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

Archive for February, 2010

little Bo Peep texted me – she wants her outfit back

Monday, February 22nd, 2010

Um, you guys?

I think I might want babies.

The whole baby thing has always been sort of a neutral issue for me. I never straight out said that I wasn’t going to have children, but I always assumed that I would either wake up one day with the ‘oh, it’s time to have babies now’ switch switched, or I just wouldn’t.

Until last year, I was scared of babies. They’re so lil and fragile and there are all the rules about what they can eat and they cry and people judge you for having plastic diapers or cloth diapers or no diapers (yes, the no diaper movement is a real thing in the world) and if you teach them languages or send them to the right school or the wrong school or no school… it’s a lot of pressure.

There are things that I always thought would be fun about having kids. Dressing them up, for example. Naming them. Teaching them that when you take a sip of a soda pop you’re supposed to say ‘ahhh’ and smack your lips.

Then, of course, there are the bihourly feedings. The actual process of giving birth. The little person who, unlike a dog, cannot be left alone when you feel like going out to dinner.

The concept that someone else’s temper tantrum might take precedence over mine.

But last night, I was playing with other peoples kids and I grasped, possibly for the first time, that parents are just people like me. They’re probably all scared of tantrums, right? But kids are people too! PARENTS AND CHILDREN ARE ALL PEOPLE JUST LIKE ME. (Shut UP, I never thought about it before.)

I had no idea. It somehow doesn’t seem so scary now.

There’s still the fact that I’m dating a wise, compassionate, dare-I-say feminist man who uses the phrase ‘kitchen pass’ when he’s talking about getting his buddies to come out on a weeknight, and that fact that being a mother and having a career isn’t something that corporate America is great at encouraging. There’s the fact that I’m almost 29 and that means I’m rapidly reaching the point where I would be in my fifties when I was paying for college.

And of course, there’s the fact that I’d have to explain it to my current babies.

And then today, Chewbacca and I had this conversation, out of the blue.

Chewbacca: you should have a bunch of kids….i think you would be a hip mom.

Emma: thanks dude. why do you say that?

Chewbacca: you like to bake. you get up early (at least you blogged something about that). you’re a runner so you will have an easy pregnancy anyway

Emma: I do get up early

Chewbacca: prolly have it in the tub between batches of cupcakes

Emma: hahahaahah. genius.

Chewbacca: plus….you are kinda filling up your weekends to keep busy…that is a sign that you are missing something in your life.

Emma: oh so you’re thinking like now, huh?

Chewbacca: to have kids… yeah you are overdue like a year or so. maybe 2. 25-29 seems to be the best window to start because all that goofy partying starts to loose its glam

Emma: hmm. Ok. you convinced me

Chewbacca: your boobs will prolly get bigger

Emma: yet another upside

It’s a sign. I either need babies or another dog and a boob job. I’ll decide pretty soon here.

Sunday Talky

Sunday, February 21st, 2010

There are several things to note about this week’s talky.

1) Yes, it’s very late.

2) It features several individuals who I simply adore, but those who regularly appear prominently in my life (Crockett included) somehow managed to disappear when I turned the camera on.

3) The refrigeration thing is a time sensitive inside joke.  I cross my heart that I will explain it once it’s public knowledge among those who care to know.

P.S. I apologize for my extremely loud behind camera laughter. Sometimes I just can’t contain myself.

the bee does quickly sting

Friday, February 19th, 2010

It’s that time again.


I’m a little slap happy, and it’s only 10 am. That probably does not bode well for the rest of the day, but it’s Friday and it has been a long and bad week. Sometimes slap happy is better than crying under my desk, ya know?

Anyway, it’s time to check in on my resolutions!

1) Not getting sick.

Well, I had a headache the other night, and today I have the sniffleus (which is my derby bestie Star’s way of spelling sniffles that makes me laugh every time I look at it – it simultaneously reminds me of Snuffleupagus and syphilis). Neither of those really count though, cause headaches are their own category and sniffleus in February are pretty much de riguer, right? So resolution 1: A.

2) Stop obsessing over cutting my damn hair.

Totally done. I haven’t thought about cutting it once.

Of course, I have seriously considered dying it grey. Or at least part of it. Grey is IN, baby. Resolution 2: C.

If it's good enough for Tavi, it's good enough for me!

3) Stop buying non-consumables.

AHhahahahahahahahah. Ahhaha. Hahah. Sob. Resolution 3: F.

4) Blog a minimum of five days a week.

I have been rocking this one like a crack addict rocks the rock. Or is the rock a meth thing? You understand what I’m trying to say, anyway. Resolution 4: A+.

5) Work on building strong friendships with women.

Let’s see. So far, I have gotten myself some GREAT new friends via derby, and lost at least one friend due to, as far as I can tell, scheduling conflicts. Yes, that’s a stupid reason. Somehow telling her that doesn’t seem to be helping.

My new derby friends are fan-fucking-tastic though. Witness:

emma: the roof of my mouth itches. how is that even possible

Star: That is the worst feeling ever

emma: that should be an itchfree zone

Star: agreed. also the bottom of your foot while driving

emma: oh hells yeah

Star: do you think if we started a grass-roots campaign to eliminate bottom of foot and roof of mouth itch we could get biology to listen?

emma: LOL

Nothing like a little ‘fuck you biology’ conversation to help the work day speed by. Resolution 5: B.

6) Perfect a photo ready smile.

Yeah, that's going SUPER well.

Resolution 6: D.

7) Be a grown up when it matters, and don’t when it doesn’t.

Eh. This one, as I anticipated, is the hardest. Deciding to quit derby was me being a grown up. Other things, not so much. Day by day, people. Resolution 7: ungraded, as grading myself on this particular resolution feels childish. (See what I did there? Heehee.)

Average: B-.

Could be worse. I’m going to buy myself a present to reward myself! We’ll worry about what that does to my resolution GPA next month.

an ode to my mommy

Thursday, February 18th, 2010

Today is my mother’s birthday. She is exactly 30 years minus one month minus one day older than me. My grandmother is exactly 30 years plus twelve months minus three days older than her. (What does this mean, you ask? It means I am destined to have an incredible daughter when I’m 30, OBVIOUSLY.)

She is, without a doubt, my favorite person. I mean, Crockett is my love, and my puppies are my soul mates, but my mom is hands down the coolest person in the world.

Big statement, you say? Well, let me explain the ten raddest things about my mom. I bet by the end she’ll be your favorite too.

  1. She used to ride bicycles, before I was born. She wore seriously rockin’ sunglasses while she did it and used to win like, all the time.
  2. When I was little, I used to insist that she was not my mom, that I had another family over the mountain that I wanted to go live with. She never put me on the front steps with on of those hobo/bandana+stick bags and told me to go for it, even though I was reallllly mean about it.
  3. She was in charge of all of the computers at the National Institute of Standards and Technology. That’s where they keep the atomic clock and like, the true foot. (12 inches foot, not the ‘one true foot’. I don’t even know what that would be. God’s foot, maybe?) The atomic clock and the laser that measures the foot are run by computers. Therefore, before she retired, my mom was in charge of all time and distance.
  4. The tiniest sprinter and I fight a lot about who is her favorite, but in reality she doesn’t have a favorite, because she’s just that fair and loving. Also, if she does have a favorite, it’s me.
  5. She’s really pretty and has super nice hair.
  6. She moved in 100 yards from me. Quite literally, she had all of … well, the world, I guess, to chose from, and she chose to move in 100 yards from me. Not because she wanted to be nosy or needy or any of those things that people who don’t know her suspect, but because we’re like total besties and make really good dogsitters for each other. It’s cool.
  7. She STILL rides bicycles. Her sunglasses aren’t as cool, but she still wins like, all the time.
  8. When she wasn’t riding bicycles, she was running. She and I ran the Title 9 9k race as a mother daughter team for three years in a row, and we got third the first year, second the second year, and first the third year. Then we quit because it really wasn’t fair to everyone else for us to keep going, obviously.
  9. Sometimes? Since she’s retired? She sits on the couch all day and watches movies on Netflix. Because she can.
  10. She’s the very best kind of goofy. The kind that holds up a can of tomatoes and a spatula with a toy bear magnet stuck to it and makes a funny face.

There you go. You want her to be your mom now too, dontcha.

Can’t have her, she’s all mine. Well, and the tiniest sprinter’s, I guess. Lame.

quitter le froc

Wednesday, February 17th, 2010

Ok, when you read this, please don’t be disappointed in me.

Roller derby is SO FUCKING COOL. I mean, it is amazing.

First, it’s a serious sport. If you thought it was about short shorts and girl on girl action, you’re not completely wrong, so if you’re planning on going to see it for that reason don’t let me stop you. But more than that, it’s about technique and strength and speed and lots and lots and lots of practice.

Second, it’s a sisterhood. Not only do you need to be sisters when you’re on skates, to anticipate and protect and assist, you automatically become sisters off skates. When I look at my 30+ new facebook friends on derby, their pages (and mine) are at least half derby, all the time. There’s even a VIDEO that a derby husband made about the sisterhood within our league.

Also, the clothes are pretty fab. Have you seen the shorts and tights my mom bought me for my birthday? No?

(Yeah, I just posted a picture of my ass on the internet. Everything my father warned me about has now come to pass – BLOGGING IS A GATEWAY DRUG, PEOPLE.)

So, speaking of derby, in case you haven’t yet seen where this is going… I’m quitting.

I have good reasons for quitting. My knee is ten kinds of fucked up, I’m smaller than everyone else and wussy about it, and my skates are missing. A stronger woman than I would power through – everyone who starts derby from scratch goes through some equivalent of this, but I am not that woman.

Here’s the thing. I like to try things before I decide they’re not for me. That makes sense, right? I mean, if I’d decided to try out for derby and then wussed out at or after the try-outs, wouldn’t I spend the rest of my life wondering if it woulda been my thing? That thing that I was insanely passionate about, that would help me mentally define myself?

I also tried out being an engineer. And a pastry chef. And working in manufacturing, and working in sales, playing rugby, and managing a small business. I like to thank my explorations in those areas for my analytical mind, my delicious cupcakes, my understanding of process, my willingness to fall down, and my ability to get strangers to do what I want. I wasn’t passionate about any of them, which is why I’m all corporate now. If you’re going to be neutral about your job, pick one that pays well (words of wisdom, courtesy of me).

I paint (sometimes). I write, obviously, but not in any way that makes a difference in the world or in my life. I have managed to keep several orchids alive. I’m not freakishly passionate about any of that, either, although I certainly enjoy it.

I am passionate about my puppies. I am passionate about Crockett (formerly known as ‘the boy’). I am passionate about my little dollhouse of a house, and I am passionate about the men and women that I love. I am passionate about running – maybe not competitively, but as a daily version of meditation.

I wanted so badly to be nuts about derby, but I’m not. I know there’s a possibility that I would like the actual playing more as I got better at it – maybe that’s more than a possibility, maybe it’s a for sure, but honestly I don’t really care. I want to hang out with my girls; I want to hang out with my mom and Crockett and my girlfriends; I want to re-read all of Robert B. Parker and Dick Francis (RIP); I want to heal enough to start running again.

I hope derby appreciated having me, albeit for not very long, because I certainly appreciated them letting me in. I will keep the clothes, for sure, and I’m hoping against hope that I’ll get to keep at least some of the girlfriends. (Ladies, if you’re reading this, DON’T LEAVE ME!!!)

You don’t really know me, my internets loves, and yet I’m worried that you’re going to judge me for this. I am judging myself. But it turns out I wanted to be a derby girl more than I wanted to play derby, and there are plenty of girls out there who want to do both. I bow to them.