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

Archive for July, 2009

olly olly oxen free, can you see me

Friday, July 31st, 2009

Apparently that comes from the German “alle, alle auch sind frei”, which means ‘everyone is free’. Did you know that? Did you care? Yeah, me neither. The only reason I know is because I googled it to find out if there was an acceptable spelling.

Yep, that’s how exciting my day has been. I’ve mostly surfed the internet between speaking with panicked sales people and researching the difference between Layer 2 and Layer 3 for a possible-sort-of-pre-job interview on Monday morning. Why on earth would I want a new job if my current one is THIS THRILLING, right? <sigh>

You know what IS making this a good day though?

The pure hilarity that is this. I know, he’s my brother, but if he weren’t I would still find this the funniest thing I’ve read since the infamous Whole-Chicken-in-a-Can article of last week.

Also – there’s this:

I think its unnecessary to explain where I fall in this diagram. (Humming take me .... owww-OOOWWWTT tonight as I type.)

I think it's unnecessary to explain where I fall in this diagram. (Humming "take me .... owww-OOOWWWTT tonight" as I type.)

P.S. Don’t forget to review An American Haunting with me, Tay, Sam, Dawn, and who knows what other awesome folks by Monday. We will not only post a link to your review, we will (likely) say fantastically complimentary things about you (unless you’re mean and/or not even a little funny. Actually, Sam will probably think it’s funny if you’re mean.) Post a link in comments or email it to emmanationblog at gmail dot com.

P.P.S. I write the email address like that because I heard from other bloggers that there are these creepy little internet robot thingies that will email you if you publish the address in a format they can read. Because I’m desperately afraid of internet robots and also still do not know if they’re considered Layer 2 or Layer 3, I’m going to try and avoid them for as long as possible.

as cool as I am I thought you'd know this already

Monday, July 27th, 2009

I just finished reading two separate articles about being a single woman. You can find them here and here if you’re interested, but they can be summed up pretty simply.

Lea Lane, from the Huffington Post, is a widow and has enough to do and enough love that the downsides of having someone else around (dealing with burping, messiness, compromise, indifference) don’t seem worth it to her. Therefore she’s not actively searching for someone. Megan, of my perpetual favorite Jezebel, read Lea’s article and added her thoughts. They both end with the idea that the unhappiness that comes from being alone is never as bad as the unhappiness that comes with being in a bad relationship.

Together, the articles are almost enough to make a girl feel bad about having a boyfriend. (Aside: I’m not calling my boyfriend the DB anymore because we were IMing and he used “DB” to refer to someone we both think is a douchebag. Then we had a moment of silence. Then I promised not to call him that anymore. It stood for Dear Boyfriend, I swear.) Lea and Megan list all the things I loved about being single, and they make it sound like a strong feminist choice.

Excerpts from Lea:

I’m satisfied that I’ve sowed enough oats to make oatmeal for the New York Yankees and still have some left over to feed the waitstaff at Tavern on the Green, with a few spoonfuls to spare.

I don’t want my heart broken again. Ever.

I have an iPhone that I can play with anywhere I go to keep me company and I can always share experiences with someone.

Megan adds:

Peeing with the door open.

I was too unwilling to compromise sometimes and too willing to at others.

I eschewed goal-oriented dating and “trying to find someone” in favor of seeing what happened with this guy, this time, one guy at a time (more or less).

I know they aren’t trying to say that women who did meet someone settled. It grates on me a little though – possibly particularly because yesterday I went to a baby shower with six women of my generation. They’re mostly in the middle of or just done with their second pregnancy – weddings are so far behind them that they’re now capable of joking about trading off husbands so that if any one of them feels like having sex (!!) that one woman can take the burden off the rest of them. Joking, I know, but still. I love those women and I know they are all as intelligent and independent as I am, but conversations like that kick off a ‘good thing I’m too _____ for that’ reaction in me. Fill in the blank how you wish – smart, in love, old, ambivalent about children, etc.

So if that’s the case, is that how Lea and Megan feel about me (or the equivalent Emma in their lives)? They see me reading fewer books, running fewer miles, splitting time with my friends and his, and do they think ‘good thing I’m too ___ for that?’

I want to go to bed when I want, even if that’s 8:30. I want to IM my girlfriends during dinner. I want to watch the new episodes of Burn Notice and then go back and start at the beginning for a little (ok, a lot) more Michael and Fiona. I want to flirt. I want to spend a whole Saturday painting pictures and hang them in the living room.

I want to show him my paintings though, and get cranky when he doesn’t like them. I want to laugh at how seriously we take the task of naming our trivia team – Suck It Trebek is our final decision, in case you’re interested.

I’m not about to jump ship. I’m just pondering the fact that a lot of smart women make the choice to stay out of relationships, and the fact that several studies have shown that marriage has a stronger affect on the happiness of husbands than on wives.  It’s either a new phenomenon or one that’s been getting more attention lately (my money is on the latter), and I’ve always thought of myself as cutting edge.

My final message to Megan and Lea, because I know they’ve been waiting with bated breath, is this. I was a single adult for a long time, so I know the joys they’re talking about. I’ve been a non-single adult for less time, but there is joy here too.


Saturday, July 25th, 2009

This makes me happy.


when I grow up I want to work at Alfalfa's

Wednesday, July 22nd, 2009

Or Great Harvest.

Of course, ideally, I’d like to be Ellen Page. I’m watching Hard Candy and man alive is she one seriously talented chick. I know she’s younger than me and also (obvs) living her own life, but I could be her too. I’m sure some scientist is working on that right now.

They arent kidding about the hooks thing. I just turned it on to keep me company while I folded laundry, and 43 minutes later Im camped on the floor in front of the TV unable to look away.

They aren't kidding about the hooks thing. I just turned it on to keep me company while I folded laundry, and 43 minutes later I'm camped on the floor in front of the TV unable to look away.

Plus this makes me want to cut my hair again.

Plus this makes me want to cut my hair again.

Anyway, this reminds me of the EMMANATIONTINIESTSPRINTER movie club!! We’re doing it yet again. Woo hoo.

The details, in case you’ve forgotten, are this. We take turns picking movies, and have them due roughly every two weeks so we always have one on board. If you’re a blogger who just happens to be reading this and you’d also like to review this movie, DO IT. Just post a link to your blog in any of our comments when you’re done, or you can email us at emmanationblog at gmail dot com.  This time our good buddy Tay is gonna do it too, and we say the more the merrier.

Tay recently posted a blog about the way he’ll be grading movies, and it inspired me. I don’t have my emmanation scale picked out yet, but I certainly will come up with something awesome before reviewing….

An American Haunting



American Idol (Or: How I'm learning to embrace my inner Sarah Palin)

Wednesday, July 15th, 2009

Sooo….. I auditioned for American Idol. If you were unaware of that fact, you must not be my facebook friend, or following me on twitter, or know me in real life – cause it’s pretty much all I talked about last week.

The story:

Being the rule follower that I am, I took the ‘arrive at 5 am’ dictum very seriously. I was probably about a quarter of the way through the arrivals, which means a mere 2500 were there at 4:45 when I got there. We were moved around pretty constantly from that point on – mostly between muddy grass and wet pavement, so that when the sun came up we’d be in the ideal videotaping location. This is apparently why it was good to arrive on time – the camera was pretty much always pointed in my general direction. Of course, there were 1000 people who are more than 5′ tall between me and it, but it was totally pointed in my direction. It was aimed at me while I yelled the following on command:

“Welcome to Denver!”

“Welcome to the Mile High City!”

“I’m the next American Idol!”

“NO,  I’M the next American Idol!”

Apparently this is all going to be part of some long intercity rivalry montage where Atlanta will yell that they’re the next American Idol, and then we’ll yell that no we’re the next American Idol, and then Dallas will yell that they’re the next American Idol, etc. Original, right? It was kind of fun, especially since it was still verry verry early. I was freezing cold but I made several new friends. These came mostly in the shape of Jason Gentile and Noah Micheal.

Jason Gentile. No, I did not take this picture that morning. This is the profile picture of his Myspace music page. Which is not to say its not a good picture.

Jason Gentile. No, I did not take this picture that morning. This is the profile picture of his Myspace music page. Which is not to say it's not a good picture.

Noah Michael. Also not taken that morning (obviously).

Noah Michael. Also not taken that morning (obviously).

Jason got top billing because he gave me a CD, in case you’re wondering. It had nothing to do with him having his shirt off in that picture. No, really.  I also met a super awesome chick named Sara. (In this particular case, by super awesome I mean unnecessarily bitchy.) She had a plaid dress and funky hair and cute glasses, and by rights I should have just adored her. Unfortunately, she opened her association with us by telling Noah that the bandanna he was wearing to show Texas love actually meant that he was gay and wanted to fist someone. She followed up that gem by inserting herself between Jason and I and turning her (pale, kind of chubby, spotty) back to me. Stay classy, Sara.

Annnnnnyhow. Eventually they let us into the stadium!! Oh my god then it turned so awesome!! Cause, you know, first, we did the “I’m the next American Idol” thing again. Then, we TOTALLY got to learn some harmonies to the Carrie Underwood song ‘Last Name‘ and sing it manymanymany times.  This did have the upside of allowing me to warm up. It also had the upside of letting me listen to 10,000 people sing about casual sex with someone whose last name you don’t know. Then the ACTUAL AUDITIONS STARTED. I know, you sort of forgot where this story was going, huh? Yeah, me too. Admittedly it was only about 9:30 at this point, but trust me, it felt like a looonnnngggg time.

Here’s how it works. They set up 12 tents on the far side of the stadium. See?

TENTSThey took us down row by row and split us into groups of four. Each group would head over to a tent, where Simon and Paula and Randy would be waiting. No, just kidding (haha I’m so freaking funny sometimes). Some random producers (who in my case were actually younger than me) would point at you, you’d sing for 15 seconds at MOST, then you’d get cut off and the next person would sing. Once all four of you were done, you’d either get a ‘you’ll be moving on’ or a ‘thank you, not this year’.

I have never been in a place where there were more unsubstantiated rumors flying around. I work at a telecom company and during LAYOFFS we don’t have that many rumors. Everyone wanted to establish a preemptive a reason that they wouldn’t get in, and the fat dude with the princess Leia bra would. For example – “Each booth is instructed to only let a certain type of person through”. That was my favorite, because that way, if you didn’t make it through, it wasn’t because you weren’t good enough. It was because you were a voluptuous female jazz singer and they were only looking for skinny rocker chicks. Or cowboys. Or people for Simon to mock.

I was in section 105. That seemed GREAT when we thought they were going to be starting with 103 and counting up… not so good when it turned out that they started with 103, then swooped around to 111 and started counting DOWN. I have no idea whose brilliant idea that was, but it meant I had 4+ hours to kill. I mostly used that time to a) not care when Ryan Seacrest arrived and b) get intimidated by the exceptionally talented people I was surrounded by.

I came thisclose to throwing in the towel, y’all. I was hot and tired and I’d experienced the American Idol phenomenon, ya know? But I was there, I’d taken the day off work, and if I quit my new friends would all know I was a pansy who couldn’t handle a little competition. Look at these tough girls, how could I have quit on them?

The extremely gorgeous Ellyn.

The extremely gorgeous student Ellyn.

The equally gorgeous CIA trained chef Brandy.

The equally gorgeous CIA trained chef Brandy. Also, some dude in the background who wasn't sure how comfortable he was with being in the picture.

So. Nine billion years later, I sang. And… I did not hear the dreaded ‘thank you, not this year’.

And I’m not allowed to talk about what happened then, or will happen next, should I continue. Honestly, at this point, I probably not going to do it. I want to be a pastry chef. This was exciting, but (like the titular Sarah Palin) I just kind of don’t feel like it anymore. People will pay too much attention to me, the rules will be too strict, etc etc. I’m a big baby, but ya know what? If it’s good enough for Sarah*, it’s good enough for me. I MAY still continue, I haven’t committed one way or the other, but I’m definitely leaning towards Emma-with-the-cupcakes and away from Emma-on-national-television.

Also, rumors aside, I was not in the top 400 singers in that stadium. Hell, I wasn’t the best singer in my group of 4. I don’t know what happened, but I appreciate it, you young producers, you. It makes me feel that, no matter what I decide, it was worth driving my ass down there at 4 am on a tuesday morning.

*I’m not what you would call a Sarah Palin fan, in case the sarcasm is a little thin here.

Ok, you talked me into it. A little more gratuitous Jason.