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emmanation

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

Archive for the ‘whoops’ Category

nawhatnow?

Sunday, November 1st, 2015

Three weeks ago, I made this pumpkin spice latte recipe. I made a whole can o’ pumpkin worth of mix, then put it in the fridge and heated some up with cashew milk and then added it to my coffee every damn morning.

It is fucking. Delicious.

(I used less sugar and made my own pumpkin spice mix but with like 1/3 as much cinnamon because cinnamon is the stupidest spice (with the exception of black pepper, which I like fine, except for how it’s in every recipe like salt – pepper is not like salt, people, pepper is a spice) and who am I to overwhelm my delicious lattes with the second stupidest spice. I am aware that the linked recipe includes black pepper and I basically just pretended that line was a funny inside joke between me and the author.)

Then two weeks ago I did the same thing, except that time I added some cayenne. It was brilliant. (Just a teeny pinchy pinch, guys, this is a morning drink.)

Then ONE week ago I was like whooop well time to make that fun mix I’m going to drink every day until I die and I went to my cabinet for pumpkin and there was none.

Zero pumpkin.

AND I’d just heard about the pumpkin shortage. The linked article has sound because CNN is the cinnamon of the news world, but the important line is, “That means when stores sell out, they’ll likely be out until next year’s harvest.”

Needless to say I went on a pumpkin hunt. I came back with nine 15 oz cans, two 28 oz cans, and two 15 oz boxes (thanks for being nonconformist Whole Foods!).

I have enough for lattes through my birthday, assuming I don’t get tired of them or decide to sacrifice a can or two to a dessert at some point.

The point of that story that sometimes, I think to myself … well, I if I’m in, I might as well be all in, right?

The relevance moving forward of that point is that: I’m going to try to do National Novel Writing Month and National Blog Posting Month. It will be like some terrible, look-at-a-computer-all-day and then look-at-a-computer-all-night kind of bootcamp. Right? Right.

 

 

kah-WEEEEEEN ah-man

Thursday, January 29th, 2015

I bought a mixer and now I HAVE to use it, right? So I’m making kouign amann. Which it turns out only uses the mixer for like five minutes and then requires approximately 100 minutes of shoulder intensive rolling. Good plan, Emma, good plan.

I’m going to take the finished product to work in the morning, and I hope that it’s going to counteract something that happened today.

See, here’s the thing. Darling Crockett (YES we hang out all the time NO I don’t know what it means) got me these really fun travel books for my birthday. They’re the ’36 hours in’ books from the NY Times for Europe and the West Coast of the US and Canada, and they’re full of pictures and teeny tiny itineraries, which I just love. They make it very easy to imagine ‘well if I were to stop by Dublin for a weekend, I’d…’. So I had the books in my cube and Coastie came by, and then my super fun tall conspiracy theorist coworker who I can’t remember if I made a nickname for came by, and then another guy who definitely doesn’t have a nickname but is very nice squeezed in, and then our boss brought over her donut and settled in for a chat, and then her peer joined her.

Keeping track? Three coworkers and two bosses and me. In my cubicle, which I think is like one and a half feet by three feet.

Roughly.

So we’re chatting about the travel books and them I’m showing everyone the instagram picture of my new mixer (see above) and then asking if they know where I can find a

  • Member of the clergy
  • Medical Doctor
  • School Principal
  • Bank Manager
  • Solicitor/Lawyer
  • Police Officer or
  • Magistrate/Judge

who knows someone who knows me (Irish citizenship whoohooo) and yet another coworker stops by and says what’s happening here?

And I say jokingly,

“Oh, I’m just holding court.”

WHICH (to be fair) IS EXACTLY WHAT WAS HAPPENING.

Because I am loud and extroverted and no one else on my team is. That is why. That is a good reason. I feel like an idiot so I’m try to justify my loud mouth, can you tell?

AND THEY ALL CAME TO ME.

I’m sorry, that was too many capital letters. But seriously, they all came to my cube unbidden to hang out and catch up and then, when I said the thing about me basically being queen, they all looked askance. ‘Well she thinks she’s very special doesn’t she’ I bet they thought.

I am stupid and terrible and I am not the queen. Ok, fine. I am the queen. I am queen of the nerds and it is a position I am proud to hold.

Which I guess makes the kouign amann my let them eat cake moment.

That worked out, right?

(Also from Crockett – an Easy Tiger tote bag. Guy knows me, can’t lie.)

I’d believe cartoon birds braided your hair this morning

Thursday, September 4th, 2014

Last night I was coming home and all the spots in front of my building were taken.

I have a garage that’s actually also basically right in front of the building, that I almost never park in because it’s skinny and a gigantic pain in the ass. I have my bike and a desk in there and while technically my car can be wedged in, it MUST go in at a 90 degree angle and it must happen slowly with the occasional wiggle for  a mirror or something.

This is relevant, because in FRONT of the taken spots, a fellow was loading his car. That took what is normally a two-car width passage in front of the garage down by … well, one car width. He wasn’t directly in front of my garage, but he made it necessary for me to swing in before I swung out and I should have waited but.

I didn’t.

I’m not sure if you would consider the rear bumper of my car or the wood frame of the garage the loser in the interaction between the two, but if you include me? I am definitely the loser. The car is basically fine except for that big ass plastic part that’s no longer attached on one end. The garage is about to be repainted and I’m sure that will cover (or at least minimize? I hope?) proof of my sin.

Whereas I have a quote for $770 dollars in my hot sweaty little hand.

Couple of issues. 1) BUYING A HOUSE CAN’T AFFORD IT. 2) Even if I could afford it, can you think of something MORE boring to spend that much money on? If the car wasn’t working I could just be like ‘well it has to be done’, but with this, it looks like something that could be fixed with a liberal application of duct tape and some prayer. $770 buys a lot of duct tape.

Moral? Should there be a moral? The moral is that I should have waited for that perfectly innocent fellow to move his car, but who am I kidding, that was never going to happen. There is no reality in which I would patiently sit in a car for minutes on end while my dogs were upstairs and the radio was probably playing something dumb. The other moral is … everything sucks, my tiny garage can eat a dick.

 

undignified

Monday, September 1st, 2014

I went to karaoke on Saturday night.

First, I did Me and Bobby McGee, because that song is my jam, man. My lady jam.

Then, I was going for that song that goes ‘call me crazy, call me anything you want…’.

WHAT IS THAT SONG?

Because it’s not Crazy by Patsy Cline.

I don’t actually know Crazy by Patsy Cline. I found that out with a microphone in my hand in front of a room full of people.

I ended up calling for volunteers and this nice fellow who always had a least three songs in the queue (he liked to sing, I’m sayin’) jumped up and tried to help, but he didn’t know the fucking song either. I mean he sort of knew it, but it turns out there are parts that I sort of knew too.

It was a little rough, but I survived. The upside of karaoke is that the whole room is either a) hoping they’re next, b) hoping they’re not next, or c) trying to decide what to sing next. I’m not sure anyone but me and Mr Sure-if-there’s-an-0pen-mic-I’m-in even noticed anything.

Still. Not my finest moment.

awww-ka-ward

Friday, August 22nd, 2014

Tonight after work I decided to stop and get a beer at a new brewery that’s not that far from home. I was alone, but Crockett used to stop for drinks by himself a lot and he seemed to gain a lot of friends out of it, so I figured what’s the worst that could happen. I’d spend half an hour, drink one beer, and then go home to my sweet little puppy faces.

So I get my beer and I’m wandering around trying to decide where to sit. I was originally thinking I would sit on the patio, but the furniture looked recently stained and I came from work in my very whitest of white skirts, so I hopped on a stool inside at the opposite end of an eight top from a guy with a computer. When I did it, I loosely gestured to the other seats to say ‘is it ok if I sit here’ and he said “Oh, yeah, go ahead. I don’t have this many friends. I really only have one friend.”

I smiled and looked at my phone because what? What do I do with that? Offer condolences?

His (only?) friend joined him and it turned out they are in a band, a fact I learned quickly because I heard them pitch it to the owner/booker/person who talks to bands at the brewery as ‘we do Lady Gaga with a banjo’. Apparently the owner/booker/brewery person thought that sounded swell, because they all went into a back room and Mr One Friend and his one friend left their beers on the table.

I don’t think many women would leave beers unattended like that, but that does not excuse what came next.

When Mr One Friend came back, he picked up his beer and looked right at me, and because I am a not funny dummy, I said ‘some woman came by and dropped a pill in there. That’s ok, right?’

I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THAT CAME FROM. He thought it was funny.

Then he came over and I had to talk to him and his one friend for the ten minutes it took me to finish my beer.

Turns out the band also does Marilyn Manson with a banjo, though, so at least I found that out.