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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘whoops’ Category

wrong wrong wrong

Thursday, September 1st, 2011

Yesterday.

Am I right?

Seriously. Not only did I write a poorly thought out blog post (I had a point but forgot it on the drive to school and typed something while in class just so I could hit publish), I also got a perfectly nice TA at Purdue in trouble for doing me a favor (not on purpose!) and made a pathetic showing of solving a problem on the board in Linear Vector Spaces. Like, my professor crossed it out and wrote ‘the works of Satan’ next to what I wrote down.*

Sometimes I do or say things and afterwards I think, man, if I had only thought about that before opening my mouth or taking that step, I would have seen the error of my ways. Then I mentally yell at myself – THINK, Emma, THINK.

There are days, though, that even if I had thought about it I would have done it anyway. The perfectly nice TA got in trouble for giving me permissions that only his prof should have been able to grant. The professor was going to give them to me, but the TA beat him to it – and I didn’t know that it was an issue, so I mentioned it to the prof. In retrospect, the best I could have done was talked less – I couldn’t have realized I shouldn’t say that specific thing. I certainly couldn’t have performed better at the board unless I’d gone back in time to the night before and studied matrix inversions – but I chatted to the class while I made my attempt and in retrospect that probably makes my failure more memorable.

Hmm. Maybe talking less overall is a good idea.

I should look into that.

* That is not a joke. He really really loves Dana Carvey’s Church Lady.

I’m sure you can already see where this is going

Tuesday, August 30th, 2011

Yesterday Crockett and I were sitting at the table and I got an email regarding the Canyonlands Half Marathon. I mentioned it to him.

Crockett: Are you going to do it?
Me: Nah. It’s a lottery to get in. There’s one in the fall though that you can just register for. (I turned the computer to show him.) It’s actually the weekend of my fall break. Wanna go to Moab in October?
Crockett: The weekend of October 16th? We don’t have anything else going on?
Me: Not that I can think of…
Crockett: Are you sure?
I pull up my calendar and show it to him.
Me: Nope, nothing planned. You want to go?
Crockett: stares.
Me: still not getting it.

It went on like this for longer than I’d like to admit. Eventually? He reminded me that the day of the race is also HIS BIRTHDAY.

Whoops.

under pressure

Tuesday, July 26th, 2011

There are a lot of hard jobs out there.

Like, being a preschool teacher. Either parents are going to be all ‘hey take good care of my precious precious baby and don’t forget wood toys only and DEAR GOD keep those peanuts away from him!’ or they’re going to drop him off at the front door holding a Pepsi and a bag of airplane peanuts and screech away in their TransAm.

What? I’m not a parent – everything I know I learned from movies.

Also, I apparently think that bad parents drive muscle cars.

Other hard jobs? Working on an oil rig. Crockett and I just found out that someone we know was having a hard time finding a job, and has been working the night shift on an oil rig for the last six months. Apparently he’s lost 35 pounds and is slowly losing his mind. (Don’t worry – he’s got a line on a stockbroker position.)

It’s probably hard being a medical examiner, too. You have to help people identify their loved ones. You have to solve crimes while your pesky cop coworkers are breathing down your neck. You have to stick your hands in dead bodies, like, as a daily thing.

I would think, though, that establishing whether someone was dead or not would become sort of a normal part of your day.

‘Hey, Medical Examiner, we found this dude in bed this morning and he looks pretty dead. Can you check?’

Recently in South Africa, apparently the ME wasn’t feeling inclined to make that check.

Instead, he just took the word of the guy who went to pick up the body. Who, apparently, just took the word of the body’s family.

Seriously. A man’s family found him. He looked dead. They called the undertaker, who came and said ‘yep, sure looks dead to us’. They called the morgue people, who came and stuck the man in a car and drove him to the morgue.

The morgue owner (who I am assuming is the South African equivalent of a medical examiner) stuck him in a fridge.

Without noticing that he was just in a coma.

Sure, the family missed the coma – I wouldn’t necessarily expect them to get all vital signy on dead grandpa’s ass. And the undertaker? Kind of a stretch, but it’s not like they started replacing his blood with formaldehyde.  However, I would expect someone who’s job it is to examine dead bodies to notice when a body wasn’t actually dead.

Of course, everyone who worked at the morgue noticed 21 hours later when the -ahem- ‘dead guy’ woke up from his coma and yelled for someone to let him out of the fridge.

Again – being a person who deals with dead bodies? Probably a tough job. Right up there with preschool teacher and oil rig worker, even.

Making sure that the bodies you’re dealing with are actually dead?

Seems kind of basic to me.

P.S. The actual best part of the story is that the morgue owner called the police and told them that he had a ghost. And asked them if they’d shoot it. The guy doesn’t understand how dead bodies or ghosts work.

my nose vs. an Audi allroad

Thursday, July 14th, 2011

Two weeks ago, Crockett and I were driving to New York.

Did I mention that we drove? We did, in his big cushy Audi allroad, with cruise control and tinted windows. We were stylin’, yo.

Instead of taking the most direct route:

we went through Kentucky.

They have bourbon in Kentucky, you see.

So somewhere around the S in Kansas, I was driving, and I started to smell something. I asked Crockett if he smelled it – nothing.

He asked me to describe it and the closest I could come was someone painting grass. He couldn’t smell it at all.

(The part about painting grass is not the part where my nose wins.)

We thought maybe it was the little town we were driving through, but it didn’t go away when we were back out in the beautiful Kansas plains. Then we thought that perhaps (and damn we didn’t want to be right) that the air conditioning was having issues. (It’s possible Crockett was also considering that I was full of crap, because he still couldn’t smell it.) We stuck our noses up in the vent and got nothing.

It didn’t go away.

By Missouri, Crockett could smell it too.

We finally concluded that maybe when he took the car in for it’s 100,000 mile service, some kind of fluid got onto the exterior of the engine, and we were smelling it burning off. Like someone spilled oil or something.

I don’t actually know if that can even happen, but we had no other ideas.

So we get to St. Louis. We drive through, stop at the lovely little highway hotel that I found, get our room, and start to haul our stuff out of the backseat of the car.

Our stuff is really warm.

Gosh, we think to ourselves, the air conditioning wasn’t particularly effective back here, was it?

Then Crockett lifts up his (super nice) briefcase (that I got him because I’m super), and it’s got black stuff on it. I thought a pen busted.

Crockett thought one of his laptop batteries melted.

We were both wrong.

On that same seat, he had a backpack – and the backpack melted.

Ok, just the back and one of the straps. The whole thing didn’t turn into a molten puddle o’ backpack – the padded back part browned and puckered, and the straps melted.

Why, you ask?

Because the rear seat heaters were on.

And apparently Audi thinks that the appropriate level to which butts need to be heated is somewhere around the melting point of vinyl.

As Crockett pointed out, what if we had a sleeping grandma in the backseat and she was wearing vinyl pants?

HUH, AUDI?

Did you THINK OF THAT?

it was muuuuuurder

Wednesday, July 13th, 2011

Do you think the adult summer camp that I’m building nowhere but in my mind should include a murder mystery?

I sort of think the whole thing should be Camp Crystal Lake style – boating and fun sexy times and lots of drinks and then BOOM.

People start disappearing.

First a few counselors, obviously, and then – reverse hide and seek style – we start picking up people who go outside to investigate.

Of course, instead of killing them we take them to a party, where there are more drinks and maybe pin the tail on the donkey… some strip poker….

This is the best idea I’ve ever had.

WAY better than last week, when someone wanted to make their game of flip cup more interesting so I said ‘play strip flip cup!’ and then everyone looked at me aghast and I remembered that I was at a family birthday party and they were all cousins.

That was not the best idea I ever had.