Image 01

emmanation

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

Archive for the ‘I think I'm funny’ Category

who has everything

Wednesday, November 23rd, 2016

Did you know that Gwyneth Paltrow thinks that anything under $100 is a stocking stuffer?

See, she’s published her Goop Gift Guides.

God I love her.

Like, a tiny notebook for $8 that’s meant for only good things? That is damn adorable. Actually, basically EVERYTHING in the Stocking Stuffer guide is something I’m kind of into.

Here we go. Top three from each category, for any reason. (Unless I get tired and decide to add the rest to tomorrow because this is nablopomo. No need to overburn my candles.)

Stocking Stuffers:

  • Who the fuck knows what a toothbrush stand even is?? It looks like your toothbrush inherited Peter Pan’s shadow, sort of. Plus, why is it dark grey? You know what isn’t dark grey? Any and all toothpaste. (Except for those people who brush with actual charcoal … wait. Obviously GPal brushes her teeth with charcoal. Mystery = solved.)
  • Koi you … draw with? Why do I not understand anything on this list?
  • THIS IS AMAZING. It’s a flask that … changes? Is my use of ellipses going to just get more aggressive as we move into the wackier parts of this list? (Although “something called hydroforming” is sort of insulting, GPal. Hydroforming literally means formed by liquid and also now that I remember the long forgotten part of me that got a bachelors in metallurgical engineering I’m like 99% sure she means each flask is different, not that your flask changes. That’s not how metal works. Thanks, CSM metallurgy department!)

The Cook Gift Guide

Under 18 Gift Guide

  • I have questions for this child’s father. If you make your kid wear a shirt proclaiming your status as a feminist, your wokeness is in question.
  • Do you buy this expensive Salinger box set if you already suspect a kid is going to assassinate someone, or if you’re hoping to nudge them in that direction?
  • I don’t understand this $1500 Flinstone’s contraption, but that might be me being an old? Plus, does anyone else want them to have called a plank with a wheel in the middle something more original than OneWheel? WE CAN COUNT.

Health Nut Gift Guide (<- ‘nut’ is insensitive, GPAL)

  • I mean, would I take a $700 juicer that promises no cleanup because you also order the juice packs from them and they just squeeze everything out? Of COURSE I would. But then I’d find out my beloved Spicy Greens packs (Spicy Greens would be my fav in this theoretical world where this happens) are $7 a pack, and I’d realize it’s cheaper to buy juice from the store. So not only would the juicer not be paying for itself, it would actually be increasing my juice debt every time I used it. Juice debt. Something I would never have considered if not for GPal.
  • OH, this tiny bag of crystals. My inner goth teenager wants it super bad, but also it’s nine rocks for $85. You can get a rock polisher for $65! With rocks! CALM DOWN INNER GOTH TEENAGER.

There are ten categories. TEN. I’m doing one more and then calling it a night.

The Traveler Gift Guide:

  • Full disclosure. I own two James Perse dresses and find them worth the $100+ dollars for a jersey dress, that that’s something I didn’t see coming until I actually tried one on. That being said: a James Perse $995 blanket. Do I want it? YES. Would I EVER take it on an airplane where other people could touch it and germs could get on it and it would get worn out and eyeballs themselves would wear it out? Are you fucking kidding me, it’s a thousand dollars. It would live in a closet where I would read books and no one but me and my books and occasionally white (NEVER red) wine would be allowed. And La Croix, I guess, but still. This is not a reasonable gift.
  • This says ‘hello handsome’ in it. It is not only reasonable but fantastic. Let’s ALL buy this dop kit for our favorite boys.
  • No. Bad. Everlane, guys. I have the Everlane Weekender and to be fair mine is a stripey mustard one that was the best and apparently you can’t buy it anymore? But still don’t give GPal $400 for this bag. Don’t. So many bags in the world.

Next time on ‘inside Goop’ (Friday, I think), gift guides for lovers, hostesses, people who like things that are personalized (true), thinkers, and ‘the ridiculous but awesome’ guide. That one has a yurt. A YURT.

 

 

twenty minutes

Tuesday, November 22nd, 2016

I’m still thinking about David Blaine. I have a theory.

So, his wacky physical stuff can be explained by him being disciplined and willing to push his body farther than any normal person ever would. Like, he trained himself to hold his breath for seventeen minutes or some equally ridiculous shit. On the Netflix special, Crockett and I saw him teach himself to drink gallons of water, then kerosene, then spit them in reverse order onto an open flame.

Basically, physically he makes very poor choices but some of them look neat.

The other thing he does all the time, though, I am stymied! Or was, until I came up with my foolproof theory. The thing I’m talking about is the audience participation thing. He’ll have someone sign a card, then that same card will turn up in that person’s inner pocket. He’ll have someone think a name, and then that name will appear on the inside of the window of the store they’re standing in front of.

There’s only one solution.

He can see, like, twenty minutes or so into the future.

Think about it. It’s not really far enough to do much useful, and he doesn’t quite seem like the selfless type anyway. I mean, COULD he sit in the ICU and tell doctors when someone is pre-crash? Sure, but how would that bring in the ladies? Could he travel with SWAT teams and tell them when a situation is going to go south based on their current course of action? Totally, but SWAT members make, what, like high five figures? That ain’t Vegas money.

Short of googling how those tricks are done (which I have no interest in doing because it’s likely to be either technically complicated or prosaic and I’m not into that), this is the only explanation.

Right?

*Pats self on back*

fish burps

Saturday, November 12th, 2016

I feel like someone told me once that dogs can’t burp. Is that right? Did they actually say cows and I heard dogs because if you squint cows are basically big dogs that we’re ok with eating for some reason? My dogs burp, anyway, so if they’re not supposed to be able to then maybe somebody wants to study them – hit me up in the comments and we’ll work out a price in dog cookies and beers.

I also burp kind of a lot. I don’t know if it’s more than a normal person or if normal people are just better about not doing it out loud, and it’s a hard thing to bring up in conversation. “Excuse me, ma’am, I see you’re drinking a beer. Are you silently burping when you look down towards your lap, or are you immune to delicious bubbles in your digestive system?”

I don’t cover my mouth anymore when I burp around Crockett. I used to, because it seemed sort of rude, but it’s a pain and also I think perhaps my desire to do so was informed by the differing societal expectations of men and women and my patience for that shit is rapidly converging with DOES NOT EXIST.

The thing is, Crockett doesn’t burp around me, and there are three possible reasons:

  • he’s not a natural (the ‘like I am’ was meant to be implied but it didn’t come across so I’m pointing it out you’re welcome)
  • he suppresses/subtles his burps around me to be polite in a way that has nothing to do with me being a lady, and would do it around anyone
  • etc except in a way that *does* have to do with me being a lady, and he does not and would not do such around his friends
  • or fourth he suppresses because he’s worried I won’t love him anymore I guess? but based on my burp frequency that would make him a loon so we’re discounting this one out of hand

In the name of science, I’m going to feed him a couple of Coors Light’s (high carbonation according to these experts) and sit on his lap while we watch a movie or something. Don’t worry, I’ll pay him with more beers (and dog cookies, if he wants them).

you have reached your final destination

Friday, August 12th, 2016

Crockett got on a airplane without me yesterday. He’s now in the UP for family love and various two-wheeled-foot-powered shenanigans.

(Did I mention he did very well in a 68 mile mountain bike race at NINE THOUSAND FEET recently? I didn’t?? What kind of proud pre-wife am I, honestly?)

Maybe ten minutes into his flight, he started smelling smoke.

Then chicken.

Then the pilot turned the plane around and landed back in Denver because some birds had met an unfortunate end and the plane needed to be poked and prodded before it could be allowed to continue on to it’s final destination. It was fine, he’s where he needed to be, and Southwest has graciously credited him back part of his purchase price without him even asking. All around, it could have gone considerably worse.

Which leads me, in a round about way, to the very fine Final Destination films. I cannot be the only one who thinks of them every time I’m in a airport bathroom and I notice music being piped in, can I? I mean, it’s never John Denver (that I’ve noticed), but still – every damn time. Don’t even get me started on when I see a truck with logs in the back on the highway.

Final Destination: Plane crash. Not birds. Electrical failure? I’ve seen it 10000 times and the fact that I don’t know what the reason for the crash is means that it’s v v unimportant. The best death sequence, hands down, is the teacher when everything in her house is trying to kill her like they’re the cartoons from Beauty and the Beast except instead of cleanliness they’re focused on fate and nothing but sweet, deadly fate.

Final Destination 2: Enormous car crash on the highway, started by logs falling off the back of a big ol’ trucks. Wait, not logs. Trees. Redwoods, basically. The survivor from the first film teaches everyone there is no ‘safe’, there is only paranoid and doomed.

Final Destination 3: I HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS ONE. Trust me, I’m rectifying that wrong as I type these words. Roller coaster malfunction, in case you’ve sadly missed it as well.

The Final Destination: Basically a NASCAR crash that sends deadly detritus into the stands. I’ve seen it but remember nothing. Based on the name, I think they expected this would be last. Twas not to be.

Final Destination 5: Bridge collapse! Everyone loves a bridge collapse. I think I’m mixing this up in my head with The Mothman Prophecies.

It’s been five years since that last one, so I’m thinking Final Furious 7 … no, wait. Final Destination 7 should be any day now. In case they think they’ve played out ‘crashes’ (spoiler, they mostly have), I’ve got some ideas for them:

  • Surfing accident – let’s get Kate Bosworth acting AND surfing again (<3 you 4ever Blue Crush)
  • Food poisoning – sure, the premonition would have to be hours long at a minimum, but it’d be a fun new technique! Maybe it’s on a cruise ship, and Kate Bosworth can be the body boarding instructor!
  • Zoo accident – lions? Gorillas? Seaworld disaster? So many choices, so many opportunities for Kate Bosworth to be an animal trainer.

I guess what I’m saying is a) Crockett is super duper, b) I love these movies, and c) I have surprisingly strong feelings about Kate Bosworth’s current underutilization in fine American cinema.

 

fuck you right in the nose hole, TV

Thursday, February 25th, 2016

I mean my ACTUAL TV, to be clear. The actual physical manifestation of short form recorded visual programming that is in my actual house.

Television in general is still a-ok by me.

My actual TV’s offense occurred last night, but first allow me to set the scene.

First, Crockett was out of town. (Calm down, potentially murderous maniacs, by the time you read this he’ll be back and also I have an old school heavy-as-hell putter next to my bed (that actually may be haunted? A coworker let me borrow it for a corporate golf event, and when I tried to give it back he told me to keep it. When I protested, he allowed that he didn’t particularly want it anymore because it had belonged to someone who was no longer with us, and there was a definite air of bad juju. Perfect intruder smashing energy.) Also, where did you get my address? Maybe stop stalking intermittent bloggers and look into some therapy or a good podcast*?)

Second, I had alternately been reading the Sandman Slim series and watching season 3 of the X-Files all night. (Sandman Slim isn’t scary necessarily, but it is very much about hell and magic and stuff.)

Third, I have been listening to some very good podcasts*.

If the above doesn’t adequately set the scene, let’s remember (can you guys remember? Did I tell you? Probably not) that when I moved into this house I was genuinely planning on installing a deadbolt on the house side of the basement door. That’s the level of paranoia we’re working with here.

So, I give Maida her eye drops and her night time meds, and Agnes takes the opportunity to curl up on Crockett’s pillow because she sort of thinks she’s my boyfriend, and Deaner crawls under the blanket to my feet … basically we go full dog for bedtime, and I turn out the light and we all go to sleep.

AND THEN.

It’s the middle of the night.

It’s dark outside.

It’s regular wintertime surburban quiet … which is to say, pretty quiet …

EXCEPT FOR THE STATIC COMING FULL VOLUME FROM THE TELEVISION SET DOWNSTAIRS.

The dogs did not care about the static, which is the only thing that gave me comfort in this trying time.

I tiptoed downstairs (without the golf club, but maniacs, I will not make that mistake again) and looked at the TV. Yep, full static, full volume.

I had not had the TV at full volume when I turned it off for bed, but more alarmingly: it was still off.

The red ‘off’ light was lit, and the screen was full bore Poltergeist staticking me.

There’s no real ending to this. I unplugged the TV and ran upstairs and IM’d everyone I knew in the morning to tell them about my evil fucking TV. And now the TV is acting totally normal and not at all haunted.

But I’m not convinced.

So fuck you right in the nose hole, TV. Or ghost. Or both.

*You thought I forgot about this: Tanis, My Favorite Murder, The Black Tapes, and Last Podcast on the Left. None are particularly comforting in a situation such as the one I found myself in.