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

Archive for June, 2010

Back in the US, back in the US, back in the USVI

Wednesday, June 30th, 2010

I’m sitting in our hotel room in St. Thomas, waiting for Crockett to find food more appealing than both of us laying on the bed in the air-conditioning wearing nothing but… Well, nothing.
Clearly, it’s going to be a few minutes.
Tomorrow, I fly home. I am so fucking excited, you guys. So excited. I’ll get to see my puppies and my house and my bed and my cauliflowers that I’m growing even though I don’t really like cauliflower and am mostly growing because I like how it looks like brains coming up out of a leafy center.
Wait, what’s that you say? There’s no beach in Colorado?
Surely there must be one or two. I mean, I never looked before because I was unaware of how glorious a beach can be, so there’s probably one right up the street from my house and I just never noticed. Right?
New plan. Someone (Kim? Star?) put the puppies in a carryon and get your ass down here.
And if you think of it, bring my cauliflower.

Hilarious things you’ve missed

Thursday, June 24th, 2010


I couldn’t get into the dingy after snorkeling, because that shit is hard. Instead I VERY convincingly claimed that I wasn’t TRYING to do it THAT WAY, I have my own way that’s WAY BETTER.
My way resulted in (several) unexpected backwards somersaults directly into the ocean.

Turns out I do get seasick. And the place I laid down to ride it out was on top of the line that Cap’n Dave needed to raise the jib. I was (apparently) unrousable.
In other words, I am adored by my shipmates.
In my defense, Crockett threw up four times in three minutes on that same crossing.

Boat toilets are AHEM not ok. They drain INTO THE OCEAN. Like, directly. The eww of that is, well… ewwww.

We watched people play beach jenga – regular jenga but supersized – and theft thought you could take blocks off the top level. Honestly.

Crockett beat Cap’n Dave at beach Connect Four in five moves.

That’s all you’ve missed. Otherwise, this vacation is no fun at all. (Obviously I’m lying to make you feel better that you aren’t here. I hope that’s ok.)


Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010

Today, the island.
Tomorrow, the boat!
The airport was basically two gigantic converted warehouses. My seatmates on the way from Atlanta were (seriously) missionaries. Every store in town shuts down at 5 because that’s when the cruise ships pull out.

I love this place.

How jealous are you? This is the view from our balcony.

so much to say

Monday, June 21st, 2010

I now have all of the necessary skills to survive an apocalypse.

Bread baking and purse making.

Why yes, I did make this. From scratch.

And also this. From scratch. WITHOUT A PATTERN AHEM.

Crockett’s mom took me sewing machine shopping on Saturday, and I feel like a regular old pioneer woman. No (fairly simple) pattern is unsewable for these deft (and aided with the finest electronic sewing machine my meager funds could afford) hands.

Now that I have my beach bags, I’m ready for the British Virgin Islands. I leave on the red-eye tonight*.

If you’re considering breaking into my house while I’m gone, I see two obstacles for you. 1) You don’t know where my house is. 2) My wonderful dog sitting mother will be there. So blllphtttt.

Several weeks ago I intended to start writing an extra post every other day in order to keep emmanation updated while I was gone. Then, when that didn’t happen, two weeks ago I was going to write an extra post every day. Then, several days ago, I thought ‘well, I can pump out eight posts in a few hours, how hard can it be’.


So, for the next ten days (eight weekdays), emmanation will be dark. Unless there’s wifi somewhere. Which, how can there not be? This is AMERICA! (Except, the British part. Shit. Right. Well, you know what I mean.)

I love you and I will miss you and I will be back with photos galore.


*Why call it the red eye? You’re already flying at 1 am, why must they remind you that you’re going to look like hell when you land? I’m going to call it the last call flight instead. I think that makes it sound romantic and adventurous.

blah blah blah my life is so hard

Friday, June 18th, 2010

Ok SO.

I have this picture of me and Crockett from derby prom on my office wall. It’s wallet sized, but it’s right in front of my desk and we’re ten kinds of adorable in it (go look at my faces page if you don’t believe me).

So the other day I’m on the phone with this salesguy from wherever area code 503 is (I can’t currently be bothered to look it up because that would involve opening ANOTHER TAB IN MY BROWSER and IT’S FRIDAY SO NO). I’m explaining something to him about how if he had bothered to read the instructions that we helpfully provide to all sales people then he wouldn’t have had to call me in the first place, and then he fairly abruptly changes the subject.

“So you have some tattoos on your back, I heard.”

“Um….I’m sorry, what?”

“Someone told me that you have huge tattoos on your back, but I’m not going to tell you who. What are they?”

“It’s kind of a long story.” This was me trying to avoid talking about my tattoos with an out of state coworker who I would likely never meet. Because, why, amirite.

“Come on, you can tell me. I have time for a story.”

“Nah, they’re not a big deal. But really, who told you?”

“I’m not going to tell you unless you tell me what they are.” Because we’re in third grade, not corporate America (apparently).

I wanted off the damn phone, but more than that I wanted to know who on EARTH was talking to this sales guy about my tattoos, of all things. It’s not like I wear backless shirts to work – sometimes you can see them through my arm holes if I’m sitting at a desk and have taken off my cardigan, but that’s about it. I’m not ashamed of them, but neither am I nuts about them being a topic of discussion at my place of work.

“Fine. They’re wings.”

“That wasn’t a long story. What are they about, why did you get them?”

“That’s the long story part. It doesn’t matter. Who was talking to you about them?”

“Ok, Mikey McMikerson (not his real name). He thinks you’re hot, but I don’t know if you are since I’ve never met you.”

Really, HOW did I end up having this conversation at work? Really?

“Ok, thank you for telling me who told you. I’d appreciate it if you two didn’t discuss me unless it’s with regard to work, in the future, ok?”

“Oh, ok. So, do you have a boyfriend?”

Well, hell.

“I do.”



“I’m sorry, I have to run. If you have any problems with the work issue that’s the reason we’re talking, feel free to shoot me an email.”

I realize that people thinking I’m attractive is not in fact a bad thing, but this was just ridiculous. I don’t know how old this sales person is, but Mikey McMikerson is roughly my age and sits on the same floor as me, and I see him every day. Since I had this conversation with the salesguy, Mikey has been by my office several times for transparently trumped up reasons (Emma, do you know how to staple two pieces of paper together? You do? Can you show me?) and I don’t know what to do with it. QueenB had some brilliant advice on turning down unwanted advances, but he’s not actually making advances. He’s just talking about me to our coworkers, apparently.

Really, I don’t know what to do. Get a bigger picture of me and Crockett? Ignore him unless he actually asks me out (currently the plan)? Tattoo ‘not interested’ on my forehead? More ideas are welcome.