</strike> 7 pimples, and that's why I want to punch you in the throat." Anyway, enter the organic tampon. I was willing to give it a shot because I didn't really feel like going to the store to buy some. Also, after Nicole's speech, I kind of felt like purchasing my normal brand would a) be synonymous to buying some illegal, drug-laced version that only criminals use b) cause me to get cancer instantly.<br />
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I pulled the tampon out and right away felt like it looked like a tampon you'd use on a baby. It was so small without the applicator. I couldn't imagine this tiny thing doing much of anything. But, I gave it a try..........................................for about 10 minutes. Because that's precisely the amount of time it was effective for. It was about as useful and probably pretty damn similar to shoving a wildflower up there. Not impressed. I told Nicole her tampons are for the birds, and then she had to take me to a dark alley so I could buy the good stuff.<br />
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^ Dad, you told me I should add the tampon thing to my blog. What do you think? Good stuff, eh?<br />
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Sunday I saw some of my old Keiler peeps! Cosmo, Laura, and Shannon. It was pouring rain, but we toughed it out by sitting on a covered deck overlooking the ocean. It was really fun to catch up on everyone's lives in real life vs. email. Shan and I ordered some mimosas before we made the disastrous and earth shattering realization that they were $11 mimosas.<br />
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Monday I flew home after having brunch with Nicole. It's pretty funny flying into Tampa when you live there because most people on the flight are just starting their vacation. But, I'm on vacation all year long betches!!<br />
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Ok, wow, this is long enough. Sorry about the tampon tangent.<br />
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Here are some pics:<br />
(Not pictured: Don-Yell doing squats with Kellie on her back)<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-51330205111565727752014-05-19T17:24:00.001-07:002014-05-19T17:45:10.755-07:00Real MailI received real mail today (which is to say I received mail 1-4 days ago, as I only check my mail once or twice a week)!<br />
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None of that circular crap (does anyone else use this word besides for me and grandmothers? The word "circular" I mean, obviously, not "crap"), bills, credit card offers, or an over abundance of offers to buy my car back. A real postcard! Oh boy!<br />
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Here it is in all its papery/ink glory:<br />
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What a little gem! This was sent to me by my lovely friend Danielle Andrews. Yes, almost all my friends are named Danielle.<br />
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I met Danielle A. while lifeguarding at Woodridge Lake in Goshen, CT (yep, same as how I met the other Danielle - who we will call Danielle C. - if you're keeping track). I was 21 and Danielle A. was 24. I was in college and she was two years out. All the other lifeguards had pretty much known each other since the age of 16 (or for even longer) when we became lifeguards. I was one of the older lifeguards and so was Danielle C.<br />
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Therefore, when this even older stranger showed up to start lifeguarding for the summer, we were like "whoa, who is this and why is she 37 and lifeguarding?" Three years is a big difference and things are a little skewed back at that age, I guess. We quickly side stepped those important 'fears' when we realized Danielle A. was living alone in her parent's "weekend" house that they barely even used on the weekends. Hello new best friend!<br />
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Doesn't really sound like the nicest beginning on my end, ha, but I can honestly say Danielle A. has become a great friend and is one of the most hilarious people I've ever met! I'm sure you can tell that by the postcard. I mean, seriously, what?! She is wonderfully unique and has the best/weirdest sense of humor, that aligns so nicely with mine.<br />
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We've done tons of fun stuff since our lifeguarding days, and the strangest things always seem to happen when we are together.<br />
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Like:<br />
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Random road-side photography on dingy, dirty chairs in abandoned barns. We were late to pick up our other friends at the train station because, you know.........priorities.</div>
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Natural, domesticated woman poses</div>
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Scenes from "The Titanic"</div>
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Visiting scary convenience stores that embody the "luxury of Brooklyn" in the middle of St. Pete</div>
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A bird sitting on Danielle's shoulder during a shopping excursion - totally normal</div>
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An actual normal photo</div>
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<li>Danielle A. in downtown St. Pete walking side-by-side (I'm pretty sure hand-in-hand, too) with a homeless man to a pizza place to buy him a piece of pizza while I sit alone, abandoned, drinking beer.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Danielle A. and I at a museum looking at abstract art while I say "I could do that", and Danielle A. yelling at me loudly "Why don't you then Emily?!?"</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Me telling Danielle to dress up a little bit and Danielle putting on her "nice" hiking boots.</li>
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<li>Danielle coming in my parent's house yelling "Missy, where are you Missy?!? I've come for you!!!" (Missy is our deceased family dog who was scared of a lot of people, <i>especially</i> Danielle. Wonder why)</li>
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There are so many more I can't think of right now. Danielle, don't worry, I'll wear these earrings that I already own and think of you. Disappointing, but it will have to do ;-)</div>
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-5274472996146141872014-05-07T09:54:00.001-07:002014-05-19T15:33:18.146-07:00The Most Annoying Person EverRecently, when my friend Louise visited me for the weekend, we went out for dinner and drinks in this section of Tampa referred to as SoHo <---- that's a cool name for South Howard Ave., the street that all the bars are on in that particular area of town.<br />
<br />
Some tell-tale signs for knowing you're in SoHo are:<br />
1) You're surrounded by douchebags.<br />
<br />
That's really about it. <br />
<br />
If we're getting technical, there are maybe a few more:<br />
2) The guys seem to have all just stepped out of a frat house. See #1.<br />
3) You're wondering why no one is out by 8-9pm, and then you remember it's one of <em>those </em>areas where people (a.k.a. douchebags. See #1.) don't go out til about 11pm.<br />
4) You can literally see girls' vaginas due to their choice in "clothing".<br />
5) You have to pay at least $5 to park in a CVS parking lot or some other similar parking lot where parking is normally free in 99% of the United States.<br />
6) You feel really unattractive, old, and like you graduated from college a bazillion years ago when in actuality, you are still pretty young.<br />
<br />
So yeah, we went there for a "change". Change is not always good.<br />
<br />
After dinner, we headed down the street to one of the bars where we hung out with the other approximately 4-5 people that were also at the bar by like 7:30pm. All in their 30s, like us, I'm assuming. They probably all had just enjoyed a nice dinner, like us, rather than pre-gaming back at their place. #totallyuncool<br />
<br />
We each got a drink, sat at a table, chatted, and kept our vajays concealed. As people started to fill in, a couple douchebag-ish guys came over to talk to us. The opening line had something to do with needing Ibuprofen or Tylenol for his bad sinuses. Does Ibuprofen or Tylenol even help sinuses? After I extracted some Ibuprofen from my huge, satchel bag and definitely not my super tiny, cute clutch, the guy sat down and called his friend over. Now that we had exchanged drugs, I guess we were besties. They actually weren't too horrible, so we talked to them for a while until they went up to the bar to get some more drinks.<br />
<br />
This is when the most annoying person in the entire bar decided it was his perfect opportunity to come over and be the most annoying person in the entire bar.<br />
<br />
Now picture for me if you will a 44 year old hick with Wrangler-ish jeans on, worn in white Reebok-ish sneakers, and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Got it? Excited? Excellent. <br />
<br />
So yeah, HE came over and said quite the assortment of things:<br />
1) We are very attractive girls, but he wanted us to know he would NEVER have sex with us. Like, ever.<br />
2) He asked where our boyfriends were, and we told him they were at home (hey, my future boyfriend might have been at home somewhere, right? In Louise's case, it was actually true) and that it was a girl's night out. He told us our boyfriends must not really be in love with us because if they were, they wouldn't want us going out alone for a girl's night. He said they would be right by our side at all times. We said that sounds kind of like scary talk, and it's important for girls to have their independence. He thought this was a bunch of malarkey.<br />
3) He told us he used to be by his wife's side at all times until she died in a car crash. We felt momentarily sad for him until he started speaking again.<br />
4) He offered to buy us shots a few times, and we turned him down because Louise didn't want one, and I told him I was being a responsible driver. He did not think responsible driving was important I guess because on the final time I turned him down, he told me I was a "pretentious bitch".<br />
<br />
The guys we were originally talking to glanced over after getting drinks, saw we were preoccupied with a mental patient and never came back. We then went to the bathroom and headed to a different bar to get away from the most annoying person ever. <br />
<br />
Oh, but guess who was already there too when we went up to the bar to order a drink? YEPPPPPPP!<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-49244627523275206502014-03-19T12:45:00.002-07:002014-03-19T13:25:05.088-07:00Five Day Workweek and a Parking TicketI've had two three day workweeks in a row! The first two weeks of March were just swellllll. <br />
<br />
The first week was short because I took two days off for moving, and the second week was short because I took two days off for Don-Yell's visit. <br />
<br />
Now, I'm back to the regular five day workweeks which are a lot worse than the three day workweeks because of, ya know, those extra two days of working. <br />
<br />
It's rough getting back into the swing of things after being out on vacation because not only do you not want to go back after having fun, but also, all the emails. And, all the people waiting for you the moment you enter the door saying things like "did you see my email?" At this point, I like to glance casually (but in a not so casual way, too) at my black computer screen, which hasn't been turned on yet. If that doesn't do the trick, I then say "my computer isn't on yet, so I haven't seen the email." Then, I go get coffee, pee, and look at all my other emails first...probably even in that order.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so ugh, that's why I'm blogging while at work. Last week at this time, I was preparing for a four day weekend, so I figure this week, at this time, I should take a blogging break.<br />
<br />
I did book another mini vacation to look forward to! I'll be going to Rhode Island at the end of July and staying with my friend Nicole. I haven't seen her in close to a year, so it will be really nice to spend time with her, see her house in Rhode Island, and hopefully see a bunch of other people too. <br />
<br />
Getting to the other part of my story...<br />
<br />
When my parents, Don-Yell, and I were in downtown St. Pete for brunch this past Sunday, we got a parking ticket. And, when I say "we", I mean that I single-handedly was responsible for getting us said parking ticket. <br />
<br />
<u>Here is how the conversation went:</u><br />
Me: Park right over there - that looks like a good spot<br />
Mom: Ok. We have lots of quarters for the meter<br />
Me: That sounds silly. Save your quarters, and buy yourself something pretty little lady. I got this. I'll use my handy phone app<br />
<em>::I then proceed to tell everyone about my handy phone app and how fool-proof it is::</em><br />
<em>::I then pay for our parking spot using my fool-proof phone app::</em><br />
<em>::We eat brunch and go to the car::</em><br />
Dad: <em>::Picks up large green envelope on front windshield of car that says PARKING TICKET::</em><br />
Dad: We got a parking ticket<br />
Me: That hardly seems possible<br />
<br />
<strong>Oh, but it was. It was very possible, in fact.</strong><br />
<br />
You see, my handy phone app is linked to my license plate (information that I entered when I first downloaded the app and then promptly erased from my memory). And, my license plate is on my car, which was parked securely in its parking spot at my condo complex at the time. <br />
<br />
Essentially, it was like we hadn't paid for parking <em>at all</em>. It was like we had thrown caution to the wind, took a look at the parking meter and said "eff you parking meter", and strolled into the restaurant like bad asses. <br />
<br />
On that fateful day, I got to pay $3.35 to park my car at my condo complex (a convenience that I usually enjoy for free) and $25 for my parent's car. <br />
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Don't worry, they were glad we were there though. </div>
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So glad, in fact, that if I went to wherever their office is located with my parking ticket and a receipt proving I paid $25 at a restaurant or shop that day, they would waive the charge. However, they bank on people being lazy - which I was - so, here is $25 for you sir. </div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-46562185218750260942014-03-16T15:33:00.003-07:002014-05-19T09:26:42.989-07:007 Months LaterIt's basically been 7 months since my last blog post! Happy new year, I guess. Let's hope I can keep up with this thang better than I have in the past.<br />
<br />
I went back and looked at most of my previous posts, and some of them seem so dumb now. But, some of them also seem more funny than I thought I was capable of, and I'm not sure I can be as funny anymore - especially since I started this blog over 2 years ago while living in a retirement community with my parents. Obviously, there is a lot of material to draw from under those circumstances.<br />
<br />
At any rate, I will try because it's pretty fun to look back on. Also, I think blogging popularity is pretty much on its way out or already out, so maybe if I keep up with it, it will become trendy again soon (since all that sort of stuff always comes full circle), and my friends will think I'm really cool. It will be kind of sneaky - kind of like how hippies weren't cool anymore, so now there are hipsters instead - which is pretty much the same thing except with less patchouli oil and a lot more glasses.<br />
<br />
Anyway, here is where things netted out in the last 7 months. I'm still living in St. Pete and loving it. If there is any reason to leave this area or Florida in general, I haven't found it yet. I'm actually living at the same complex that I lived at for a year when I first moved to St. Pete. I really love it here and am excited to have my own place again. Still working at Ideal Image aaaaand my underarms are now hairless - ta da! I think that's about it. Oh, wait - and I now use whole milk instead of skim.<br />
<br />
Ironically, during my last post, I had just visited Danielle in NYC, and this past weekend, she just visited me. Both trips for free! Now that my dad works for himself, he won't rack up all the frequent flyer miles like he used to, but these types of free trips were fun while they lasted.<br />
<br />
Here is what we did:<br />
Thursday - Danielle's flight arrived at 2:20pm, and I got to the airport early to pick her up. This meant I then had to drive around the airport approximately 236 times before she came out. This also meant I was simultaneously frustrated and excited when I saw her. We then made the mutual decision to act like sister wives that evening (it's not what you're thinking) - which meant food shopping at Publix together and making ourselves a lovely salmon dinner. Upon arrival, Danielle proclaimed it was "hot" (high 60s) and also made the blanket statement later on that she "doesn't recycle" (not ever apparently - not even when there is a recycling bin on the patio deck). I knew I was in for a good time! I also knew I would have to periodically peruse my garbage and then berate her.<br />
<br />
Friday - We went to Treasure Island beach, and then I wined/dined her at Capital Grille for dinner. I had a $100 gift card there. I'm sure the waitress wasn't surprised when we pulled it out. I had a filet mignon that was parmesan/horseradish encrusted, and it was pretty much the best thing I've ever eaten. Granted, for $46, I could basically eat for a whole week, but whatevs. Danielle also got a really good steak, and I don't think we spoke a word to each other while we enjoyed our food - ah, best friends. Oh, we also went out for drinks in St. Pete that night.<br />
<br />
Saturday - I told Danielle I wanted to take her to a touristy beach, so I thought of one that would be really uncomfortably crowded and almost not enjoyable - Clearwater! The water was freeeeezing, but we both managed to go in completely. First swim of the year! At night, we went to the St. Patty's day celebration/parade in Ybor - kind of like a Mardi Gras with beads getting thrown at you, etc. Met up with some other friends that night for dinner/bar hopping, and it was a lot of fun. Great way to spend her last night here.<br />
<br />
Sunday - My parents made the quick 3 hour drive here to see her (and I think to see me too?). We went out for brunch and hung out for a bit. Then, Danielle had to be at the airpot by 3:30pm.<br />
<br />
All in all, a short trip but very fun! Here are some pics:<br />
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Not pictured: Danielle's paleo lunches which included avocado smooshed into roast beef and falling out the sides.</div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-69272406147926919222013-08-28T17:51:00.001-07:002014-09-10T15:58:30.166-07:00This is how dumb I am. Also, I went to NYC.Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck, I have a blog?<br />
<br />
Guaranteed this is what I'll be like if I ever have a child. <i>Oh, you're 4 months old? Cute little thing, arentcha? </i><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Except I will talk about this one example:<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>six, six, six</i> 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!"<br />
<br />
The free food does not look enticing. No after thought of my car.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <u>again</u> 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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, <b>there's my car in plain fucking sight</b>. 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
I've never been so happy and pissed (I felt like my car played a trick on me) to see my car.<br />
<br />
Today I walked to work, across a highway bridge.<br />
<br />
Speaking of bridges, I went to NYC and visited my dear friend <a href="http://thereisnootherday-emily.blogspot.com/2012/05/best-friend-pips-advice-on-boys.html">Danielle</a>, 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.<br />
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Anyway, here are some pics:<br />
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<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-43131648234099251252013-04-19T14:10:00.002-07:002013-04-19T14:17:41.513-07:00I was the head lifeguard...yes, <strong>me</strong>.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
What was even more concerning though was my lack of any recognizable skills.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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 YMCA...so, there had to be something untapped there. Luckily, I was also <u>very</u> interested in sitting in a chair all summer long and working on my tan while getting paid a pretty high hourly rate.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<em> Oh, he's fine, I don't need to watch him.</em><br />
<br />
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:<br />
1) Consistently making sure the mentally handicapped 40 year old had on his water diaper any time he came to the pool<br />
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............)<br />
3) Helping the weekend New Yorker kids find their nannies when their mothers were no where in sight<br />
4) Gossiping - that was also very important<br />
5) Making everyone get out of the pool for 30 minutes at even the slightest sound of thunder<br />
<br />
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? <em>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. </em><br />
<br />
Turns out my actual lifeguarding skills weren't that important after all.<br />
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-27712318157321875982013-04-11T16:38:00.004-07:002014-03-16T13:04:00.814-07:00I'm SMOKING!Well, yes, I do have what some might consider above average looks, but that's neither here nor there.<br />
<br />
What I mean to say is:<br />
Smoking cigarettes...<br />
Gross! Vom! Uncool! Waste of money! Cancer! Smelly! Stupid! Waste of time! Puke! Ugh! Trashy! What year is it?!<br />
<br />
<i>These are pretty much all my non-deep, surface layer thoughts on smoking. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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.<br />
<br />
Back in the day, before people really knew how bad smoking was, it was like, <i>the coolest thing ever</i>. 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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Are they all fat chefs you might wonder (<u>all</u> 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?<br />
<br />
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? <b>Central Florida? </b>Oh, riiiiiiiiiiight. Touche, self.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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!Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-31331288069003461042013-04-02T16:44:00.004-07:002013-04-03T07:12:06.661-07:00Controlling BirthBy 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!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Anyway, when I was at my "annual", I was asking about birth control options <i>aside</i> 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 mdhealth.net that you're wrong...you 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 <strike>volunteering</strike> drinking/<strike>having sex</strike> the night before my appointment instead.<br />
<br />
Here are the horrible birth control options (some of them, anyway):<br />
~ Well, there's the pill...terrible<br />
~ Condoms...terrible<br />
~ Women's condoms...uhhhhh? nope<br />
~ Shots...not only do you have to get a shot every 3 months, but you'll most likely get fat from them<br />
~ Patch...no way, that's just a fancy way of saying "sticker"<br />
~ There are plenty more I'm leaving out (like the NovaRing) that are equally as bad<br />
<br />
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 <b><u>WHILE YOU HAVE YOUR PERIOD</u></b>, 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.<br />
<br />
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:<br />
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z8XDH02qcSQ">hehe</a><br />
<br />
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.<br />
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P.S. Please do not take my thoughts, opinions, or "medical advice" seriously...however, I am a genius...so, there's that.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-29343917629288010682013-03-16T10:37:00.000-07:002013-03-23T08:35:18.581-07:00Where am I and how do I get home?I might be the worst person at directions in. the. world.<br />
<br />
No one has ever said <i>Emily has a real knack for directions, we can count on her. </i>That thought has literally crossed no one's mind on the whole planet.<br />
<br />
Contrarily, it's more like, <i>How long have you lived here? Aren't we about 5 minutes away from your place?</i> And, my response is usually something like <i>hell if I know, let's see what my phone says.</i> And, <i>let's see what my other directional phone apps says</i>. And, then<i> let's also plug in Magellan</i>. And, <i>let's also check what my handwritten directions say</i> 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.<br />
<br />
It's even worse at night when my vision is a little compromised.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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 <i>yes, I'm pretty sure that's East of there</i>. 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.<br />
<br />
You might think I'm exaggerating, but sadly, I'm really not. Ask anyone that knows me. It's embarrassing.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
The only way I know how to get around certain places WELL is if I've done it a million times before.<br />
<br />
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 <i>Gee willickers, where did I go wrong?</i> It's more like <i>How the shit did this happen <b>again</b>?</i>, and <i>when I get over this bridge, I'm going to murder someone</i>.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, I'm like <i>well, I already know how to get there with my 30 min. way, so I'm just going to keep doing that.</i> And, my dad and I are like<i> that's great and all, but we're going to go over here now and talk about last week's episode of New Girl.</i><br />
<br />
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. <b>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. </b>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 <i>gee, I should really get over soon</i>, 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.<br />
<br />
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.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-67657048467869479522013-03-14T19:37:00.002-07:002013-03-14T19:45:46.830-07:00A Crappy DreamSince this blog is the host of many embarrassing, unusual, crass, etc. ramblings, I figured why not divulge the details of my crappy, shitty dream.<br />
<br />
No, seriously...it was a dream about poop.<br />
<br />
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 <i>good, I sort of know these people, I can poop here. </i>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.<br />
<br />
Seems normal so far, right? It's about to get a lot worse.<br />
<br />
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 <i>what to do? what to do?</i> 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. <i>We didn't expect guests, who's in there? </i><br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
Then, in an epiphany, I guess I remembered how to poop appropriately because I think <i>this is really bad. </i>I also think <i>what am I going to do?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
So, these random grandparents are getting pretty upset. And, I'm saying things like <i>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. </i>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.<br />
<br />
The whole time I'm thinking <i>this pooping business is tough stuff</i>. 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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-46367800641976795922013-03-06T19:39:00.000-08:002013-03-06T19:43:21.308-08:00Yeahhhhhh Maaaaaaaan...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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. :-( </div>
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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 <i>ooooh, there are so many good parts of SC, which part did he choose?</i> Eh, nope, he chose M.y.r.t.l.e.) to Tampa back to CT. </div>
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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. </div>
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Anywayyy, I met Cosmo back in CT when we were both working at an advertising agency there...one 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 cool....so, ya know, that was the main reason.</div>
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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 <i>let's do some United States trivia</i>! I was kind of like<i> oh no</i> 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.<b> </b></div>
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<b>He was the only Cosmo either of us had met in real life.</b></div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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! </div>
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Is this the worst story ever or what?</div>
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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! </div>
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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 (O<i>h, you don't want to go out tonight? Ok, have fun bangin' Susie.</i>). No conversations are really off limit, there is no weirdness, and it's just easy.</div>
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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). ;-)</div>
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2007</div>
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2007 (That's Laura, the 50 states girl!)</div>
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2009</div>
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2010</div>
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2011</div>
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2011</div>
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2012</div>
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2012 - Barf, wtf happened to both of us?</div>
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2013</div>
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2013</div>
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2013</div>
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-61053940165003704532013-02-24T17:01:00.001-08:002013-02-24T17:05:05.070-08:00Ben's 26th birthday and more!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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).</div>
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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. </div>
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Last year at probably right around this time, we were <a href="http://thereisnootherday-emily.blogspot.com/2012/02/bens-25th-birthday.html">eating cake, drinking wine and smoking cigars out front</a>. Side note: How come no one told me I looked so gross and fat faced? Geez.</div>
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Soooo, happy birthday Ben! I love you!</div>
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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...</div>
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Proof that I did the 5K on Saturday morning!</div>
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Birds in Florida are so awesome</div>
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This photo of my dad and me cracks me up</div>
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Pretty, huge flowers in downtown St. Pete</div>
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Miss Pip!</div>
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My parents</div>
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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.</div>
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Ok, time for me to focus on wine and the Oscars! </div>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-3268601291428831182013-02-22T17:43:00.003-08:002013-02-22T17:43:57.463-08:005K 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.<br />
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Also, in blogging news, I updated my header image and description! I figured it was 2013 and time for a change.<br />
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Oh boy, oh boy. 5Ks and updated header images...what the frig is next for this girl?!Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-85254019052464819522013-02-21T16:49:00.002-08:002013-02-21T16:49:46.162-08:00Birbigs<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">“</span><span class="quote" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 19px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;">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.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">”</span><table class="quote_source_table" style="background-color: white; border-collapse: collapse; border: 0px; color: #444444; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', HelveticaNeue, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: -5px; margin-top: 10px; outline: none 0px; width: 500px;"><tbody style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;">
<tr style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;"><td class="quote_source_mdash" style="border-width: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px; padding: 0px 10px 0px 20px; width: 1px;" valign="top">—</td><td class="quote_source" style="border-width: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; max-width: 450px; outline: none 0px; overflow: hidden; padding: 0px;" valign="top"><strong style="margin-top: 0px; outline: none 0px;">Mike Birbiglia</strong>, <em style="margin-bottom: 0px; outline: none 0px;">Sleepwalk With Me</em></td></tr>
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Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-42756416314172367702013-02-20T15:28:00.000-08:002013-02-22T17:29:54.564-08:00Warning: I'm going to hell!Dating sites are so funny with the stuff they make you fill out.<br />
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On match.com, 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 <i>right now</i>. I don't want to find out<i> later </i>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 sign...at all.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>really</i> 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"...<i>Guess what? Good news! I'm a Christian!</i>). 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 <i>much</i> later because I have some pretty fucked up views, and also, I'm trying to work through some things with my therapist."<br />
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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.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-50212212464605253352013-01-31T20:01:00.000-08:002013-01-31T20:14:18.004-08:00I'm not drinking tonightBlog: 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!<br />
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Me: Thanks blog! You're so kind. Now, let me write about something <strike>inspiring and thought-provoking</strike>.<br />
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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 <strike>have alcoholic tendencies</strike> enjoy the relaxing routine of having a drink or two at some point after work.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>not</i>. 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 <i>fuck, this is the last tea bag, I better fucking remember to buy some tea bags before tomorrow morning</i>. But, mostly, I just miss (and wouldn't suck dick for) these beverages when I don't have them.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 too...red 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. <i>Yes, I know it ruins the drink, I'm well aware. </i>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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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? <i>Yes, those are the only two options. </i>Obviously I think the latter is better. I'm pretty sure my doctor would agree.<br />
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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, <i>horrible</i>. 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.<br />
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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 <b>first </b>thing I'd want to do is get wasted. Not only because <i>fuck, I'm going to have a baby, that's a bad time, get me a drink!, </i>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.<br />
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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>I need to plan my parenthood around my drinking habits, so yeahhh, I'm gonna have to go ahead and get that abortion</i>. <i>Can I come in on Saturday? Yeahhh, thanks. </i>(Office Space. anyone? no?)<br />
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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.<br />
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Ok, I guess that's enough alcohol and pregnancy talk for one night.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-33505799303266033312012-12-16T12:09:00.000-08:002012-12-16T12:44:00.951-08:00Hey guys, look at me, I'm blogging again, weeeeeeee...Since I'm such a gifted writer, it only took me a little over a month to figure out what my next blog post would be about...<br />
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<b>The difference of getting "dressed up" between guys and girls. </b><br />
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I know what you're thinking...<i>this is going to be good. </i>Yeahhhhhhh, about that, it probably won't be.<br />
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Ok, so, for most girls, getting "dressed up" (like, for a date or a party or a night out with her bitches) involves a series of very specific steps that will then most likely all culminate with the disastrous revelation that she's too fat, her hair's not straight enough, her boobs aren't big enough, or something of the like. Am I right, ladies?<br />
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And, like I said, this is AFTER a strategic protocol is followed to try to ensure that these lowly feelings don't arise. A protocol that involves showering, shaving, plucking, lotioning, nail painting, hair blow drying, make-upping, booze drinking, magic potion drinking, jumping jacking, etc. (yes, I know some of these aren't real words). For some of the exceptional loony bins, it may even involve fake tanning, bra stuffing, spanx wearing, cosmetic surgery, or whatever else you might associate with excessiveness and an overall plummeted self image.<br />
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The likely end result after all of this prep work is a girl that looks as good as she can possibly look...or, at the very least, as good as she can possibly make herself look depending on her skill set. We're not all the best at makeup application, hair styling or making mountains out of mole holes. I think what I mean by that is it's hard to make boobs look big when they're actually small. Boy is that a good way to butcher the original intention of the phrase.<br />
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The point is, usually, a girl will still not be quite satisfied with her appearance even after working really hard at it. She always sees something negative or something she can improve.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, this is not always the case. We all know hideous looking girls or extremely overweight girls that somehow lack common sense and have an over abundance of self confidence and think they are the hottest thing since, well, anyone.<br />
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And, then there's the hot girl that thinks she is hot and knows that other people think she is hot and so, she likes to flaunt it around. Barf. But, the fellahs love this. Not good relationship material gentleman. But, yeah yeah yeah, a good show, nonetheless...I get it.<br />
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These last two paragraphs nicely sum up all the types of girls I never want to be friends with.<br />
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Uh oh, I'm losing track of my point. Ok, back on topic...girls try hard to make themselves look good, but they still don't think they look good enough.<br />
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Now, guys on the other hand...<br />
The short version of this is a guy only has to roll out of bed, run his fingers through his receding hair and put on some clothes that are maybe clean to think that he looks like a shining star that every girl would want a piece of.<br />
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Have you guys ever seen that photo of the difference between what a girl sees when she looks in the mirror and what a guy sees when he looks in the mirror? Oh, ya know what, I'm on the internet machine right now, so let me just go ahead and google that shit for you. Here:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-32JbAmMPuxI/UM4mW8YZGEI/AAAAAAAAA8A/_usw79YjU5I/s1600/funny-girl-guy-looking-at-mirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="189" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-32JbAmMPuxI/UM4mW8YZGEI/AAAAAAAAA8A/_usw79YjU5I/s320/funny-girl-guy-looking-at-mirror.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So true. I think this pretty much summarizes up all my points quite nicely.<br />
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If a guy is really trying to look good for a special lady, sure, he may try hard, but a guy's version of trying hard is so much easier and takes so much less effort than a girl's version of trying hard.<br />
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Guys don't typically highlight or dye their hair or blow dry it or straighten it or curl it or pin it up or whatever the fuck we do. Guys wash it, maybe...let it air dry...and put some gel in it...again, <i>maybe</i>. Guys shave their face, maybe. Guys may also shave their balls like once a week. Girls shave a million different things all the time. And, if you're a girl with a stache or those weird sideburn things, forget it. Then you're doing the guy shaving aaaand the girl shaving and things are just a big ole' mess for you.<br />
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Guys will put on a button down shirt or a nice t-shirt. A nice<i> t-shirt</i>, CHRIST. Imagine that, ladies. Guys will wear jeans 9 times out of 10. Oh, and most likely, some sort of flat, comfortable sneakery type shoe. Basically, for a guy to look his best, he has to be clean, somewhat well kept and have on a decent looking outfit. Maybe slap on a watch if he's feeling really spiffy. For a girl to look good, she has to come up with some sort of outfit that is much more like creating a cute, one-of-a-kind ensemble and much less like throwing together whatever is clean at the time. This can involve jewelry, scarves, hair accessories, high heels, uncomfortable clothes, makeup, belts, cardigans, hats, you name it.<br />
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I'm getting tired just thinking about it.<br />
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I think what all this is leading to is...this is precisely why guys should try their best to make a lot of money and pay for every date. I'm not really sure what else we possibly could have learned here.<br />
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The end! :-)Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-21328809523367953532012-11-02T15:55:00.003-07:002012-11-02T15:55:41.477-07:00"Walking" the Youngin'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Just look at this sorry ass picture and you tell me if that looks like a dog having a good time. </div>
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Head down, sauntering forward very slowly, hanging back just as far as her leash will allow her...all the tell tale signs of a dog in a gleeful state of mind about their walk. </div>
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We're in Florida people...in NOVEMBER<i>.</i>..so, the weather here is beautiful, breezy, not hot or humid. We're walking on quiet, palm tree lined streets where friendly people go by and wave and smile happily...and where Pippi can see other small dogs (usually also in pink accessories, which makes her feel comfortable) and socialize. She even has on a harness to ensure I don't pull too hard at her delicate throat. She has it made in the sun. This is cream puff status right here. <i>Did I mention we rode in a golf cart first before the walk to try to get her amped up for the actual walk?!? </i></div>
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Like, I imagine this must be how hard dorky guys try when they want to get laid by respectable, non-dorky women. Probably not good to bring up sex analogies when I'm talking about my dog, but you get the point. I don't want to have sex with my dog, you crazy monster.</div>
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Anyway, just to give you a little background on Pippi (the moment you've all been waiting for), she is actually quite hearty for someone so little in stature (7 pounds). Now, when I use the word "hearty", I am using it in the sense that you already know she's 7 pounds. So, like, she's hearty for 7 pounds...get it? Knowing this background, she has more leeway room.</div>
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It's kind of like being a "good" driver when you're Asian. If stereotypes aren't failing us (when do they really ever let us down?), you're probably not that good of a driver...but, like I said, you have way more leeway room to suck ass. There are a plethora of other similar scenarios I can unfold for you, but I don't want to piss anyone off here...well, apparently, I don't want to piss any <i>white</i> people off...pissing off the Asians was fine I guess. It's ok, you rear-ended my car (case and point, bam), so we're sort of even.</div>
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Anyway, you're smart people, so you get what I'm laying down. Basically, the Youngin' (a.k.a. Pippi) is a little weakling, but she is a terrier, so she has some fire/spunk/personality. Therefore, you'd think she'd be able to get through a 20 minute walk with a little excitement and pizzaz and <i>show a little damn appreciation for the person walking her. </i></div>
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No no no. Not in Pippi's book. I might as well be walking a decrepit 15 year old pug...or a dog with a serious case of mono. It looks like I'm torturing her by making her do the worst thing in the world. It's like I told her right before the flipping walk, "when we get home, I'm not going to feed you, and bonus, I'm also going to kill every chameleon in the state of Florida so that I can take away the one thing you love the most in life". </div>
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That's what it looks like. In actuality, I'm obviously doting (get it yet Steve?) over her, singing her sweet nothings, coddling her, picking her up at random so that she gets to take a break from such an unusual and cruel form of punishment, etc.</div>
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Now, she does get hot easily (she's like a little furnace), and she has a thin trachea...so, to her credit, with lots of walking in warm weather, she does have breathing trouble. But, these aren't <i>really</i> excuses given that I'm not making her walk a marathon in 90 degree heat. </div>
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So, what gives? She never used to be quiiiite this bad before. I mean, she was always kind of a little fickle pants, but never to this extreme. I'm dog sitting this weekend, and Pippi has been living with my parents in The Villages while I live in St. Pete. Therefore, I have no say anymore over how spoiled she gets. Welllllll, here is why she seemed extra bad:</div>
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Oooooooooh, well, <i>excuuuuuuuse me</i>! Now she's accustomed to and prefers walks at fancy pants recreation centers (like Seabreeze and Lake Miona), so neighborhood walks are no longer on par with her high levels of expectation. </div>
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O-M-G! <i><b>Really?!?</b></i> Really? <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Really?</span></div>
<br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-66410213482074313492012-10-25T15:47:00.001-07:002012-10-25T15:47:09.560-07:00Dawes - A Little Bit of Everything<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">With his back against the San Francisco traffic,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">On the bridges side that faces towards the jail,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Setting out to join a demographic, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">He hoists his first leg up over the rail.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And a phone call is made, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Police cars show up quickly.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">The sergeant slams his passenger door. </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">He says, Hey son why don't you talk through this with me, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Just tell me what you're doing it for.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Oh, it's a little bit of everything, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the mountains,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the fog,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the news at six o'clock, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the death of my first dog, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the angels up above me, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the song that they don't sing,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's a little bit of everything.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">An older man stands in a buffet line,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">He is smiling and holding out his plate,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And the further he looks back into his timeline,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">That hard road always had led him to today,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And making up for when his bright future had left him,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Making up for the fact that his only son is gone,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And letting everything out once, His server asks him,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Have you figured out yet, what it is you want?</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">I want a little bit of everything,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">The biscuits and the beans,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Whatever helps me to forget about</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">The things that brought me to my knees,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">So pile on those mashed potatoes,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And an extra chicken wing,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">I'm having a little bit of everything.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Somewhere a pretty girl is writing invitations,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">To a wedding she has scheduled for the fall,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Her man says, Baby, can I make an observation?</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">You don't seem to be having any fun at all.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">She said, You just worry about your groomsmen and your shirt-size,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">And rest assured that this is making me feel good,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">I think that love is so much easier than you realize,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">If you can give yourself to someone,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Then you should.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Cause it's a little bit of everything,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">The way you choke, the way you ache,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It is waking up before you, </span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">So I can watch you as you wake.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">So in the day in late September,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's not some stupid little ring,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">I'm giving a little bit of everything.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Oh, it's a little bit of everything,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the matador and the bull,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's the suggested daily dosage,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It is the red moon when it's full.</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">All these psychics and these doctors,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">They're all right and they're all wrong,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's like trying to make out every word,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">When they should simply hum along,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's not some message written in the dark,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">Or some truth that no one's seen,</span><br style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;" /><span style="font-family: tahoma, helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 15.800000190734863px;">It's a little bit of everything.</span></i></span>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5011014188658788212.post-86835714312967454842012-10-09T15:40:00.002-07:002012-10-09T15:41:58.105-07:00Ok, so this is what happened...It kind of goes like this:<br />
Blah blah blah, one thing lead to another, yada yada yada, craziness/confusion/fast action ensued (a.k.a. I went on one interview and looked at one apartment and had to make moves at lightning speed...something I am no longer accustomed to in any way, shape, or form due to the relaxed nature of the last year of my life)...aaaaaaand now I live in St. Pete and have a full time job! Ta da!<br />
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The main reason it was crazy fast is because the job I got is through a temp company, and those people are always crazy movers and shakers...and want you to like basically commit to starting the job and giving away your first born child before you even go on the damn interview. It's kind of like having to pay for the milk before you even see the cow. Oh, wait, nevermind. I'm pretty sure that's inaccurate.<br />
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So yeahhhhh, in summary (this will not really be a summary of any kind), the whole theme of my blog is no longer relevant. FAIL. It was so creative and original before too. Now it's just gonna be some played out shit like "I have a regular corporate job, am sleep deprived, overworked and underpaid, I'm trying to pay my bills, keep up with my chores, party like a rockstar sometimes, and not get pregnant." So yeah, pretty much living the dream...just like before...only in a different way this time.<br />
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I'll probably keep the same theme to my blog for posterity's sake. And, if you're just starting to read my blog now and are all confused, well, you're way behind the times anyway, so eff you!<br />
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I no longer live in a retirement community with my parents. I got out before I turned 30 BETCHES!<br />
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Ok, this was supposed to be a nice post about the newest update on my life and feature some photos of my new apartment...but, that went downhill quickly, and also, I have no photos to speak of. Well, you can't win 'em all.<br />
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Sooooo, in my next post, I'll write more about my new job, life, and upload some photos of this pli-zace.<br />
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Until then, toodle loo!Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08274525196601912238noreply@blogger.com0