Image 01


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

flat circle

October 1st, 2015 by biscuit

I semi-frequently refer to not current versions of myself in the third person.

(Star does it too, so, you know. Non-craziness comes in numbers.)

Usually I’m badmouthing past Emma, or pre-apologizing to future Emma. (That makes it sound like I made/ke poor choices, but when I’m making good choices it seems sort of self absorbed to be all ‘hey, future Emma, you’re welcome’, so, you know. Poor choices and excellent choices in equal measure, just not as relevant to the story.)

Yesterday I had leftover sloppy joes for lunch. They were part of me and Crockett’s whole food delivery experiment (Blue Apron/Hello Fresh/Green Chef report back for details at some point possibly!) and they were good but they had a lot of onions in them, and some extra onions on them, and they were not an ideal thing to eat in the middle of a work day.

A sweet coworker of mine was microwaving her lunch at the same time that I was heating up the oniony mess and I told her about the onion breath fog that usually makes me choose not to eat onions. After I ate the OnionParty2015 lunch, I mentioned to her that I should have known better. Then I casually said something about past Emma that I  no longer even remember. Something like ‘past Emma really let me down while packing this lunch’. Not. Even. Funny.

The thing is, she thought it was cute, and now she’s using it. To refer to me, not to her.


“Did past Emma do this one work thing?”

“Oh future Emma is going to appreciate that current Emma just did that other work thing.”

It’s like sharing a personal nickname accidentally and someone starts using it, except it’s literally not at all like that because it’s nonsensical and sci-fi-y and requires conjugating.

So far, I can say current Emma and past Emma are not fans. Future Emma has yet to weigh in.

shut up and dance

September 30th, 2015 by biscuit

I started a post about Pinterest and cultural appropriation like, half an hour ago, and it’s going nowhere. Tomorrow. Or, you know, soon.

So let’s talk about amazing songs instead, huh? Cause earlier tonight an excellent friend of mine who has been on the blog whose nickname I cannot quite conjure up at the mo’ finally quit the company that we both used to work at, and it’s been a long time coming, and he had one of those ‘hey congrats man!!!’ happy hours where if you’re an ex-employee you know a lot of faces and many fewer names and you drink a fair amount and answer the so-what-are-you-up-to-now question as quickly as possible because you’re going to lose them after the word statistician anyway. That makes me want to listen to songs.


Nathaniel Rateliff and the Nightsweats:

Elle King:

I’m not going to type the name of this band because I find it stupid:

Each amazing, yes no maybe?

why Irish

September 1st, 2015 by biscuit

Last post in regard to Irish citizenship for the mo’, I double plus promise.

(Also, I started a post about the dog park but somehow I ended up writing about adult strangers visiting kids parks and I’ve had a couple of glasses of wine, so I decided that post should probably wait.)

Why Irish?

Straight up, cause I can.

I know, that’s fuckin’ lame. Or fucking lame, if you’re not a g dropper.

If I want to move to an EU country and work there, I will be able to. Do I want to do that? No, because moving the dogs would be terrible and I love them more than I love the idea of living somewhere else. If I want to travel without being identified as an American, I can. Do I want to? Well, every time I open my mouth ‘I am American’ is the subtext, so that’s actually a lie. I can’t travel as anything but what I am.


No good reason.

Still damn cool.

things I thought I knew

August 31st, 2015 by biscuit

Here’s the promised twist: I didn’t actually get a passport from that whole process.

I know, minds everywhere are just blown.

Look, I know I’m overstating this, but I was so damn sure I was getting my passport. Like, I referred to the process as getting my passport, not my citizenship. In retrospect, that was dumb for many reasons, but if you can’t be honest about your failings on the internet …

(The end of that sentence was ‘where can you’. I’m sure you knew that, but I wanted to be clear in case you thought maybe I was implying something less predictable. I was not. I was going where literally every person who has ever gone ‘if you can’t do x in/on/at y …’ was going with the dot dot dot.)

Here was my logic. It is threefold. THREEFOLD, I say. First fold: when my mom went through her whole process, she got a passport. Second fold: my damn cousin (I call him that because he is moderately famous and therefore does not respond to my emails or facebook requests to tell me HOW HE DID THIS) got his passport when he went through the process. That one really set the bar, because his whole deal should have been exactly the same as mine. Third fold: I had to send them passport photos.

And here was my downfall. My mom was not applying to be on the foreign births register, so her whole deal was totally different. She didn’t even have to mail her application to Dublin, but rather got to pop it over to San Francisco. My COUSIN (I’m actually really irritated that he ignored me while I was investigating this. I’m older than him. And drank his mom’s breast milk, and vice versa, probably. I don’t know, that was a thing my mom and her sisters did.) travels a lot and possibly physically visited embassies. Also, I actually only have a guess of when he actually started, so it’s possible he went through this exact process. The passport photos? That’s still lame, Ireland. I don’t know what that was about. Crockett’s theory is that it was just the simplest way for them to define an identity proving photo, which I guess it makes sense that they would need?

OH! Guess what I forgot to mention? I had to get a lawyer from my office to sign the original application, because there’s no provision for a notary. The choices are, like, priest, school principal, police officer, bank manager, and lawyer. That’s who my Irish peeps trust.

So now I’ve sent an entirely separate application off for my passport. Boom. I’m a citizen so they’ll give it to me. That’s how that works. (I was about to say ”Merica!’ but that is completely irrelevant here! How often can you say that? (All the time. America is not everything. Easy to forget that when you live here. Oh my god I sound like Donald Trump. What am I even doing with my life.))

P.S. If you really are reading this to find out how the process works, follow the link from the first post and note that I sent my application in early February and got my birth certificate the final week of August. Plan accordingly.

blarney and … guinness and stuff

August 30th, 2015 by biscuit

Hey guess what I’m totally Irish now.

I realize that sounds like baloney.

(Hold on, googling the Irish version of ‘baloney’.)

I realize that sounds like bullocks.

(You know what, actual Irish people, I’m super sorry about all of this. I mean, I’m leaving it, but I am super sorry.)

So let’s recap. I don’t know how to use Irish slang and I am a dual US/Irish citizen. Both of those things are the absolute truth.

My maternal Grandma, the ever-patient mother-of-twelve Joan, was born in County Cork. That’s where Dublin is. (Did you know that? I did not previously know that.) Ireland, for reasons I cannot begin to explain (I think ‘they were super broke’ mostly sums it up but come on, darlings, I’m almost to my sounding like an idiot threshold for this post already and I have quite a few more things to say), has the easiest citizenship process for people who weren’t born there of any EU country. As in, if your grandparent was born there and never renounced his or her citizenship, you can make it happen. Compared to that lil sprint, every other EU country’s process is apparently a triathlon.

I did it. I have an Irish birth certificate (complete with my very Italian last name) in my hot sweaty hands, and one of those nifty red EU passports will join it in eight to twelve weeks.

I’m going to tell you, super quick, what I did just in case you want to do it too. Then we can all be Irish together!!!

***For clarity, what I’m talking about is getting yourself onto the Irish Foreign Births Register. As far as I can tell, once you’re on it, you’re legally as Irish as anybody else. The birth certificate they mailed me that was covered with words like ‘CLÁR NA mBREITHEANNA COIGRÍCHE’ and it’s getting me an EU passport, so, you know. Golden.***

First and very important: I think this was clear, but have an Irish grandparent. Otherwise, find out where your grandparents were from and try to get citizenship there instead. If it was America, try to join the DAR. It’ll be fun. Red white and blue rosette brooches, probably?

Then, you need to be able to prove that a) it is your grandparent, and b) that he or she is actually Irish. Here’s what I sent:

  • My grandma’s original birth certificate. It was bonkers, you guys. Like, of of those old docs that was busting at the edges and had (probably!) been written with a fountain pen. It was 1920. All pens were fountain pens. Astronaut pens (which is what we all use now in this futuristic year of 2015, right, guys?) weren’t invented until 1965. The name of the hospital she was born in had an appropriate number of vowels and consonants, but they’re in an order that makes no sense to my American English brain.
  • My grandma’s marriage certificate. Same deal, although somewhat newer, obviously. Old. Crackly. Originals only.
  • My grandma’s death certificate. Sad and also don’t know why, cause Ireland didn’t know she died and I could have applied while she was still alive. However, I sent it and was successful so … ymmv.
  • My mother’s birth certificate. I hadn’t really thought this through before, but obviously this was to prove the link between me and grandma. Duh. One of those fancy copies you get from the hospital. I don’t know if that counts as an original? When you say original birth certificate, I think the ones with the footprint on them. Is that a thing? Did I learn that from movies and it doesn’t even really exist? What IS EVEN REAL ANYMORE?
  • My mom’s marriage certificate.
  • MY birth certificate. Same deal as mom’s, originality wise.
  • A certified copy of my mom’s passport (Irish, because she had already gone through a simpler version of this process. However, nothing in any of the application documents stated that that was necessary. I could have done this with her American passport, theoretically.)
  • A certified copy of my American passport. With both of these, nothing made it clear that a copy was ok. All the info actually sort of implied that I should send the originals. However, I had to go to Mexico and mom didn’t want to hand over her shiny new passport, so I took a leap of faith.
  • A bunch of pain in the ass passport photos that I had to get taken at a specialty shop in Boulder. Around here, the normal places (FedEx, etc) couldn’t do the Irish ones, because they’re a very slightly different size.
  • A filled out application.
  • A buttload of money. (270 Euros. The application I filled out had a spot for debit card info so I filled that in, but in looking at the website I actually messed that up. The site itself says certified check or money order, and requests almost $50 more than I ended up paying. Whoops. Thanks for letting that slide, Dublin Embassy of Ireland! I DO NOT RECOMMEND DOING THAT, FOLKS. Send them a check.)

Did that wear you out, just reading it? It wore me out collecting it, and that’s after my family had done the hard work of getting all of my grandma’s stuff!

This is long, and there’s a twist coming. So.

Stay tuned for part two of Emma and the leprechauns! Coming soon to a theater near you.