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emmanation

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

I was born in Delaware

November 18th, 2016 by biscuit

I was not born in Delaware, I’m just watching this show called ‘No Tomorrow’ (that’s apparently been cancelled I just found out by googling for a link) where this one guy didn’t believe in Delaware and this other guy said he was born in Delaware … it was funnier than I’m making it sound. Jokes like that are not why the show was cancelled, probably? This face is definitely not why it got cancelled.

Crockett is out, I’m watching a cancelled show, and there’s a smell in the house.

My life is just one party after another.

I can’t locate the smell. It’s got … well, it smells vaguely of … it smells like poo. Specifically, like a dog had an indoor accident, and yet. I’ve been over the house like NINE TIMES and there is NOTHING. I sniffed the dogs themselves, NOTHING. I checked my shoes. That’s right, NOTHING.

It is 100% not the candle from yesterday, although I understand why you’d think that if you read these two posts in a row.

I’m wondering if somehow Deaner distracted me and pooped in the basement? He loves the basement, but I can’t go check because see above re: Crockett being out. (I don’t go into the basement when it’s dark and Crockett isn’t here. Blame 35 years of horror movie lessons.)

Otherwise, I’m concerned that it might be my nose. Or my shirt. Or the sewer system. I’m not sure which of those is worst.

Maybe there’s no smell in Delaware.

that service tho

November 17th, 2016 by biscuit

I love candles, you guys. One of the things that has changed in my life as I have become an adult is that I now buy candles and store them, so I can burn them when I want. I have warm, lovely winter scents and bright, citrusy summer scents, even. Like, stocked, in the bottom of my pantry.

Like any good hobby (hobby? no, candles are not a hobby), the deeper you get, the better stuff you want. (Is that like drug addiction, or is that backwards? Or do drugs start that way and then go downhill? If candles are drugs (metaphor wise), not a hobby, then will I eventually start buying 10 for 10 plain white tapers in the grocery store just to hold me over until my next Anthropologie trip?)

Focus, Emma.

So I have candles from Target, and Mrs. Meyers Clean Day candles, and a couple of those Bath&Body Works beauties. But I was thinking it was time to level up and also I read this funny but also real review of a candle called Wood Cabin, made by a company in Brooklyn called Keap, and I was like YES, I am ready for candles that cost as much as THREE glasses of wine instead of one or two glasses of wine. It’s time. Plus, this is how the review answered the question ‘does it have a good smell?’: Yes. In colder months, my favorite genre of candle scent is “old church with big fireplace.” This is one of those candles.

So on the Keap website, I was like where’s Wood Cabin … I got temporarily distracted by Hot Springs, which is cedar and eucalyptus and lavender! but I was on a mission – and I found it, and I put it in my cart, and I hit checkout, and it said ‘hey what’s your credit card number??’

My credit card was in the car.

And I am a woman who loves a candle, but I am a lazy, lazy woman as well, so I abandoned my candle.

The next day, Keap sent one of those ‘hey, you abandoned your poor, baby, unloved candle – did something go wrong or are you just a terrible person?’ (not at all what it said even a little). And instead of ignoring it like I usually would, I sent back a note that said ‘my credit card was super far away – totally would have checked out if you had paypal tho!’.

Then the owner actually personally emailed me back to tell me they were working on paypal integration.

And then emailed me again to tell me when it was working.

So obviously I bought the candle. Wood Cabin is burning on my table. To me it’s more ‘nighttime winter walk in Breck with Crockett when his sweater smells like his cologne and our fireplace’ than old church, but as you can imagine, it smells pretty tasty either way.

PLUS it snowed here today!

Things are super.

leaving this here

November 16th, 2016 by biscuit

screen-shot-2016-11-16-at-8-47-53-pmHey! We got our wedding pictures! (Bet you didn’t guess.)

I look very sweet and not at all like I’m giving side eye to the world.

I love this picture.

 

oooookabob

November 15th, 2016 by biscuit

I’m sore.

Very sore.

FROM YOGA.

The fact that I’m so surprised says one of two things about me. A) I’ve been dramatically underestimating yoga-ites and the workout they get for quite some time, or B) I’m a gigantic baby with spaghetti for muscles and a minimal pain tolerance.

I’m going again tomorrow night, because either way, it’s a much better workout than I expected.

Yoga clothes are cute, right?

fuck politeness

November 14th, 2016 by biscuit

(I can’t remember if I’ve written about My Favorite Murder before. Is this why people use real tags instead of half thought out run on ones about the post content?)

There’s this podcast called My Favorite Murder. It’s kind of famous now, but I’ve been listening to it since close to the beginning (tosses artfully unbrushed hair over shoulder and pushes glasses up nose) and I love it. It was the impetus for me and a girlfriend to start our own podcast, actually!

(Our podcast was super famous, you wouldn’t have heard of it … but then my cohost/friend got possessed. She’s got an exorcism scheduled for the week of Thanksgiving, so perhaps at some point the podcast will return and share space with the blog.)

One of the key tenants of the MFM listeners (women, let’s be straight – they’re all women. Men don’t have the constant sense of unease that leads to an obsession with the worst things that can happen that comes with having a vagina. That’s why true crime readers/listeners are almost exclusively women which is a well known fact that I totally have a citation for) is ‘fuck politeness’. See, they have a goal of teaching the women who listen ways to be safer, and they’re fun and useful things like ‘stay sexy, don’t get murdered‘, ‘you’re in a cult, call your dad‘, and ‘stay out of the forest‘.

Also, fuck politeness.

Crockett and I know this guy. He’s a nice guy, we see him out and about in town. Lots of people we know know him, and I’m not sure they all like talking to him but no one actively avoids him.

The core of ‘fuck politeness’ is that women can easily get in trouble because we’re taught to be sweet above all else. Polite above all else. To go with the flow and not be a problem, above all else. The action of ‘fuck politeness’ is that, if something doesn’t feel good, then don’t worry about being good. It’s not our job as women to listen to men who want to carry our groceries to spend a few more minutes with us. It’s not our job to drink a drink someone bought for us without asking.

It’s not our job to be sweet.

This guy we know, he makes me uncomfortable. He’s not done anything aggressive. If anything, he’s more Elmyra Duff than Buffalo Bill (the Silence of the Lambs one, not the cowboy one). He likes me and Crockett, but tonight he saw us out with some friends and came to stand with us. He was too close, and he’s been too close too many times. I feel bad, like I’m overreacting. Everyone I know knows him! And he’s a good guy!

But also. In my head, he sort of feels like a kid who might give a puppy a bath and not understand how long that puppy can stay underwater. Does that make sense? I don’t think he means any harm, but I also don’t trust that he would know what the lines are if he found us in a position where no one else was there to help?

I don’t know, man.

I left, after a little while. I didn’t ask him to step away from me, I just backed out of the conversation.

The problem with ‘fuck politeness’ is that it sounds totally reasonable when you hear someone else explain it. “Oh, he showed up at your house to return something you don’t remember dropping, after you said no to a date? Babe, fuck politeness – say thanks and close the door on his request for a glass of water. Then call your best friend and describe his ass, just in case.” “Oh, he has a map and would really appreciate it if you’d roll down your window so he could ask for directions? Babe, let him ask a car that has someone in it that isn’t a woman alone.” Those seem medium rough, but also totally reasonable.

This guy hasn’t done anything weird. I mean, yes, he’s written a poem about me (tonight) but he thought it was based on a prompt by Crockett and he writes a lot …

I don’t know. I can’t boil this one down. He makes me edgy, and maybe that’s enough. I did say goodbye, but I left. And I might continue to leave if he shows up and stands too close to me.

Fuck politeness.