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emmanation

You like me! Of course, you probably don't know me very well.

what I golf

June 21st, 2015 by biscuit

My fabulous new company has a golf weekend year. For a mere twenty five dollars, we get to play with four coworkers in a scramble, and get lots of branded stuff, and get drinks, and breakfast, and lunch, and entered in a raffle. It’s fun. This is a short list of things that happened to me during the game yesterday.

  • I drove the golf cart alone,  fast, and while showing off with a tight speedy turn, I fell out of the cart. Turns out no one was watching, so I was neither embarrassed nor impressive.
  • (I just put on fake nails for fun and TYPING IS HARD)
  • When we went to tip the drink cart woman, I looked for cash. I had a ten, a one, and two twenties, so I gave her the one and felt bad and moved on. Then at the clubhouse during the raffle I bought a beer for 3.75, and the bartender brought me a dollar and quarter for change. I looked in my wallet and still had a twenty and a ten, and I had thought I was holding a twenty, so I told him I’d given him a twenty and he insisted I’d given him a five. He gave in and brought me my change, and I know for sure I couldn’t have given him something I didn’t have, but I still feel guilty.
  • One of my teammates let me use this super old brass-lookin’ putter, and I joked that it was haunted, and he looked at me quite seriously and said ‘the guy who used to own it was a jerk and a bigot’ and I stuttered ‘do you think his ghost will help me golf?’ and he was like uhhhh. But I did pretty damn well on the …putting part, so maybe the bigoted jerk ghost is working for me?
  •  Everyone semi-grimaced when I told them who I would be playing with (random assignment)  but my team was AWESOME. I was flipping them off by three hours in and no one was offended.
  • I did a sort of ridiculous number of cartwheels for a respectable 34 year old woman. Because there’s nothing about golf grass that doesn’t scream cartwheel.

Oh also, I wore shorts with a three inch inseam which seemed perfectly reasonable but I’ve seen some pics and you know what a three inch inseam looks like when you’re with coworkers? Booty shorts. Um, yay me?

tina what the fuck

May 21st, 2015 by biscuit

Therapy. Lesbians.

(This is much less dramatic than the intro made it sound, but the intro is accurate! Just wait!)

I decided to go into therapy, cause, you know. I think we can all use someone to talk to and stuff. My best friend is in school to become a counselor and sometimes she says brilliant insightful things based on what she’s learned* and I was like hey, lots of things have changed in my life, maybe I should stop exploiting my best friend for free therapy and talk to a professional.

*She said brilliant and insightful things before too. Like, one time, she accused me of wanting to spend the night at her house because I had a crush on her little brother and she was RIGHT!**

**We were maybe fourteen and her brother was a year or slightly less younger than her. Crushes on 13 year olds when you’re 14 aren’t gross. Crushes on your best friends little brother are gross. Too close, ladies, don’t do it.

So I found a therapist that was super close to work and a woman (important to me, I said to Crockett offhandedly that ‘I don’t want a male therapist because I’d probably try to make him like me’ WHICH WOAH I SHOULD probably tell my real therapist about that) and she was very much not my thing. She just agreed with me a lot.

Since I always think I’m right, that is not a helpful problem solving attitude.

If paid enablers were a thing I would totally call her first.

So I found another woman, further from work but still commutable during a work day distance, and she does all these wacky things, and she asked me questions, and wrote stuff down, and I just loved her. Unfortunately, lots of other people love her too, so she couldn’t work me in regularly until mid June. She called today with a cancellation for tomorrow, though, so I started the book that she recommended (The Happiness Trap) just a few minutes ago…

while watching The L Word.

Boom, therapy and lesbians. Do I deliver in the least exciting way possible or WHAT.

 

written all over it

May 20th, 2015 by biscuit

Last night I had the perfect thing to write about. It occurred to me while I was peeing. Then the night went of the rails in a minor way, and I lost my whole fun and fancy idea. Today, all I wanted was to get the idea back (cause I been low on things-I-wanna-write-about lately) so I tried peeing and thinking, but that didn’t get me anywhere. Then the next time I peed, I tried peeing while not thinking. No love.

There’s a part at the beginning (maybe?) of Firestarter that’s about people peeing in their pants, did you know that? (FRANCO AS THE 11/22/63 PERSON WHAT ALSO). Stephen King wrote something about us being conditioned as young’uns to not pee while clothed. Accurate, right? Definition of potty training right there. He claimed, in the book, that grown ups are actually busted and can’t actually do it even if they try (where, again, it is peeing in their pants. If you’d asked me how many times I thought I’d write that phrase today when I woke up this morning I would have guessed significantly fewer than the 2 I’ve already hit.)

I really want to try.

I am a grown up woman with a healthy bladder. I don’t have the thing that some of my mama friends have where they pee (in their pants (3)) sometimes when they giggle or cough because of the bag of flour sized baby that came through their nether regions. I am actually free of incontinence of any kind as far as  I know.

What I’m trying to say is that I was under ten the last time I peed in my pants (4) and I had been playing outside with my friends and didn’t want to go inside to pee and I basically just waited until there was more pee than bladder, I think.

Could I do that now?

Stephen King isn’t exactly a medical expert, but I have to assume he usually doesn’t make shit like that up. He must have researched it or something, because otherwise why include it? As far as I recall, pants peeing (4.5) wasn’t integral to the story, so …

Yeah. Pee. Pants. (5)

Seriously, though, I have wondered this off and on since reading the book at 14. If anyone has any insight, hit me up. Otherwise eventually I am going to be my own guinea pig and any outcome of an experiment where I try to pee in my own pants (6) ends with me on the losing end.

that damn mulberry bush

May 11th, 2015 by biscuit

Either I’ve matured out of them or all my favorite tv shows have gone off the goddamn rails.

Me maturing is unlikely. (Don’t tell my brand new therapist, I’d like her to have faith in my potential for improvement for at least a couple of months.)

Shonda Rhimes is obviously a large part of the problem, right? But even excluding her recent FUCKING LUNACY, everything is a mess.

Spoilers abound, people. Just, you know, use your judgement. (Parenthetical explanations follow for those of you who have no idea what I’m talking about.)

  • DEREK. Man. Two actual texts I sent regarding the whole Derek thing: “I’m so sad it’s ridiculous” and “I cried for so long that even Deaner got bored and stopped worrying about me”. Dean is a ten month old Jack Russell terrier (Parson Russell terrier? Did changing the name actually stick?) and has never not been worried in his life. He worriedly jogs in his sleep. (Grey’s Anatomy: the penis having half of the grand high couple died in a super-duper-painful-full-of-jump-scares episode – he almost got hit by like seven cars, almost drove off the road, almost survived but for the want of a more mouthy surgeon, etc. It was an hour of pain. He was always my guy.)
  • Olivia is just reacting to B613 shit now. I mean, she kind of always did, but she used to have initiative. Plus, her dad is getting more and more stalkery, which is weird for a dad. (Scandal: um. Let’s say that the real government in real life (real real real) was all ‘hey here’s a secret spy organization that we can’t really explain but they’re super bad but we can’t shut them down because they’ve buried grenades under all of your houses and they’ll explode them if we even TRY to explain’ and then they tried to explain a few times anyway and some houses blew up and then they gave up and kept letting the secret meanies do terrible things. B613 is like that.)
  • NO ONE CARES ABOUT THE ROYAL FAMILY. (Grimm: the main non-supernatural female character is evil now and the whole solution is sort of like if I turned evil and somehow some intricate British royal family ancestry was relevant to making me un-evil. And if William and Harry were secretly at a very boring chat war in, like, some catacombs or something.)
  • Bones. (I don’t know I’m seven episodes behind because it turns out Sweets was the only reason to watch.) (Ok fine. Bones: imagine the X-Files if they killed Scully. Sure, Mulder has a lot of panache, but he would have lost his heart, man. Sweets was everyone’s heart.)
  • Castle…

Guys, I can’t. I just can’t continue. Is this my fault or tv’s?

Or should I be watching something else?

When the hell does the new True Detective start?

 

my future’s so bright

May 6th, 2015 by biscuit

Thing A: When I started this new job, the one I super like, the person I replaced was a small, dark haired woman who left to go write books. Since I am a small, dark haired woman who enjoys putting pen to paper (and using douchey sounding cliches, apparently), people actually called me her name a few times when I first started.

(Ok, their confusion was likely a hair/size thing, not a writing thing, because I didn’t really talk about that. Not that I don’t want you reading this, dear coworkers! (Just kidding, I super don’t. Leave, please.))

Anyway, she’s back and I dig her and I’m wondering how much of it is just plain self absorption on my part. (I like me. I know, I’m subtle about it.) She’s a cat person, though, so obviously there are some key differences.

Thing B: I hung a vinyl bull skull decal in my loft this afternoon. I was going for super tough, but then they ruined it by including vinyl rose decals too. Like I WASN’T going to make the bull skeleton wear a rose, right? What kind of willpower do they think they’re dealing with here?

Thing C: A girlfriend of mine and I decided to go full paleo for a month, and support each other through it. She’s trying to be healthy, I’m mostly focused on going to Mexico in a month and feeling awesome in one of the seven swimsuits that I found while I was going through my drawers to try to justify buying a swimsuit for the trip. (Is there a sensible justification? Nope. SEVEN. But I might get a new one anyway.)

It’s terrible. I actually took it lightly when we made the call, because I thought I was eating pretty close to paleo already, but I have been cranky and headachey and achey and I’m sure a real joy to be around since about six hours in.

I realized I eat a lot of chocolate in the morning. And the afternoon. And after dinner, also. Plus, Grape Nuts. And french bread.

Do you think Grape Nuts spread in melted chocolate on french bread would be, like, at all good? I’m asking for a friend.