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Archive for the ‘I'm a cranky brat’ Category

exes and oh’s

Monday, November 6th, 2017

I was talking to Star a little bit ago about… something. Something I wanted to bake? Possibly how I wanted to make apple cake during Rosh Hashanah but it seemed disingenuous, somehow? And she said, and I quote (loosely because it was at least a month ago and what do you want from me, a perfect memory or the willingness to check my gchat logs?):

Pinterest has made that irrelevant anyway.

*Quickquick, before you accuse Star of cultural appropriation, she is actually Jewish. Not Seinfeld’s dentist Jewish, either. And Mexican. She calls herself a JewJewBean and is obviously a hilarious person.*


Is Pinterest just a secret bastion of cultural appropriation for Christian white girls? (Hellllo hyperbole.)

Look, I like Pinterest. I do. I’m not great at returning to my own pins, but I love the ease of marking something. I have boards called ‘want to wear’, ‘STEM fashion’, ‘mmmmmmm’, ‘purdy places’, ‘stuff and nonsense’, ‘BANGS BANGS BANGS’, and more, and I pin new things a few times a week at least.


Like, think about the people with the colonial wedding. Or Paula Deen and her plantation wedding. Or Julianne Hough and her blackface Halloween costume.

When I started at my current job, I made hamantaschen around Purim and took them into the office. It was just sort of residual from years of celebrating all the holidays with M- and working at a Jewish owned bakery in Boulder (SO MUCH apple cake, honey cake, challah… ugh, I’m hungry now). Then I chatted with someone in the stairs who saw them and told me about the differences between the recipes his mom and his wife used, and I felt … inappropriate appropriation. In a whole different way than the colonial wedding people, because a) cookies are good and b) there’s no obvious indicators when looking at me that I was borrowing baked goods from the holiday of another culture, but that almost felt worse. I felt like I was misleading this very nice man, somehow, and I haven’t made anything more culturally significant than cupcakes for the office since.

But, Pinterest. The cookie thing was significant for me because I came face to face with someone whose personal history included these cookies. Pinterest is an echo chamber of white women. Mostly with at least some college, mostly of working age. My gut from being actually *on* Pinterest (and the overwhelming dedication to Christmas and Easter) says mostly of Christian backgrounds, although I’m not finding any research to confirm or deny.

So, if someone pins something from outside that world that’s a little iffy (say, a geisha halloween costume), who is going to point out the ways that might be problematic the way they would on Tumblr or Insta? Instead, people are going to pin it to their own boards. Everyone will think ‘other people are pinning it, it’s fine’.

I’ve talked myself into Star’s opinion. In the world of Pinterest, people don’t ask if things are ok – if they’re repinned, they are and can be transferred to the real life suburb in which they originated. If they’re not, they were probably lame anyway.

I didn’t make the apple cake around Rosh Hashanah, but if I make one now, is it just cake? I’ll ask … Reddit. Those white boys love to tell people when they’re doing something wrong.

ice cold I roll my eyes at you boy

Tuesday, June 6th, 2017

Picking songs that other people are going to listen to is VERY STRESSFUL.

Like, I think I have good taste in music, but literally no one doesn’t think that about themselves. If they thought what they liked didn’t show good taste, it would thoroughly undermine the entire concept of good taste and that would be the nucleus from which the end of the world sprouted. (No? Are you sure? Like, double check quantum physics and get back to me. I don’t fully understand quantum physics but I went to an engineering school and am pretty sure someone there told me once you could use them to explain any damn thing you wanted, and this is the quantum-music-taste hill I’m going to die on.)

When I was in Portland with my little brother last weekend we had a whole app based youtube queue set up on his chromecast (<- today in sentences Emma from ten years ago would think were gibberish).  We were all adding, and it was skewing rap heavy because that’s mostly what he and his friends listen to. I could have backed off and let it happen, but I wanted to contribute and also not to listen to rap for four hours.

(I don’t dislike rap but I have a hard time staying engaged when there’s not a through melody. Like, I’m a huge Childish Gambino fan, but my brother hates him… I guess he’s intro rap? Because … of the melody? I know it’s shocking, but this is NOT something we covered in engineering school. All your preconceptions blown, right? Right.)

My approach was either great song or great video. I went retro a couple of times (Leave the Biker), full on pandering at least twice (see Lana del Ray and the Jenny Lewis video with Anne Hathaway and Kristen Stewart (a combo that surprisingly fills the needs of most people who like girls? Can I get an amen?)), and I’m not embarrassed to admit I appealed to my brother with people we’ve seen together.

That is way too much thought.

Literally, what is the worst thing that could have happened? That my brother’s friends didn’t think I was cool? I’m his older sister – they were pretty decided on the coolness of me long before now. (Probably I won some of them over when I looked super fly in a suit as his best man a few years ago.)

These are phases I go through. It’s like I’m scared, sometimes, to take up too much room in the world. To make someone do literally anything that’s not exactly what they had planned.

Probably I need to switch over to some Blondie. Some Tegan and Sarah. Some Tove Lo. Sometimes it’s ok to play your own song.


bulletproof, nothing to lose

Tuesday, June 6th, 2017

(Fire away, fire away.)

We tried to watch a mashup (I. LOVE. MASHUPS.) while I was in Portland and the post-titular song was a part of it. In theory, anyway. Whenever we should have been hearing Guetta, all the sound just vanished. I assume there was a lawsuit of some kind brought by a whiny brat person? Who doesn’t want to be in a mashup, honestly? Two or more songs coming together into one … is ‘better’ the word I’m looking for? It’s not. Two or more songs coming together into one earworm is good for everyone involved.

Anyway, not being able to hear the ‘bulletproof’ thing was very irritating, and has kept the song in my head for the last two days.

Woah. Was that their plan all along? Hashbrown selfie, guys.

I’m so tired. I didn’t sleep very well while I was gone, and I just cannot get my shit together even when I’m well rested. If one of my girlfriends was at the phase in my life that I currently am, I know for certain I would have words. And ideas. And a plan for her. And I wouldn’t understand why she couldn’t see outside her bubble to see the clarity that’s so obvious to me.

But, being where I am.

I wonder if we actually always can see with clarity, and just don’t want to.

I know, I’m being a wee drama. Everything is fine. I’m talking about, like switching dog food or something. Don’t worry about it.

I’m sure this is a thing in therapy. Learning to understand your own motivation so you understand the lens with which you’re viewing your options, right? (Hi best friend/actual therapist, back me up here.) But I’m starting to wonder if we don’t always understand, deep down. We just

always have something to lose, right?


Somebody flick me on the nose and tell me to return to my corner.

two more days

Monday, November 28th, 2016

Crockett is still in New York. While we were there over the holiday (oh you didn’t know? That’s cause I wrote and scheduled last Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday’s posts ahead of time because I knew I’d be traveling for 21 out of those 72 hours, cause I a smarty.) two of our nieces got very sick. Like, very physically stomach-wise unwell in the middle of the night sick. One recovered by morning and was down for toast and eggs, but the other was down with … something? Something bad and fevery.

So this afternoon I”m talking to Crockett, and he’s telling me he doesn’t feel super.

And now I don’t feel super.

I knew I didn’t feel good before, but I thought it was from eating stuffing and turkey and no vegetables that weren’t sautéed in some kind of animal fat for a week. Oh, and pie. I ate a lot of pie.

One time I ate yogurt! With cranberry sauce stirred in.

The yogurt was not enough, obviously.

Now I’m confused. Do I not feel super for the reasons I thought, or do we both not feel super because we’re sick? Or is he sick and I’m just holiday’d out? Are neither of us sick and I’m just a hypochondriac? Is it Zika?

So many choices.

Two more days. After this. 30 days in a row is a lot of days to write down things you think, you guys.

I was born in Delaware

Friday, November 18th, 2016

I was not born in Delaware, I’m just watching this show called ‘No Tomorrow’ (that’s apparently been cancelled I just found out by googling for a link) where this one guy didn’t believe in Delaware and this other guy said he was born in Delaware … it was funnier than I’m making it sound. Jokes like that are not why the show was cancelled, probably? This face is definitely not why it got cancelled.

Crockett is out, I’m watching a cancelled show, and there’s a smell in the house.

My life is just one party after another.

I can’t locate the smell. It’s got … well, it smells vaguely of … it smells like poo. Specifically, like a dog had an indoor accident, and yet. I’ve been over the house like NINE TIMES and there is NOTHING. I sniffed the dogs themselves, NOTHING. I checked my shoes. That’s right, NOTHING.

It is 100% not the candle from yesterday, although I understand why you’d think that if you read these two posts in a row.

I’m wondering if somehow Deaner distracted me and pooped in the basement? He loves the basement, but I can’t go check because see above re: Crockett being out. (I don’t go into the basement when it’s dark and Crockett isn’t here. Blame 35 years of horror movie lessons.)

Otherwise, I’m concerned that it might be my nose. Or my shirt. Or the sewer system. I’m not sure which of those is worst.

Maybe there’s no smell in Delaware.