Image 01

emmanation

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

Archive for the ‘it's all about me’ Category

GLAMPING

Thursday, June 29th, 2017

I always knew the Nederland in me would come out.

I just signed up for a yoga retreat.

In Moab.

In tents.

I’m not a hippie, like, overall. I work for corporate America in a BIG WAY. A big brother way, not to put too fine a point on it. I spend a lot of money on clothes. I mean, they’re mostly meant to look like they don’t cost a lot of money, but that’s probably worse, right? Is bourgeoisie the word for that? (Don’t tell me, I’m well aware. Bobo as fuck over here.) I do believe with all my heart in taking care of people who need help and giving what you have available to give, and I do have a lot of love … but I think that’s just being a democrat, right?

(I also get very cranky with a lot of people. Please see my archives for 1000 proofs. Or ask the guy I scolded at a bar on Tuesday for saying something VERY racist and then saying he couldn’t be racist because he went to school with black guys who got more girls than him. (Yes, he said pussy, but, come on, ew – there’s a time and place for that word and a bar with acquaintances is neither). SRSLY WUT.)

However. I love yoga, and I’ve been leaning really hard into self care while I’m working through some stuff. Like, beyond yoga – journaling and drinking a lot of wine. New American Cool Girl, right here.

This retreat I signed up for is women only. It’s three nights, yoga in the evening and in the morning and rock climbing and hikes to waterfalls in the middle. Made for insta, except no electricity and no reception.

Plus, there are cots and the tents have wood floors (hence the glamping). I mean, I wake up on either side of 5 am every morning already, and I love a good cactus. (Is there bad cactus? Yes. They’re the stumpy ones that animals run into accidentally. They don’t mean to hurt you, cactus, and it’s very hard for furry desert mammals to remove cactus spines, so that makes you a bad cactus.) I don’t love scorpions.

(My brother had a pet scorpion. Her name was Princess Tiffany. He’s an fantastic artist, and when Princess Tiffany died he made a huge stencil of her likeness and spray painted it in pink on the side of his Jeep. )

Princess Tiffany notwithstanding, I don’t want to find a scorpion chilling in my sleeping bag. Wood floors and cots will really facilitate that.

What I do want is a stranger assigned to my tent with me. We’ll be best friends for 48 hours at a minimum. And I want a group circle after dinner on Saturday that involves a moon deck. What is a moon deck? Your guess is as good as mine. I originally pictured a tables and umbrellas kind of deck that you watch the moon from, but it appears to be the card kind of deck. The moon part? I do not know, but damned if I won’t find out with a bunch of women I don’t know, sitting in a circle in the dessert.

Because, my inner Ned is rearing her head.

instagram

Wednesday, June 21st, 2017

Instagram vs Snapchat.

One of my very bestest friends is an avid snapper, and I was trying to put my finger on why I don’t snap now but I am all over insta like a … a … well, someone who posts a lot on insta.

I do post a lot, especially lately. I mean, I don’t know what a LOT a lot is, but I post two or three times a day most days. Is that a lot (she asks as if she wants reassurance but she really doesn’t)?

I guess I think of insta like a diary. Facebook used to be a diary. For example, six years ago today on Facebook I posted the status ‘iPad, check. Toothbrush, check. Camera… SHIT.’ Obviously I was going somewhere (sailing I think), and I forgot my camera! That’s a fun tiny blurb, yes? No? Yes. But Facebook is mostly for pictures and sharing political links now (and it’s dead, right? Let’s all agree. It’s basically dead. Our grandparents are on it and we are parents of people who are also on it. It’s Main St USA and no one actually thinks it’s cool to be on Main St.)

The thing about Instagram is: it stays and pictures are unambiguous. Filtered, yes, but if you were with someone or not with someone or home or in Portland, that’s permanently represented.

The thing about Snapchat is: it goes away.

I get the appeal of that, but I also feel like it’s part of the issue about space women are constantly struggling with. When you snap, you’re putting something into the world that says ‘heeeeeyyyy guys here’s a thing if you wanna look at it but if you don’t don’t worry it’ll be gone pretty soon so don’t worry about it if you don’t want to ’cause …. yeah anyway thanks byyyeeee’.

I could be wrong. It could (always) be my personal awareness of taking up space in the world. I’m a woman who, despite her best intentions, worries endlessly about the effect my very presence has on other people. Am I too loud? Is my skirt too distracting? Am I talking more than I should?  Does my new tree bug my neighbors? Does my new shampoo smell? It’s tiring, and Snapchat is a relaxing way to show people things. It’s easy to think ‘oh no one has to see this if they don’t want to’. However, by that same measure, Snapchat doesn’t tell any kind of story about you or your life.

So Instagram. Insta is the diary-est of all the available diaries.

(Excepting a blog but WHO BLOGS ANYMORE?)

So, Instagram. People can opt into you without you doing the same and vice versa. Everyone loves a sunset and dogs and yoga, which makes it feel like a wonderful place to *also* love all those things. You’re easy to scroll over, but also anyone who cares can roll back through months or years of what you’ve been up to, and you can too.

None of this touches on the overwhelming desire to share in the first place, of course. I’m always aware of what the perception of my pictures might be, and I’m open to it. This blog is over a decade old – I’m a committed sharer and the reasons are between my and my psyche.

I just … want to leave a mark.

God I’m old.

But still cute. You can confirm on my insta.

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.

 

I love my butt and won’t shut up

Tuesday, June 6th, 2017

Yoga is so great, you guys. (The title is from Mary Lambert, Secrets. I don’t usually say what it’s from but I don’t want everyone to think I’m just THAT PROUD of my ass.)

I mean, yoga totally has made my butt better, I think? You’d have to ask Crockett, I guess.

(I actually did ask him a couple of months ago if he saw any difference in me since I started yoga, and he said I was getting ‘denser’ but look the same. Which, sure.)

That’s not the main reason I like it, though. I like it because sometimes, I don’t want to do it but I do it anyway. I like it because it’s taught me a lot of things that resonate, like the concepts of drishti and nivata. (A place to rest your gaze while you’re keeping your balance and a safe place without wind.)

I like it because my teachers know me, and notice when I’m not there.

I like it because sometimes I forget about everything but my hips and shoulders for half an hour, which is sort of a feat.

Also I like it because the clothes are cute as shit.

Ok, fine. I also love my butt.

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?

WEE DRAMA INDEED.

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