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emmanation

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Archive for the ‘work’ Category

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Thursday, October 1st, 2015

I semi-frequently refer to not current versions of myself in the third person.

(Star does it too, so, you know. Non-craziness comes in numbers.)

Usually I’m badmouthing past Emma, or pre-apologizing to future Emma. (That makes it sound like I made/ke poor choices, but when I’m making good choices it seems sort of self absorbed to be all ‘hey, future Emma, you’re welcome’, so, you know. Poor choices and excellent choices in equal measure, just not as relevant to the story.)

Yesterday I had leftover sloppy joes for lunch. They were part of me and Crockett’s whole food delivery experiment (Blue Apron/Hello Fresh/Green Chef report back for details at some point possibly!) and they were good but they had a lot of onions in them, and some extra onions on them, and they were not an ideal thing to eat in the middle of a work day.

A sweet coworker of mine was microwaving her lunch at the same time that I was heating up the oniony mess and I told her about the onion breath fog that usually makes me choose not to eat onions. After I ate the OnionParty2015 lunch, I mentioned to her that I should have known better. Then I casually said something about past Emma that I  no longer even remember. Something like ‘past Emma really let me down while packing this lunch’. Not. Even. Funny.

The thing is, she thought it was cute, and now she’s using it. To refer to me, not to her.

IT IS VERY DISCONCERTING.

“Did past Emma do this one work thing?”

“Oh future Emma is going to appreciate that current Emma just did that other work thing.”

It’s like sharing a personal nickname accidentally and someone starts using it, except it’s literally not at all like that because it’s nonsensical and sci-fi-y and requires conjugating.

So far, I can say current Emma and past Emma are not fans. Future Emma has yet to weigh in.

what I golf

Sunday, June 21st, 2015

My fabulous new company has a golf weekend year. For a mere twenty five dollars, we get to play with four coworkers in a scramble, and get lots of branded stuff, and get drinks, and breakfast, and lunch, and entered in a raffle. It’s fun. This is a short list of things that happened to me during the game yesterday.

  • I drove the golf cart alone,  fast, and while showing off with a tight speedy turn, I fell out of the cart. Turns out no one was watching, so I was neither embarrassed nor impressive.
  • (I just put on fake nails for fun and TYPING IS HARD)
  • When we went to tip the drink cart woman, I looked for cash. I had a ten, a one, and two twenties, so I gave her the one and felt bad and moved on. Then at the clubhouse during the raffle I bought a beer for 3.75, and the bartender brought me a dollar and quarter for change. I looked in my wallet and still had a twenty and a ten, and I had thought I was holding a twenty, so I told him I’d given him a twenty and he insisted I’d given him a five. He gave in and brought me my change, and I know for sure I couldn’t have given him something I didn’t have, but I still feel guilty.
  • One of my teammates let me use this super old brass-lookin’ putter, and I joked that it was haunted, and he looked at me quite seriously and said ‘the guy who used to own it was a jerk and a bigot’ and I stuttered ‘do you think his ghost will help me golf?’ and he was like uhhhh. But I did pretty damn well on the …putting part, so maybe the bigoted jerk ghost is working for me?
  •  Everyone semi-grimaced when I told them who I would be playing with (random assignment)  but my team was AWESOME. I was flipping them off by three hours in and no one was offended.
  • I did a sort of ridiculous number of cartwheels for a respectable 34 year old woman. Because there’s nothing about golf grass that doesn’t scream cartwheel.

Oh also, I wore shorts with a three inch inseam which seemed perfectly reasonable but I’ve seen some pics and you know what a three inch inseam looks like when you’re with coworkers? Booty shorts. Um, yay me?

I might’ve known it would be red

Tuesday, February 17th, 2015

The bathroom at work that inspired my ‘common sense’ (i.e. wash your hands where I tell you to because I’m bossy) post has recently been the site of three new short episodes. The first two are weird, the third is gross and the primary topic here. Just warning everyone.

The first two are best represented by the IMs I sent immediately after they happened:

me: I was just in the bathroom and a woman came in and went into a stall and said OW a bunch of times and then started singing
friend: Ewww WTF
me: I have no idea

it was SO WERID
weird
she must have had drinks at lunch or something
I can’t think of any other explanation
or she’s having a stroke
?
friend: I hope nothing scary is happening with her lady parts
me: she seemed generally pleased

despite the ‘ow‘s

It was true. The ow’s were somehow not troublesome. More like pulling off an  irritating bandaid that you’re super pleased to no longer have on your skin.

No one was found in the bathroom later having suffered from a stroke.

Second thing: 

me: WHAT IS HAPPENIN
ok
so I was just in the same bathroom where the lady said ow ow ow the other day?
and there was someone who I am 85% sure was different
whispering to herself in the stall!
same friend: that is so weird
that bathroom makes people crazy!
me: the only thing I heard was ‘well that is disappointing’ but there was a LOT

Third thing. Same bathroom. (If you’re a man who knows me, just be aware this is about to get period-y. I don’t care if you read it as long as you don’t whine about it being yucky after I obviously forewarned you.)

I’ve been using a diva cup off and on for a couple of years, maybe? (Diva cup: a little cuppy thing you stick up into your vagina to collect menstrual blood. You change it every 8 – 12 hours unless you’re me in which case you change it once a day because a) I bleed a lot compared to how much I used to because of this dumb IUD but not actually that much in the grand scheme of things and b) I’m gross.) I would use it every day of every period if I could, but some days it doesn’t work, somehow. Like, you have to fold it and twist it and stuff and some days it just doesn’t fold and twist and you get tired of sticking silicone into yourself and spinning it around and pulling it back out, so you give up.

A couple of months ago, I took it out in the shower and my hand slipped while I was holding it and it hit the ground and bounced and I was covered in blood. It was very, very Carrie.

This morning was one of the not twisting and spinning and holding mornings. My damn period is almost over, so I put in a pantyliner and moved on with my day. It went fine (although I forgot deodorant because COME ON, there are only so many things a woman can remember on a given morning) but this afternoon I sneezed and I got that unpleasant ‘gosh something just came out of me’ feeling. (If you don’t know that feeling, that’s fine, but I suspect that means you’re a prepubescent woman or one of the aforementioned men who didn’t heed my warning. For you guys, it’s like … um, ok you know how sometimes you sneeze and you can tell a bunch of spit came out of your mouth? That’s the best I can do.)  I was wearing a red skirt. Red, good, skirt, bad, so I hightailed it to the bathroom to see what the damage was.

Minimal. However. The pantyliner had put up a good fight, but was ready for honorable discharge. I hadn’t brought any replacements to work, much less to the bathroom (downside of the diva cup, you get lazy) so I re-dressed and fiddled for a quarter. I tried the pad dispenser. It returned my quarter. I tried the tampon dispenser. It kept my quarter but gave me no tampon.

There was no option left for me but to build a toilet paper contraption that would last me until I found a better solution. You know the one – a wad of TP, with a long piece wrapped around it and the crotch of your underwear to hold it in place? Yeah, that one. As I was wrapping

deep breath

as I was wrapping, someone came in, and I realized that I had been muttering to myself.

I was talking to myself in the crazy talk to yourself bathroom. What was I saying? Don’t even know. Probably something about ow and being disappointed?

 

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.)

how to disappear

Monday, January 12th, 2015

I bought a book called How To Disappear on Kindle a few years ago. Perhaps as research for Corked? That would make sense, although I don’t actually remember that being the reason. More likely it was because I was considering packing up Cloey and Maida and making a full on escape-from-grad-school attempt.

One of the first things that the author points out is that if you really are planning on ditching your life, you messed up if you bought the book with anything but cash, anywhere but a book store without cameras. Fortunately, I didn’t end up making a break from grad school, so it didn’t matter.

However, I’m now perhaps considering it again (blogging about it isn’t a tip off, right?) because I’m having a party.

A cocktail/housewarming/birthday party, on Saturday.

To be clear, I am psyched as hell about the party. I have two separate party cocktails along with beer and wine, and literally ten different canapes planned. (Seven savory, three sweet, half vegetarian, some gluten free, some dairy free – I really thought this through.) I’m excited for my work friends to meet my … life friends? Non-work friends? Friends friends? (There’s no reasonable thing to call my friends that I don’t work with that doesn’t demean the people I do work with, but who are we kidding, no one likes their work friends as much as their friend friends. Except the people in The Office.)

The thing is, I have 30 yes RSVPs.

I absolutely blame myself. For being so damn lovable.

Ahahaha just kidding I’m the worst, remember? I do blame myself, though. Reason 1) I’m used to throwing girl only parties, so I invited all the women I would normally invite and their plus ones. Double the list, didn’t plan for it. Reason 2) I clearly underestimated how much combining two big parties AND requiring people to dress up would up the guest list. Housewarming, skippable but fun. Fancy cocktail party, skippable but a nice excuse to buy a new outfit plus it was very clearly stated that you didn’t have to bring ANYTHING. Birthday party … skippable with good cause. The three together? Unstoppable. Basically everyone but my boss said yes. (Very polite of her, don’t you think? It was perhaps a risk inviting her but I think we played the social situation quite well.)

It’s going to be awesome. Or I’m going to spend the whole night worrying about food and drinks. Or it’s going to be great. Or I’m going to spend the whole night worried about Agnes and Maida.  Or it’s going to be carefree and a kick. Or I’m going to get crazy drunk and embarrass myself in front of most of the people I love.

Just maybe I should have paid for the book with cash.