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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘money to burn (apparently)’ Category

admire with me, would you

Wednesday, November 9th, 2016

This dress:

cewooldress

It is black. For mourning.

It’s made of wool and linen. Natural fibers that come from the earth, and probably won’t be available in ten years (a week) because someone doesn’t believe in global warming and wants us to not pass go and go straight to Mad Max land.

It’s got thumb holes for coziness, which is an excellent secret way to feel like one is wrapping oneself up in a blanket on the couch while still being out in the world.

In short, it’s the post-Hillary dress.

The post-Trump outfit OBVIOUSLY looked like this, in case you’re wondering:

burgandysuit

 

Ok, off to drink myself into oblivion.

(Not really, but I have said that several times today. Out loud. And half meant it.)

(Yes, this whole thing was dramatic but not entirely kidding because WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED to a day I was so, so excited about? I can’t write about it, I don’t have anything to say that isn’t being said by wiser minds all over the internet.)

dogs aren’t babies we all read NY magazine

Thursday, November 3rd, 2016

We were car shopping this evening, and our salesman would not stfu about babies.

For real.

(Our cars are fiiiiiine, just one of them doesn’t move so well and hasn’t since June, ndb.)

Backstory: our salesman was adorable, and Irish (what up totally undeserved by me brother!), and very very very shamelessly self promotional. “Our Yelp page is basically only reviews of me.” Also: “Oh, look at this picture of my 20 month old!”, he says, handing me his phone where there was a indisputably cute picture of a baby. “He just got mad at my wife because the sour cream on his macaroni and cheese isn’t yogurt!”

“Cute”, I tell him.

He read the room, and asked if we had dogs.

He was prepping for a pitch on the leather replacement package, ya know. If we weren’t going to respond to baby puke, we’d respond to unclipped nails.

The thing is, at some point after that I mentioned we were recently married and then he went the way a surprising-not-surprising amount of people have gone (since the wedding THREE AND A HALF WEEKS AGO (Oct 9th future Emma in case you’re referencing this post to help you remember your anniversary, don’t tell Crockett)): joke-not-joking about when we were going to have babies.

“When you have a kid, you can put this side down … oh right, I mean your dogs,” and then a wink.

“The leather can stand up to a lot, but spilt formula … or spilled groceries, for you,” and then a wink.

(These were not actual winks. He didn’t drop one eyelid while looking at us, because no one good does that anymore. Only bads. Write that down. Nice people you know can wink at you in a cute way, but strangers (particularly of the sales variety) are no longer allowed to wink. It’s gross. You’re a bad if you do that. These were spiritual winks.)

Crockett didn’t even notice. I’m talking to him as I write this, and he’s genuinely confused. He remembers the comments (there were more than listed above), but has no sense that they were assumptive. Pervasive. Patriarchal.

So.

Am I so prepared for people to start asking about babies that I’m seeing that shit everywhere? Or was he trying to sell a couple he perceived as being in the baby zone? Or was the baby zone a straight up assumption that I really will have to deal with 4-ev-er?

(post referenced in title)

 

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.

party like it’s goddamn CHRISTMAS

Wednesday, December 16th, 2015

Sometime in the last eleven months, I lost half a Christmas tree.

Here’s what happened.

Last Dec 15th, I moved into a new house. At that point, I put up the five (six? five.five? I don’t know) foot pre-lit fake tree from Target that I’ve had since my age started with two and Agnes and Dean were just twinkles in their doggy daddies’ eyes. (I assume dog’s eyes twinkle when they’re thinking about puppies. You know, like how everyone’s eyes twinkle when they think about puppies. A Santa-style twinkle, not, like, a dirty twinkle. We’re talking about puppies here. Also, I’m sure Maida’s doggy daddy’s eyes twinkled too but she was already born when I bought the tree.)

So the tree was up, and then last January 17th, I had a housewarming/birthday party. At that point, the tree was down. The tree box was under the garage stairs.

This recent weekend after Thanksgiving, I pulled out the tree box. (See, Crockett won’t put up the tree until Advent starts cause his dad wouldn’t put up their tree until Advent started. It’s a cute tradition right up until the second I want to put up the tree and it ain’t Advent yet, but in this case Advent happened to start on the day I wanted to treeify the place, so everybody won! Except…) The tree box had half a tree in it.

The top half, if you’re wondering.

The bottom half has vanished.

So one of four things happened.

  1. I put the bottom half in a trash bag because I was too lazy to smoosh it into the box, and me or someone else accidentally threw it out. Possible! Unlikely, though, because my bags are white and it would have been a pretty clearly pokey, tree like, green-needly looking bag.
  2. It’s somewhere in this small house that neither Crockett nor I has thought to look. Possible, but only if I was drunk or something while putting the tree away. At this point we’ve looked everywhere but the attic, and I don’t recall ever entering my attic in this house. Like, ever.
  3. Someone from the housewarming thought it was a souvenir? A pokey, useless, three foot tall three foot wide souvenir?
  4. Thieves.

It’s obviously 4, and I know why.

This happened to someone ELSE in 2015, and they took my tree bottom to replace theirs. Theirs was probably lost to yet another family doing the same thing, and so on and so forth.

What happened to the first family’s tree bottom, you ask?

Those damn reindeer.

Probably.

Anyway, we bought a new tree, because we ain’t thieves like the legions of tree stealers before us.

Anyone want a tree top?

 

greenie weenie chefaleenie

Wednesday, November 4th, 2015

We’ve only ordered from Green Chef twice, and it’s most the expensive, and I haven’t liked all of the meals, but it’s kind of my favorite. That is possibly because I think things that cost more money are better? OTHERWISE WHY WOULD THEY COST MORE? HUH?

Everything comes in a tiny little labeled bag or brown paper box of it’s own. Some things are chopped up for you. It’s adorable.

Our favorite meal from Green Chef so far: Yellowfin Tuna Melt with lemon coleslaw, caper remoulade, and pickled shallots.

Our least favorite meal from Green Chef so far: Spice-Crusted Steak with spinach & green bean “tabbouleh,” and harissa chèvre.