Image 01

emmanation

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

Archive for the ‘the people I love’ Category

yuri gararin

Thursday, November 23rd, 2017

Happy Thanksgiving, guys.

I have like 1000 things to be thankful for, and I know it. Literally just the fact that I get to not go to work tomorrow, right? And that I could afford to buy a turkey who was raised responsibly (before he was killed for us to eat). And that all three of my doggos, my parents, and Crockett are going to be around me all day.

Also, I’m making my stuffing into WAFFLES. HOW CAN I NOT BE THANKFUL.

I mean, yes my feet hurt from cooking all afternoon. Yes, Hulu is forcing a really long wait between episodes of You’re the Worst. Yes, Thanksgiving is “a holiday-length ode to white supremacy and an undeserved celebration of a band of uptight zealot weirdos who should have been allowed to freeze to death.

But still. I’m a lucky bitch and I know it. I hope you are too, whatever that means to you. LOVE.

consider the situation handled

Saturday, November 11th, 2017

I have a favorite dog.

I’m only writing that because I’ve confirmed over and over that Maida, Agnes and Dean can’t read by leaving secret messages on pieces of paper all over the house. They all say ‘if you can read this, please don’t eat this piece of paper’.

Spoiler: all paper gets eaten. (Like, honestly, all of it. I had to switch to lidded trash cans everywhere because the number of tissues that were just fully consumed cannot have been healthy.) So, the notes also got eaten. Ergo: the dogs can’t read.

(What’s that you say? Literally everyone knows dogs can’t read? My friend J-‘s bird sings and yells at wild animals who live outside her house, so, you know, animals. (This is where I shake my head like ‘you know what I mean’ instead of continuing to explain what is, let’s be honest, is a nonsensical point.))

I love Dean the most. I just DO. He also loves me the most, which might have something to do with it.

Agnes is pretty fond of Crockett (and he gave her two kongs the last time he put the dogs in their forts – the second kong belonged with Dean so Crockett also obviously has favorites). My college friend C- is also a big Agnes fan. Agnes might be the favorite of people who want their dogs to be DOGS, you know? She’s only 25 pounds, but she’s as close to a lab as you’ll get in this house.

Maida … oh, Maida. Maida is a disaster area who wants to go on walks but hates walking, who needs meds every eight hours, and who loves anyone who is willing to sit still long enough for her to climb up and settle down on a lap, back, chest … whatever. She’s not picky. (She is – she hates almost all men. In my life she’s not exposed to many new dudes, though, and the ones who’ve known her for awhile just sit still and try not to talk too loud when she’s around. There are maybe seven men she doesn’t bark at, so if you’re one of them, congrats!) Maida is the favorite of anyone who loves a good snuggle.

Deaner. Oh, my baby boy. He just thinks I’m the tits, and you cannot underestimate what that’s worth. He likes me, and it’s really nice to be reminded you’re likable sometimes. Plus, he loves adventures and cookies, and also the couch and walking around the same block we always walk around. He jumps at the door every time I get the leash, and climbs up on anything that’s available to climb on. He’s … ugh, he’s my favorite.

Do people with kids feel like this? If they do, they don’t write it down on the internet. Key diff between kids and dogs even I know – eventually kids CAN read! Imagine finding an old blog post where your mom says ‘eh Emma’s ok but her brother is just the BEST’. Right, parents do not do that.

I love them very much, all three of them. They’re my pack.

(But at heart, I might be a one dog kind of girl, and Deaner is my guy.)

loss

Friday, June 30th, 2017

(There is nothing fun or funny to follow, so … move along if that’s what you’re here for.)

I don’t mean loss in the way that people *lose*. Not a parent or a spouse or a child. I’m talking about those losses that, when you explain them to other people, they rate like a splinter. ‘Oh, bummer’, and then moved on from, never to be considered again.

Or worse, those losses that you don’t feel justified mourning. My personal examples are just that … the best I can think of that I’m willing to share are things like when I sent my book to a few very famous agents and none of them were interested. Overall: pipe dream, best I can expect as far as sympathy was a nod and a smile. Still, internally, I mourned. I love my book like a baby, and I thought it was meant to be. And it was, but under different circumstances, and that makes sense to everyone who hears this story. But to me, it felt like it was meant to be with who I had in mind and everything else was just treading water.

Or worse, when my Clo died. Cloey was a terrier but also my best friend and the companion who grew up with me, from college graduation through breakups and apartments and a house that belonged to just me and her. People understand when your dog dies, but most of them in an ‘oh bummer’ way. I railed and cried and missed her like a person, but … ‘oh, bummer’.

The thing is, everyone tells you that kind of thing feels better later. Wait it out, etc, etc. My losses of men from my younger years (the kind of thing that hit hardest when I was a baby person)? YES. I can’t tell you how glad I am that I’m not the girl who was with Andrew in college, when he realized he’d always been in love with Andre. Or how glad I am that I’m not married to Monte, who now has beautiful twins and a lovely wife.

Of course, in retrospect, Monte did make out with the girl who is now the woman he’s married to while we were in the process of permanently combining our lives. And Andrew … I don’t know, man. I want to pretend my gaydar was good, but it wasn’t. He was cute and I dodged a bullet, that’s where that lies.

My book, though? If I’d been tough and tried harder, more times, maybe I would have gotten what I wanted. If I’d been braver and strong enough to let Cloey go through chemo at the animal hospital up at CSU, maybe I would have had her for longer. (I checked the archives and this post is the closest I got to writing about how hard it was when Clo died, but suffice to say my choices there are some of my biggest what-ifs.) There are losses that are just that – losses. They are things that make your life less for the lack of them. I have them and know I’ll have more, but it doesn’t make them hurt any less.

I miss the things that I think should have happened, the things that belong in my life but aren’t there.

(In other news, sometimes I’m a fucking drama queen.)

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.

 

brudder

Wednesday, May 31st, 2017

I’m going to see my brother in Portland on Saturday!

Mostly, I suspect, we’re going to watch movies and drink? We’re really good at watching movies together.

When I was in high school, my health teacher lived down the street from us. (This is going somewhere, I promise.) Health class in Nederland was medium* pointless. Nobody didn’t know what sex was – a kid in my actual health class had a mom who was only 13 years older than him, and we all knew exactly how that happened. No parents protested the banana condom lesson. Our questions in the anonymous question box (did all health classes have that?) were less ‘are boy and girl nipples the same?’ and more ‘Miss Bonnie, when you blow your husband do you spit or swallow?’

Two things.

  1. I actually didn’t really know what was going on, I just pretended I did. Like, I knew Vince’s mom had sex when she was young in order to be a 28 year old mom of a 15 year old, but that’s about it. I was a gigantic tiny-baby-prude. When someone told me you could get condoms for free from the nurse, I GASPED LOUDLY and said ‘in HIGH SCHOOL????’. I once called my brother a dildo because I heard someone at school say it and thought it was just, like, a jerk? My mom had to remove herself from the room to crack up before she was able to yell at me.
  2. I was terrified of Bonnie, the teacher. She knew shit, you guys. When you’re a tiny-baby-prude, an adult who knows shit is both your life goal and the thing to be avoided at all costs.

Because we were the kids who lived down the street, once she knew I existed, Miss Bonnie asked me to housesit for her.

My fear made me an excellent housesitter. I cleaned up after myself religiously lest I dirty some surface Bonnie and her husband were going to do-grown-up-things-on, for example. I kept my eyes down in every room but the living room and guest room, just in case there were … sex toys hanging from the ceiling? I don’t know why I did that, we’d have to ask 15 year old Emma. I kept going, though – she paid like $25 a day because she had a million plants and in the summers they traveled a lot. Eventually they got a cat and I started spending some nights and daring to turn on the TV, even. So brave.

One weekend that I was there, my brother came over and he and I watched In The Mouth of Madness. It scared the shit out of us. I’ve seen it several times since and don’t really understand why – probably it was because it was the first time we’d watched scary movies without our parents accessible just down the hallway. I think he actually ended up staying on the couch because he was too scared to walk the quarter mile of mountain road back to our house and I sure as hell wasn’t going to walk with him.

(Also, I’m not a good sister sometimes.)

Anyway, that’s the first time I remember realizing that we had good movie vibes. Some people just can’t watch movies together – they want to talk when you don’t or vice versa, they think what’s scary is funny or what’s sweet is saccharine, whatever. I like watching movies with my brother. We’ve got good snark when snark is what’s required, but also good silence. Plus, we’re both wildly susceptible to jump scares.

BOO.

Anyway. I’m going to see my brother, and we’re going to watch movies. And it’s going to be great.

*medium pointless, not totally (also hi)