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Archive for May, 2014

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Thursday, May 29th, 2014

I think it’s about time to share that one comment. The one that STILL RANKLES. Comments in brackets are mine but I tried to keep them to a minimum.


I don’t normally read your blog for the same reason I don’t watch reality tv. Your vanity and pretension are so absurdly high that they almost appear scripted. [I cannot overstate how much I love that part.] I get that that is somewhat the point of your blog, but I’ve met you in person and sadly life imitates art way too closely. One of your other readers [implying that people all over the place are talking about my blog would only work if I didn’t know there’s like ten awesome people who read it and two are related to me – I think our critic here had me in RSSpointed me to this post and I just had to comment.

A few points: Since you ramble it was difficult to pin down your main argument [the post this comment was on is here but was regarding my irritation with myself for taking a health test at work when I didn’t necessarily agree it was something that should be offered, and it was absolutely rambley- good call mean stranger], but it seems you are mostly concerned with invasion of your privacy, specifically your weight and cholesterol levels. First of all, understand that privacy is already lost when you blog indiscriminately about every little thing that upsets you on the internet. Now, you almost [so closedid the right thing and accepted responsibility: that your own greed for the princely [of or held by a princesum of 150 dollars led you to an embarrassing [embarrassed and irritated are not synonyms] couple of minutes at a health screening (295? Yikes, don’t make holiday plans!) [imminent death to me ahahahah fuck you]. But it is imbalanced by your diatribe about ulterior motives and intrusive company policies. While it is possible the company benefits monetarily from hosting health screenings, you have only suspicions, not facts. Why is money an acceptable excuse for you ($150), but not your company (probably more than $150?) I guess if you can cave, so can ‘Big Brother,’ yes? [All of this is a way of saying ‘I don’t agree with you’. I’m not sure I agree with myself either. But you didn’t have to be a dick about it.]

A couple other laughable points: The health screening was in the morning and you posted this before close of business the same day [This is true. I wrote the post and fired it off at lunch]. Safe to assume you aren’t always “doing your damn job.” It’s also known you routinely work from home and have others do your work by proxy. So please, don’t complain about your company’s attitude toward your attendance. [The work by proxy thing? I have no idea. I worked from home when allowed which wasn’t very often. Someone was grinding a confusing axe that I wasn’t aware existed.]

[Most interesting thing to note with regard to the preceding paragraph regarding my posting from work? The comment was posted at 9:08 am on the weekday following my post and is admittedly by a coworker. Plus I’m not an idiot (read: I asked someone how to do this) and I looked at the source IP address and found that it came from my office building. How long did this damn thing take to write, huh, meanie-pants??]

Also, if you’re your father’s daughter, shouldn’t you blame him and not your arteries? Sounds like this bad news was nothing you shouldn’t have known already.

You. Spoiled. Brat. [The opening three sentences are my favorite part, but this is a close second.]

Yours truly, A critic

I suspect I know who this was, honestly. Well, one of two or three people. I don’t work with any of them anymore. Upside.

Wednesday, May 28th, 2014

So I’m maybe about to buy a house.

For myself and the girls.

All by myself.

Because I am a grown up and it’s a GREAT little house.


  • It’s not built yet so I get to play with tiles and counters and cabinets and stuff instead of taking whatever someone else picked out.
  • It’s got a little yard. Enough for one lady Agnes to run around in, small enough that I can probably mow it with scissors in a pinch. (That is patently untrue.)
  • It’s got plenty of room (two bedrooms with an unfinished basement where I could put a third if I wanted!) but not too much.
  • It’s close to work and my parents and a little town that isn’t Louisville but is still pretty cool.


  • It costs approximately one billion dollars plus possibly a promise to rent out my womb space, it’s not entirely clear. Every time I start thinking about how much money it is my brain just skips over it like a rock on a lake where my brain is the lake and the rock is all of my money. I mean TECHNICALLY I can afford it, but damn yo.
  • Plus it’s not built yet!!

So, when I was seventeen (‘lil Emma, I have one piece of advice for you: don’t wear your hair like that. It’s terrible. Seriously.) I changed my mind about where I wanted to go to college late in the summer, and the dorms at my intended school were full.  My mom and I found a room that wasn’t too far off campus with two older male students and as I type that out I’m frankly shocked that she was going to let me live there. It must have been how bad my hair was. She assumed I’d be completely safe from the attentions of the opposite sex, no matter how flirty I got. Bad haired ‘lil Emma was pretty boy crazy.

Like a week later we found out that I DID get a place in the dorms (where my roommate was kind of icky and I’m pretty sure looked at porn on my computer while I was out of the room) and I was so excited. I kept thinking about how I was going to carry my stuff in a little caddy to the shower room and how I’d go back and nap between classes and other tiny inconsequential detaily things that just tickled my little brain. I was worried that I was going to wear off the actual funness, though, so I intentionally stopped thinking about them.

When I finally went I wasn’t excited anymore at all.

I’m not going to intentionally not think about the funness of having a big ol’ brand new house, that’s a mistake I’ve checked off already. But what if by October (projected completion date – I saw the hole in the ground where it will go today!) I’ve worn the newness off with my brain anyway? What if I move in and it’s like oh right this is exactly like I imagined for six months and therefore not even a little fun anymore?

So. Pros and cons. I sign the contract on Saturday so I should probably stop skipping that damn brain rock, huh?

ruff ruff

Monday, May 26th, 2014

When the girls (dogs) are scared, they bark.

Well, Agnes always barks. Maida always barks and sometimes simultaneously cowers. It’s got to be damn terrifying being a ten pound animal in a world of big footed people.

I am currently a little scared. Fortunately, no one I know lives in Miami and even if they did, 200 years is a long time.

And yes, more scared. What I really want to know is why is the sugar daddy question (#5) unanswered? I’ll go ahead and answer for Cosmo: “Yes, if you’re self aware enough to know exactly what you’re asking for. And you’re probably not, because come on, who is.” Mostly I’m scared because I’m not a twenty-something and this is COSMO and I’m still asking myself some of these questions.

Ok, mostly the bangs one.

Barking my head off over here.

But would I look cuter doing it with bangs?


Thursday, May 22nd, 2014

I ordered some pants from J Crew recently. (I cannot say enough good things about the Campbell capris, if you like pants that show your ankles. I love pants that show my ankles, they make me feel like Audrey Hepburn. I am not the first person to say that, I’m completely sure.)

Aside: I wear a lot of J Crew. I just checked my spreadsheet and the last work day that I was NOT wearing anything from J Crew was May 7th. The last work day that EVERYTHING I wore was from J Crew was May 1st. J Crew neither knows nor cares about this.

Aside aside: Yeah, I track my clothes on a google doc. I have a tab that has my whole wardrobe along with the date purchased, the suggested price, and how much I actually paid (almost exclusively less than the suggested price, whatup yo). The tracking tab references the wardrobe tab, so the wardrobe tab also has a price per wear column. It’s a serious problem. I only use it for stuff I wear to work, because my nighttime clothes are basically one pair of jeans and ten dollar tee shirts.

So these pants I ordered have a seam that’s unraveling, and due to a recent debacle in the changing room of my local J Crew (nothing to see here, move along folks) I don’t want to return them in store. I’m mailing them back tomorrow. (Yes, it was a debacle worth the $5.95 they’re going to charge me in return shipping. Still not talking about it.) I found an appropriately sized box, wrapped the pants up, and then went looking for a pen to fill out the return form.

I have no pens. Or pencils.

The only writing utensils I have anywhere in my apartment are a relatively sharp green crayon and a flat topped blue crayon.

That is not an adult way of life.

I have shame.