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emmanation

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Archive for July, 2017

If Dean Winchester Were Your Boyfriend

Monday, July 31st, 2017

Pouring one out for The Toast.

  1. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, his shirts would be your shirts, whether he liked it or not. “Babe, we haven’t hit a laundromat in weeks”, he’d say as you wrapped yourself up in one of his flannels. “You smell great,” you’d tell him and mean it.
  2. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, most of your meals would be eaten on the road. For your health, your brother-in-dating Sam would constantly watch what you ate. If you ordered a burger and milkshake, he’d detour to the kitchen and make sure the shake ended up with a few handfuls of spinach in it. When you found out, he’d ask how you thought Dean made it to 40 while never willingly ingesting a vegetable.
  3. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, you’d teach him the names of older musicians he’d never heard of so he could use them as fake names when he ran out of 80s musicians. He’d pretend to just take the information as handy, but later you’d catch him listening to Dead Man’s Curve on youtube.
  4. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, he would tell you that you never had to worry about being attacked by demons or witches. Every time you bought a new purse, though, you’d find almost immediately that a knife had been sewn into the lining and an anti-hex hex bag had been tied to the handle.
  5. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, you’d get the kind of attention in bars that you’d previously thought was a myth. The two of you would walk into anywhere and every server in the room would see him and be available all night for your every need. He’d tell you he thought you were teasing him when you told him most of the world didn’t get that kind of treatment, but then he’d wink at you and do a shimmy to whatever song was playing on the jukebox.
  6. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, the first time you got a panic attack because you met an angel he’d bring you a beer and a quarter of Xanax and tell you to play checkers with Cass. “You can’t be scared of angels once you see they have no sense of humor,” he’d tell you, and then he’d punch you in the shoulder and mouth ‘be yourself’ to Cass behind your back.
  7. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, he’d use his hunter network to set up an elaborate birthday surprise for you. Every place you stopped on a road trip would have a booth reserved and a different colored balloon tied to your seat. You’d suspect it was partially Sam’s idea, but that wouldn’t matter because Dean would grin every time he saw your huge smile.
  8. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, his mom would try to make you tough and Dean would get mad at her every time. “She doesn’t need to know what it feels like to slice her palm for a blood sigil, Mary,” he’d say. “I’ll always be around.”
  9. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, he’d learn what ‘woke’ and ‘kyriarchy’ mean and you’d sometimes hear him explaining them to other people. Afterwards he’d tell you dejectedly that he wasn’t sure he’d overcome his buddy’s idea that women make less money because they don’t know how to ask, and you’d kiss his neck and take him out for a piece of pie.
  10. If Dean Winchester were your boyfriend, the world probably would have ended by now. If it did, though, he would have been thinking about you while he did something insane to try to save it.

 

parting gifts

Monday, July 31st, 2017

Something that I loved very dearly popped back into my life last week, and then went away again, and it’s all VERY TRAUMATIC.

The Toast was the best website ever.

Don’t  take my word for it. This isn’t one of those goofy things that I love that has a niche following (like jokes about elephants in refrigerators and Zillow alerts for two-to-three bedroom houses with at least two bathrooms in very specific areas of LA). The Toast was an amazing project mostly undertaken by two women, who funded it with personal money because the internet is hard and sucks, and finally they had to quit. If you didn’t hover those links above, one of them is a goodbye post written by Hilary Clinton. Hil.Ar.Y. Clin.Ton.

(Ok, fine, it’s a niche. A really nice, cozy, smart, funny niche. I can think of worse things.)

The Toast closed last year because despite donations and I think some ads? they couldn’t afford to keep it going. I was genuinely very, very sad. Such a small writing staff made me feel like I knew these women, and I missed them when they were gone.

Then tiny hands trashfire did his thing and I had other things to worry about, but.

BUT.

Last Wednesday, The Toast threw eight new posts into the world. Just a hi howareya, nothing permanent. It was lovely but also gave me those sad feelings you have when you forgot how well something fit into your life. When you can’t have it, you get used to being without it and sometimes you even think gosh maybe it wasn’t even that good?, but then BOOM. It was that good.

I am the woman who went into a tailspin when my favorite band broke up. I am the woman that was so distraught on Twitter when one of my favorite authors died that TWO other famous authors privately messaged me to share my grief.

There’s a message here. Is it that I should be a less emotional person?

Or is it that The Toast should come back?

(I know what I vote.)

NB – I was going to write a ‘if X was your Y‘ post in remembrance/honor/cause I wanted to, but I couldn’t think of who to write it about. Riz Amhed? But that’s just because of the Charlie XCX Boys video. Crockett? Myself? (If Emma was your girlfriend … hm. Actually, that could be fun.) Angel from Buffy? Idris Elba and Mary-Louise Parker are taken already. I’ll think on it.

Something is better than nothing, but also sometimes something is ow.

 

 

 

 

lil sebastian

Thursday, July 13th, 2017

I MET A TINY HORSE TODAY.

Work does this thing called ‘summer of service’ (patent pending for my work because literally no one has ever said those words in that order probably and the insta and twitter hashtags are all stolen from my work prolly right? right). It means they organize a bunch of volunteer opportunities that take place during working hours, and they encourage people to participate in them with pay.

No snark, it’s super.

Today’s volunteer thing was to go to a historic site in Longmont, Colorado, and paint a bunch of very old buildings white. Well, repaint. They’ve been white off and on for like 100 years I think? I joined the day and the painting enthusiastically but wasn’t really listening during the history explanation. In my defense, it was sunny and there were two donkeys and two white cows and two pigs and two goats and two sheep and two Belgian horses….

and one mini horse.

Now that I’ve laid it out, does it feel a lil ark-ish? If the ark were built by a mini horse hater?

Did you know pigs run around like dogs sometimes?

We primed and painted a milk house (house with a water channel through it that keeps everything cold), a garage, some fencing, and … a building that we never saw inside of so I’m assuming it’s a parks department park hangout and was filled with video games and mini fridges.

The people who came from my work were mostly fun, mostly young, and mostly women. Coincidentally, the man the parks dept sent us was (takes a deep breath and tries to be a lady) very attractive.

I had a great time. Nothing like being the only woman with a wedding ring in a group to make you not care if you look like an idiot in front of a parks guy. Everyone else was maybe a tiny bit thirsty (including this very little man I’ve never seen in our building who brought his own ladder for gold stars, I guess? He *got* the gold stars from the cute parks guy, too, which means next volunteer day he’ll show up with a ladder and his own primer, probably.)

Despite my fab time, I was left with two questions.

First, can mini horses breed? I don’t really know how horse junk works. If they can, then I strongly object to the farm only having one mini horse.

Second, do insects have a sense of smell? The number of bugs I saw walk into pools of wet paint today leads me to believe that no, they do not, but also how do they find food and flowers? I’m oversimplifying? I’m oversimplifying.

Third (of two, shut up), what is whitewashing? (Tom Sawyer wise, not Oscars-so-white wise. That I get.)

(Today in Emma’s life, see ‘questions that can be answered by googling’.)

I miss my new donkey and mini horse friends. Who wants to move to a farm with me?

cursed

Thursday, July 6th, 2017

Oh hai I got a new tattoo.

So did my mom – same thing, opposite arm.

Our reasons were manyfold (not a real word probably? But didn’t get spellchecked plus language is a constantly evolving medium and anything’s a word if you get enough children to clap while you say it.)

First, I wanted a tattoo. I was just feeling that itch. I wanted something major, and I also wanted something simple. I’m a big fan of words and I was ready to commit to ‘patience’ along my collarbone, but … things went a different direction. Obviously.

Second, my mom is going to be 70 in four years, and she’s going to be fully covered in tattoos by the time that happens (citation needed).

Third, she and I had actually discussed this after my grandfather passed away eight years ago, and then again after we lost my grandma, and somehow it just seemed like time. We had only two blurry pictures of what we wanted, but we took it to an artist I’ve used before and he squinted out his best interpretation.

Image-1 (2)

Here’s the deal as I understand it. (Grandma and Grandpa, if you’re fact checking from the afterlife then … I’m sorry but probably you should have told me the story yourselves instead of trusting the telephone game that is your twelve children to tell it for you.)

They got married when my Irish grandma was a mere babe (in more ways than one *wink* (ew)) and my grandpa was in the Air Force (or the US Army Air Forces, at the time, because there wasn’t an Air Force yet). He’d been stationed in Egypt and she went back with him after the wedding, and he bought her the necklace you see above from a dealer in Egypt named Maguid Sameda. I know this because I’ve got a terrible photo of the paperwork Sameda gave my grandfather on purchase. Here’s what it says, medium (it’s an old school form so some is printed and some is handwritten in a brutal script, I’ve transcribed it as well as possible):

I the undersigned, Maguid Sameda, guarantee that the necklace with the cat of goddess Isis sold by me to Mr L W P- (ed: L Wildman!) on 11 (September?) 1943 is Genuine.

The object is of the 16th Dynasty BC 1600.

Found at the (?) of the (?, ?) of queen (?), 1943, and was added to my collection of antiquities on 1943.

Interpretation of art or heliographic inscription

The cat represents Goddess Isis Goddess of love who is worshipped by the greeks as venus There is a great resemblance in Cat and a woman for that they made the Cat her sacred animal

This guarantee is given to ensure that the above described object can be examined at any of the world Museums.

No 1 Fouad Street, Maguid Sameda, Egyptian Museum License No 108

So, my original understanding of the story was that at some point our family had been like ‘heeeeeyyyy is this a real thing from 3600 years ago orrr…..?’ and shown it to someone, but I think we actually have just been trusting this paperwork. Which is not unreasonable, because it turns out that a huge amount of Egyptian antiquities that are currently totally legit have passed through Maguid Sameda’s hands. (Ex: this wacky statue and this codex, among many others.)

Crucially, also, this relief from the tomb of Akhtihotep.

Tomb.

So, the first word that I couldn’t identify above looked sort of like nelly. Or … belly. Rally? Then there was something about a table, maybe? Here:

the words

The first word starts with a … n? W? Does anyone see something I don’t? It’s DEFINITELY NOT TOMB, though, right?

I mean, here’s the thing.

If this came from the tomb of some queen …. probably I shouldn’t have tattooed it into my skin. I don’t believe in curses, per se, but also I 100% believe in curses. My family’s been ok, so far (although, gruesomely, husbands of daughters actually  don’t have the best survival rate now that I think of it?) but what if there’s something about ink that really kicks it into high gear?

Seriously, what’s that first word.

Also, I don’t know where the necklace is so please don’t report me to the Egyptian museum. If I ever inherit it, I’ll send it over immediately for a promise of a curse free existence. Promise.

 

thanks, that was fun

Sunday, July 2nd, 2017

I wonder if I was any good when I sang in a band.

Indications that I *was*:

  • The boys whose band it was actually let me join and I did audition first and everything
  • People clapped?
  • Sometimes people bought me drinks?
  • We were in a battle of the bands and didn’t get kicked out after the first round

Indications that I wasn’t:

  • Literally everything above can be explained by the fact that I was a 24 year old woman who was willing to wear short skirts and wholesomely flirt with a whole room full of people simultaneously (<- real skill, still have it … think I could spin a TED talk outta that?)
  • WE DID PRIMUS COVERS – how could I possibly have done those well? Primus is a) not meant for a female alto and b) the worst

I was going to see if our old website was still out there so I could glory in pictures of myself in pinstriped skirts and mens ties as belts, but there’s a new band in Denver that seems to have co-opted our name. Which is weird, because The Take didn’t make that much sense as a name the first time around – we were constantly having to explain it. The boys were constantly, constantly high and I think they came up with that and ‘Barefoot Dan’ and made me choose between the two options. Actually, I guess it’s pretty reasonable to think that the new The Take got there the same way …

I’m going to start a new band, and it’s going to be me playing guitar as well as possible (so, you know, poorly) and doing nothing but solo versions of Barenaked Ladies covers. I *am* going to call it Barefoot Dan, because I have no better ideas.

If THAT takes off, we’ll know I’ve got skills and the sky’s the limit, babies.