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

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

I’ll follow you until you love me

Sunday, August 14th, 2016

I’m going through old blog posts for a wedding related project (it’s a secret, you nosey parker! Nosy Parker! No see parkour!) and I just found a Sunday Talky I made (remember those? Man, I used to be a good blogger. High five, that Emma) where Cloey and Maida are both in it.

And now I’m sad.

I miss my Clo.

Damn dogs and their non-human life spans.

Fortunately I'm not lacking for dog compansionship to help me through.

Fortunately I’m not lacking for dog companionship to help me through.


good face bad face

Thursday, December 17th, 2015

Maida has an excellent little face. That’s important, because we were just at the vet for the fourth time in five weeks (and only that long because I put off last week’s appointment), and if she didn’t have a great little face I wouldn’t have something adorable to look at to remind me of why it’s worth it to do all her appointments and pills and stuffs.

Like, I had to ask a girlfriend recently if I could bring Maida to her NY Eve party, because otherwise I’d have to be home at 9:15 to give her medication. She graciously said yes, but I felt like a dummy. However, Maid’s med schedule is one of the dominating factors of my life at the mo (and for the foreseeable future).

The biggest deal is that she has to take seizure medication every eight hours. The margin of error for that is pretty narrow, because the half life of that particular medication is 3.3 hours in dogs. Plus side, her seizures are under control! Minus side, 5:15 am, 1:15 pm, and 9:15 pm are sort of gospel times in our household. (Doesn’t have to be those times but you try to distribute eight hours in a way that makes sense with both a full nights sleep and a work day.)

Anyway, she has new morning eye drops for her ongoing eye infection (replacing the three kinds of eye drops we’ve already tried), plus her old routine of twice daily potassium bromide and two traditional Chinese herbal meds (vet prescribed!) and the three-a-day Keppra. Plus other, soothing, eye drops at night.

The point is that it’s very helpful to see her lil face while organizing (and of course funding) this pile o’ treatments, cause it’s an amazing face and you only have to glance at it to want her to be healthy and happy. (I used to know someone who used ‘you have a good face’ as a compliment and damned if it didn’t usually work for him, by the way.)

On the other hand…

(When is ‘drop the mic’ appropriate? Not here, I guess?)

I was making notes today, for my own reference. Things to do and buy and prepare before Christmas, etc. I sat down a few minutes ago to review them.

One of the notes just says ‘how much I hate adam driver’s stupid face‘.

What did I mean by that? Did I intend to write about it? That seems mean. I don’t know anything about him, in real life, only from Girls and that movie with Tina Fey and Jason Bateman. (I mean, I am writing about it, but I like to think I didn’t intentionally plan to just write about hating one dude based on his complacent, supercilious lookin’ face bones. See, now I’m weaving it into a (weak) narrative. This is was less insulting.)

No matter what my intentions were, I think it’s safe to say that if it came down to it, Adam Driver could not count on me to treat any epilepsy he might find himself with. His is not a lil face that I love. Not a face that makes me want to make sure he’s healthy and happy. More, and I’m disappointed in myself for this, a face that makes me want to bite his nose just to see if he’d look less smug.

So, you know: Maida=good face, Adam Driver=bad face.

whoommm whommmmmp

Monday, October 26th, 2015

Some sweet (and some, like, medium sweet?) people have been making friendly overtures lately, and I have been being an absolute suckface about it.

Most recently, a very sweet woman was walking her two dogs on the path. Her younger dog was a pain and her older dog was ill, and I was like hey I have a dog who is a pain and another who is ill and another who is ALSO a pain! We walked together for awhile and the dog pack seemed to calm all of the nerd butts down, and she sort of suggested future doggie play dates.

I agreed, and told her when we’re usually at the dog park.

And then I did not go to the dog park at that time.

There’s another example that follows the same sweet person/specific potential of some kind/enthusiastic agreement on some sort of future plan/total blowoff pattern, that the details for are basically irrelevant.


Here’s what I think. I think that I’m going through an introverted phase and what I mostly want to do is read and write and listen to audiobooks and podcasts and watch my puppies and hang out with Crockett. What I do not want to do is spend my time at the dog park or wherever getting to know a new person. That is permissible. Defensible, even.

What confuses me is that when I make these plans? Or build these potential plan bridges, or what have you? I totally think I’m into them. Meeting the nice woman at the dog park was MY IDEA.

So not only am I being kind of cruddy and misleading to strangers who would likely be totally fine with me just smiling and walking away, I am being misleading to my own damn self because I somehow think that future Emma is going to want to make awkward conversation while we watch our dogs chase each other (and poop, probably).

I do not want to do that and therefore she does not want to do that. Stay strong, future Emma, while I try to get my shit together over here.


flat circle

Thursday, October 1st, 2015

I semi-frequently refer to not current versions of myself in the third person.

(Star does it too, so, you know. Non-craziness comes in numbers.)

Usually I’m badmouthing past Emma, or pre-apologizing to future Emma. (That makes it sound like I made/ke poor choices, but when I’m making good choices it seems sort of self absorbed to be all ‘hey, future Emma, you’re welcome’, so, you know. Poor choices and excellent choices in equal measure, just not as relevant to the story.)

Yesterday I had leftover sloppy joes for lunch. They were part of me and Crockett’s whole food delivery experiment (Blue Apron/Hello Fresh/Green Chef report back for details at some point possibly!) and they were good but they had a lot of onions in them, and some extra onions on them, and they were not an ideal thing to eat in the middle of a work day.

A sweet coworker of mine was microwaving her lunch at the same time that I was heating up the oniony mess and I told her about the onion breath fog that usually makes me choose not to eat onions. After I ate the OnionParty2015 lunch, I mentioned to her that I should have known better. Then I casually said something about past Emma that I  no longer even remember. Something like ‘past Emma really let me down while packing this lunch’. Not. Even. Funny.

The thing is, she thought it was cute, and now she’s using it. To refer to me, not to her.


“Did past Emma do this one work thing?”

“Oh future Emma is going to appreciate that current Emma just did that other work thing.”

It’s like sharing a personal nickname accidentally and someone starts using it, except it’s literally not at all like that because it’s nonsensical and sci-fi-y and requires conjugating.

So far, I can say current Emma and past Emma are not fans. Future Emma has yet to weigh in.