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

Archive for July, 2010

Day 721

Friday, July 30th, 2010

It’s my last day of work.

Or as Crockett likes to call it, Emma Liberation Day (ELD).

I started here 721 days ago.

I was 27. Now I’m 29. I had short hair. Now it’s long. I hadn’t met Crockett. Now I’m in love. I was blogging sporadically and on myspace (gasp). Now emmanation is part of who I am.

I’ve spent close to 7% of my life working at this company.

I am so ready for something new, but this is the end of something that has helped define who I am.

Let’s all raise a glass to ELD, shall we?

it’s apocalypse week on emmanation

Thursday, July 29th, 2010

The reasons that I would rock the apocalypse like it was a 1982 casbah:

  1. As a small person, I could hide under or behind things that larger people couldn’t. Like rocks. And trees. And Army tanks. Also? I don’t have to eat very much.
  2. My dogs (obviously I wouldn’t go anywhere without them).
    1. They can find food from a half mile away, and they’re totally willing to share with me.
    2. They TOTALLY hate zombies and would kick the shit out of one if necessary. (I have no proof of this, but I think it’s a pretty safe assumption.)
    3. When it’s cold we could all snuggle.
    4. They would help keep me clean. With their tongues. (What? It’s not gross! They have clean mouths, and if I had to chose between being pretty with a little dog spit or all dirty I’d definitely go with the former.)
    5. I could stack them up on my head and people would think I was a) a monster or b) insane. Either way, they’d stay far away.
  3. My semi-problematic shopaholism/hoarding would mean that anything I might ever need, I’d probably have. For example, I have pans big enough to cook a human leg. Should the need arise. Which it wouldn’t. But still.

The reasons the apocalypse would turn me into a snivelling baby in 2.3 seconds flat:

  1. If there were bombs, they would probably ruin all the wine. And the grape vines. And then? NO MORE WINE.
  2. Probably? The same bombs that ruined the wine? Would also ruin the internet. NO MORE INTERNET.
  3. I only have six remaining pairs of contact lenses. After that, I’d have to wear MY GLASSES.

Clearly, all of those are tragedies. You can tell because I capitalized them – that’s the blogger code for tragedy. If you didn’t already know that, you’re welcome.

If we’re voting, I’m going to say ‘no’ on the apocalypse thing.

P.S. Every single time I’ve typed apocalypse in this post, I spelled it apolcalypse and had to go back and fix it. Stupid fingers.

palate cleanser

Wednesday, July 28th, 2010

I’m really excited for The Colony (even though in writing this I realized that I missed the premier last night).

What would you do in the wake of a global catastrophe? Even if you survived it, could you survive the aftermath?

Season Two of THE COLONY introduces viewers to a new group of volunteers with differing backgrounds, skills and personalities, to bear witness to how these colonists will survive and rebuild in a world without electricity, running water, government or outside communication.

Empty buildings, weedy streets and the backwoods are all the colonists have to work with as they scavenge essentials for survival from their surroundings while fending off threats such as wild animals and malicious outsiders.

I don’t know what it is about post-apocalyptic story lines that appeals to me so much. I, like everyone else, am pretty sure I’d survive… but not sure enough to sign up for this show.

These people are fucking insane.

I’d be selling my body for water by the second episode.

It’s exhausting being me

Tuesday, July 27th, 2010

We’re putting our serious faces on today, people.

Once or twice before, I mentioned that I take meds for anxiety. I have, on and off, for a couple of years. I started for complicated reasons, and I was scared to death of them, but they helped. I always sort of wished I could stop them because the idea of chemically altering my brain makes me feel sort of dishonest. As if I am cheating, somehow, by not playing the hand I was dealt.

While Crockett and I were sailing, what with the puking and stuff, I didn’t take them for a few days. I take a very low dose of Zoloft, if you’re wondering, and it’s kind of hard on my stomach, so adding it on top of the seasickness seemed like straight up medieval torture. By the time we got back to dry land and my insides had sort of evened out, I realized it had been a week since I’d taken them.

With the head start, I figured – hell, why not just quit?

Yes, for those of you who know, even on a low dose cold turkey isn’t the best way to do things. You do go through withdrawal, but my symptoms were mostly lost in the morass that was my inner ear hell. I don’t recommend it, although I did fine.

It’s been over a month, and I’m going back on, and I’d like to explain why.

Pretend you bought a new pair of pants. You look super cute in them. When you wear them to work for the first time, after half an hour you realize something is poking you in the side – a stiff fiber, a leftover plastic piece from the tab, who knows, but whatever it is is rubbing your skin every time you sit down. You feel for it but you can’t find it – you keep thinking it’s gone and then you switch positions and boom, there it is. You give up on finding it, thinking you’ll deal with it when you get home, but every time you move it scrapes you just a teeny bit. By lunchtime you don’t want to walk down the hall to talk to a coworker because you know it’ll rub the raw spot. By midafternoon you’re considering sneaking to the gym and changing into your workout pants.

At the end of the day, you meet your super cute boyfriend for a drink, and instead of the buffalo chicken wings you ordered the bartender accidentally brings you chili rubbed chicken wings.

You cry, right in the middle of the restaurant. You cry because you got the wrong wings and because you had an email fight with your coworker and least of all but also most of all because that DAMN POKEY THING IS STILL POKING YOU.

My anxiety is like that. It’s just a splinter that you can’t get out, and it makes everything else less tolerable. Feeling like that makes me cranky and being cranky makes me snap at people, cry more, and generally be less nice.

So. I’m going back on my pills. I do still feel, despite my best efforts, that there’s something dishonest about them, but I’m working on it. In the meantime, being splinter-free seems like a good deal for me, and being nicer seems like a good deal for everyone else.

It’s weirdly embarrassing and personal for me to tell you all this – like somehow this is a failing. It’s not, though.

If you do take medication, or you don’t but maybe should, I say embrace it. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. My brain is a little low on seratonin. If my blood were a little low in insulin, I wouldn’t be embarrassed about that shit. We are lucky to live now, when anxiety is as treatable as strep throat.

I would have been one bitchy cavewoman.

On a lighter note, I’m over at The Road today talking about how I’m going to avoid living under a bridge when I grow up.

I’m totally inceiving right now and you can’t even tell

Monday, July 26th, 2010

My love for Inception is not because of my overwhelming-and-verging-on-inappropriate love for Ellen Page.

It may be because my love for Joseph Gordon Levitt and my love for Cillian Murphy, when combined, is virtually unstoppable. (What? I like my men pretty – sue me.)

Really. I was saying dirty things in the movie theater, and I went to see it with Crockett and my mom – NOT, as you might imagine, the ideal audience for a running commentary of the things I want to do to those pretty, pretty men.

Of course, my  mom had similar feelings for Tom Hardy, so really it was only Crockett who was left out.

Although now that I think about it, when we got home, Crockett said, ‘Who was that woman who played DiCaprio’s wife? Marion Cotillard? Yeah, she’s all right.’

You don’t know Crockett, so let me explain. ‘She’s all right’ would translate into ‘dammmmnnnn that girl is fine’ in the mouth of a man who said things like that. Crockett is dignified and full of the deep thoughts and therefore says no such thing. Except sometimes about me. Because otherwise I cry a little, noisily and with lots of snot.

I bet Marion Cotillard gets snotty and weepy too sometimes. Probably.

Do you need more of a reason than lots of pretty, pretty people? If you’re that guy, that I don’t care about looks* guy, there are reasons for you too.

  1. There is fabulous (verging on magical) sciencey stuff. Even better, the verging on magical stuff isn’t over-explained or under-explained (I’m looking at you, Primer), and is instead slowly revealed piece by piece, right when you care.

    Gordon Levitt will Drink. Your. Shifting-gravity. Milkshake.

  2. There are takeaways. I double dog dare you to leave the theater without wishing you had a totem.
  3. Finally, the characters would be worth rooting for even if they weren’t so damn adorable. They have hopes and fears and goals, just like real people. Cept, you know, real people with the power to climb into your head and fuck with your dreams.

There are reviews galore, so I’m not going to bother with more. Instead, I might just go see it again – it’d be a better and more entertaining use of my time than answering programing questions like ‘3. IS THIS LINE A MEMORY LEAK OR DANGLING POINTER?’

*Liar. No one is impressed, dude.