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emmanation

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

Archive for the ‘whoops’ Category

go sports go!

Thursday, June 19th, 2014

Here’s what I know about the World Cup:

1) The US isn’t out yet (that was true the last time I checked which I now realize was Tuesday so …). The US wasn’t out on Tuesday.

2) Some of the men aren’t ugly. (Every linked picture came from here. Just in case you’re looking for more. Or not. It’s all you.)

I am not a worldly woman.

 

sharing is caring

Thursday, May 29th, 2014

I think it’s about time to share that one comment. The one that STILL RANKLES. Comments in brackets are mine but I tried to keep them to a minimum.

Emma,

I don’t normally read your blog for the same reason I don’t watch reality tv. Your vanity and pretension are so absurdly high that they almost appear scripted. [I cannot overstate how much I love that part.] I get that that is somewhat the point of your blog, but I’ve met you in person and sadly life imitates art way too closely. One of your other readers [implying that people all over the place are talking about my blog would only work if I didn’t know there’s like ten awesome people who read it and two are related to me – I think our critic here had me in RSSpointed me to this post and I just had to comment.

A few points: Since you ramble it was difficult to pin down your main argument [the post this comment was on is here but was regarding my irritation with myself for taking a health test at work when I didn’t necessarily agree it was something that should be offered, and it was absolutely rambley- good call mean stranger], but it seems you are mostly concerned with invasion of your privacy, specifically your weight and cholesterol levels. First of all, understand that privacy is already lost when you blog indiscriminately about every little thing that upsets you on the internet. Now, you almost [so closedid the right thing and accepted responsibility: that your own greed for the princely [of or held by a princesum of 150 dollars led you to an embarrassing [embarrassed and irritated are not synonyms] couple of minutes at a health screening (295? Yikes, don’t make holiday plans!) [imminent death to me ahahahah fuck you]. But it is imbalanced by your diatribe about ulterior motives and intrusive company policies. While it is possible the company benefits monetarily from hosting health screenings, you have only suspicions, not facts. Why is money an acceptable excuse for you ($150), but not your company (probably more than $150?) I guess if you can cave, so can ‘Big Brother,’ yes? [All of this is a way of saying ‘I don’t agree with you’. I’m not sure I agree with myself either. But you didn’t have to be a dick about it.]

A couple other laughable points: The health screening was in the morning and you posted this before close of business the same day [This is true. I wrote the post and fired it off at lunch]. Safe to assume you aren’t always “doing your damn job.” It’s also known you routinely work from home and have others do your work by proxy. So please, don’t complain about your company’s attitude toward your attendance. [The work by proxy thing? I have no idea. I worked from home when allowed which wasn’t very often. Someone was grinding a confusing axe that I wasn’t aware existed.]

[Most interesting thing to note with regard to the preceding paragraph regarding my posting from work? The comment was posted at 9:08 am on the weekday following my post and is admittedly by a coworker. Plus I’m not an idiot (read: I asked someone how to do this) and I looked at the source IP address and found that it came from my office building. How long did this damn thing take to write, huh, meanie-pants??]

Also, if you’re your father’s daughter, shouldn’t you blame him and not your arteries? Sounds like this bad news was nothing you shouldn’t have known already.

You. Spoiled. Brat. [The opening three sentences are my favorite part, but this is a close second.]

Yours truly, A critic

I suspect I know who this was, honestly. Well, one of two or three people. I don’t work with any of them anymore. Upside.

shame

Thursday, May 22nd, 2014

I ordered some pants from J Crew recently. (I cannot say enough good things about the Campbell capris, if you like pants that show your ankles. I love pants that show my ankles, they make me feel like Audrey Hepburn. I am not the first person to say that, I’m completely sure.)

Aside: I wear a lot of J Crew. I just checked my spreadsheet and the last work day that I was NOT wearing anything from J Crew was May 7th. The last work day that EVERYTHING I wore was from J Crew was May 1st. J Crew neither knows nor cares about this.

Aside aside: Yeah, I track my clothes on a google doc. I have a tab that has my whole wardrobe along with the date purchased, the suggested price, and how much I actually paid (almost exclusively less than the suggested price, whatup yo). The tracking tab references the wardrobe tab, so the wardrobe tab also has a price per wear column. It’s a serious problem. I only use it for stuff I wear to work, because my nighttime clothes are basically one pair of jeans and ten dollar tee shirts.

So these pants I ordered have a seam that’s unraveling, and due to a recent debacle in the changing room of my local J Crew (nothing to see here, move along folks) I don’t want to return them in store. I’m mailing them back tomorrow. (Yes, it was a debacle worth the $5.95 they’re going to charge me in return shipping. Still not talking about it.) I found an appropriately sized box, wrapped the pants up, and then went looking for a pen to fill out the return form.

I have no pens. Or pencils.

The only writing utensils I have anywhere in my apartment are a relatively sharp green crayon and a flat topped blue crayon.

That is not an adult way of life.

I have shame.

compromise

Monday, May 19th, 2014

Buttload is a real measurement and it refers to wine, as all good things do.

Today, while carrying Maida over my shoulder through a field because she’s a big fat baby, I was thinking of the buttload of things I compromise on every day.

Most of them have to do with Maida.

I swear to god, you guys, this dog has the absolute upper hand in all situations. I feel like I’ve told this story here before, but I can’t find it on search and I haven’t written for a YEAR, so come on. How about I just tell it again. I think this is why I let her do whatever she wants.

Back when it was still me and Cloey and Maida (never wrote about Clo dying except peripherally but fuck if it still doesn’t hurt, man), we all went with my mom and Crockett and my mom’s two dogs to a family reunion up in the mountains. Mom and I needed to run some errands and all the dogs were being bad when left alone, so we put all four dogs into her Subaru and drove to this shopping center at the intersection of many mountain highways. When we came out of the hardware store, I realized the rear window was open and Maida was nowhere to be seen.

I’m going to skip to the end for the worriers. She was under the front seat, a place that I would previously have bet 100s of dollars that she couldn’t fit. It was fine.

HOWEVER. The forty five minutes where I thought my tiny, dumb, scared-of-men-in-hats, brave-at-the-wrong-times dog was wandering around a big parking lot surrounded by speeding cars were terrible. I kept stopping people and asking if they’d seen a small white dog. My mom started going into stores. We recruited Crockett and he was doing the same. I just ran around screaming her name for awhile.

Shocker (not at all a shocker), it was Crockett who was the voice of reason. He asked if I was SURE she wasn’t in the car. We hadn’t opened the doors because, as I have previously stated, there were three other dogs in the car and it was a TERRIBLE PLACE FOR A DOG TO RUN AROUND. We’d looked in all the windows and called her name. He decided to see for himself.

I didn’t let her go for like twenty solid hours.

And now I carry her through fields when she thinks it’s too hot.

I also carry her down the stairs. And lift the covers for her because her nose is too short to lift them herself. And schedule my post work activities around her dinner.

I feel like I should re-title this post ‘pushover’.

in your face, yesterday

Wednesday, October 3rd, 2012

Yesterday was a weird and terrible day because I was an idiot, and I HATE that because then I can’t blame it on anyone else.

Here’s what happened. Basically, I had one really important thing to do, but an automated process had to finish first. I had to manually check to see if that process was done, which I did several times last week (nope), Monday (nope), and yesterday (still nope). Yesterday I finally asked someone what was going on, because it should have been done, and he pointed out that I’m an idiot, was looking at the wrong thing, and it totally was done and had been for like days. Probably. I actually have no idea when it finished, but I’m assuming it was days ago because yesterday was that kind of day. Then, in trying to do my one important thing, I broke my computer (BOTH – I have two computers at work and I broke them BOTH) by trying something that I knew didn’t work because it broke my computer last week. I just forgot.

Then I didn’t get to go to the gym because of the important thing doing and computer fixing.

THEN I got a flu shot, which I wasn’t wearing the proper clothes for. I ended up having to take my shell thing off in front of a room full of people which was fine because I had a whole nother shirt underneath but I did it awkwardly and smooshed my nose and it was just embarrassing.

Then my arm hurt.

THEN I had to go to a ’round table’ meeting where there was no agenda and a whole bunch of newish employees were supposed to ask questions, but no one had any questions and it was a waste of a perfectly good hour. I could have come up with some questions, too, but I didn’t really think about it and I missed my chance. Because I was an idiot yesterday.

Finally, my boss told me that a perfectly reasonable request that my coworker and I had made to make our lives more pleasant had been denied. That, fortunately, was not caused by any idiotic move on my part, but still, it was very disappointing. I was already so mad about the computer thing and the important thing and the flu shot thing and the dumb meeting thing that I said absolutely nothing to him when he told me that, because I probably would have cried. Or yelled. Or cry-yelled, which I suspect would have been so traumatic for him that he would have caved and given us what we want, but I don’t want to be that person. You know, the scary unbalanced cry-y person. I mean, I am that person, I just don’t want to be that person at work. Or I don’t want people at work to know I’m that person, more accurately.

Anyway, though, today has been better! Yay! In your face, yesterday.