Goodbye Cruel World

My reluctance to go to the doctor has been well documented. Nothing against MDs or those of you who believe that "if one works, two will work twice as well." I just don't like the idea of medication. I believe that, in most cases, the body can heal itself. I'm not militant in this stance by any means. I mean, I love me some Nyquil. A girl's gotta sleep sometimes when there is just no more sleep to be had. And I realize that if I were in the hospital, they will need to use some sort of anesthetic before they removed the limb that needs removing (which, of course, is the only reason why I would be in the hospital in the first place...) But for a headache? Close your eyes and relax a bit - if it gets worse, go home...don't work. Sore neck? Just don't turn to the sore side. Duh.

All of that said, and not to get melodramatic on you, I think I'm dying. Seriously. I am sick sick sick, and since I have very little experience being sick, I have no idea how miserable I should feel when it's just a little sick vs. a big sick. That said, judging on how I feel, this is obviously a very serious illness and I am going to die from it. I'm chilling out on death's doorstep just waiting for the angels to come and take me home. (or for someone to help me into my handbasket. Either way.)

It all began at my parent's house over Labor Day weekend. I woke up one morning with no voice. The second morning it was a little bit worse. I just figured it would go away...something about the air down where my parents live has never worked well with me anyway. The raspy throat in the morning persisted and eventually developed into a cough. A rattling cough that sometimes produced grossness from my lungs. I was mildly concerned, but I didn't feel worse for the wear...I just had a cough. I sounded like a smoker, actually. I went ahead and participated in an all day, two-on-two volleyball tournament with this cough.

And then Monday came. And with it came misery.

Monday morning started off okay. My head was a bit stuffy, and I really didn't want to get out of bed, but I made it to work and had an okay day. By Monday night, all I wanted to do was whine about how I didn't feel well. Tuesday morning I knew I wasn't going to work (for long) and after coming home at noon and getting a quality nap in with the dogs, deciding that I couldn't possibly go to class and demanding that the boy come and keep my sick ass company, I called the doctor's office. (After that phone call, I asked the boy, in all seriousness, to cut off my nose with a kitchen knife to stop the DAMNED ITCHING that was making my eyes constantly water.)

I don't have any allergies of which I'm aware.

Which doctor? Good question, as I do not have a general practicioner. (I know, I know. Save your lectures for someone who's not sick at the moment.) I begged a referral from my boss and made a Wednesday morning appointment with his doctor.

The only outstanding memory I have of the doctor's office was a neat discussion about western medicine vs. herbal/organic supplements, and the fact that his scale confirmed my worst fear - that my home scale isn't weighing heavy by 20 lbs. Damn.

Apparently I am not dying. Apparently I have a "sinus infection." I still think that "sinus infection" is code for "dead in a week" but what do I know? I woke up this morning feeling better, but I still have that death rattle in my lungs, and the slightest laugh sends me into a coughing fit that brings tears to my eyes.

Because I've now pulled a muscle in my abdomen from the coughing and sneezing. I'm so old.

Never mind the old. It's a new decade, right? I'm going to learn how to take care of myself. I need rest, right? No volleyball, no stress, just sleep (and prescribed medication.)

So last night I went to volleyball - just to observe, mind you. I'm the captain of one of the teams, and one of the subs didn't know anyone else, blah blah, insert excuse here. I only played one game. One out of six! That's progress, right?

And tonight...well, I'm still going to lab. I have to go to lab. I can't miss lab. We're having a quiz tonight.

And tomorrow... I'm watching a movie with some friends after work. Um, I'll make sure to get home early.

Saturday? Well, I volunteer in the morning, but I should be able to sleep in the afternoon. That's it. I'll schedule in some sleep on Saturday afternoon.

See? I can take care of myself...

No, I don't have a political opinion. Why do you ask?

Life in the Land of Boring

So I know it's been a while since I've blogged, and I've been racking my brain trying to find something - anything - to blog about. But I've got nothin'. Oh, I've got a lot of little tidbits, like how Blue was a HIT at my parents house over the Labor Day weekend - and how it almost killed me to have to leave Casey at home, or how my father's reirement BBQ (his second retirement party, mind you) was way more fun than it should have been considering I was one of the three youngest people there, or how I got a call from a 25-year-old potential suitor at 10:00pm and he sounded surprised that I was already in bed (old.) But none of them are suitable stories for an entire blog. Meh.

That's not to say there's nothing going on. School has started once again, and I'm basking in the last five-hour semester I can take. From here on out I'm in the nitty gritty and have to take a minimum of ten-hours per semester. Fabulous. I intend to enjoy my "freedom" while I have it this semester (and to get an A in this one measly little class I'm in.) I keep fixing little things in my teeny tiny apartment, but we're all settled in now and have a decent routine going. I started a new (traumatizing) volunteer experience that I might blog about sometime, and that's going smoothly...

Everything's just....going. And for someone who doesn't like change and likes to plan, this is a good thing. But for blogging....well....

I will say that I met a cute boy in my class this semester.

A cute young boy. (but not too young.)

A cute, young, smart boy.

A cute, young, smart, seemingly interested in Emily, boy.

A cute, young, smart, seemingly interested in Emily, has a smiliar background, boy.

A cute, young, smart, seemingly interested in Emily, has a similar background, and rides a motorcycle, boy.

Oh my.

A cute, young, smart, seemingly interested in Emily boy who has a similar background, rides a motorcycle... and is allergic to dogs.

Sigh.

Magic Soda

I've been stressed out recently. I won't lie. It crept up slowly, and I didn't even really notice it until I was ordering a Big Mac in the McDonalds drive thru (I hate McDonalds) and I realized that it was my third meal at McDonalds in one day. I don't even know how I got there. I just remember that one day I meant to say "Diet Coke" and "Big Mac Meal with large fries" came out. That's about the ninth level of stress. The tenth level involves Taco Bell, is not at ALL pretty, and has only been reached once in recent history (finals week last semester.)

Turns out I AM an emotional eater. Wow. Who knew? (Shut it zlionsfan.)

Anyway, stressed. After a pretty good summer, I actually found myself avoiding the stress. I knew I had to get back to reality....but the summer was filled with other sorts of easy-to-manage stress. Not the can-completely-alter-your-future-in-a-bad-way stress. So not only was I eating, I was also burrowing my head in the sand, ostrich style. This past weekend it came to a head, and I finally got everything sorted out if not to my liking, at least as close as it can BE to my liking. Still, with everything coming to a head, my stress went from benign over-eating to periodic freak-outs and the need to incessantly discuss my options over and over and over ad nauseum. Ugh.

The boy has been patient. He waited until last night, and suggested that I try this new beverage that he found. He said that he noticed that I've been a bit stressed (understatement) and since it's called "calm" he thought it might help. It looked suspect, but I tried it. It wasn't fabulous. The conversation that the boy and I had about it went like this:

Boy: "So, how is it?"
Me: "Oh, it's okay. It's nothing fabulzzzzzzzzzz"

Seriously. That stuff put me OUT. "Calm" my rear end. "Comatose" would be more like it. That stuff must have NyQuil in it or something. It was ridiculous. I was out within 10 minutes from drinking it. Prior to drinking the soda, I was chatting about the recent fantasy football draft, loving on my dogs, and silently freaking out about how classes have started. After drinking the soda I remember nothing until I semi-woke up and stumbled to bed from the couch.

I still don't know if the boy knew what would happen when he offered me the seemingly-innocent drink... but I'm going to assume he had his suspicions*. I also don't know that the drink solved anything long term, because I'm still stressed... but at least now I'm stressed and well rested.

*my boss already asked. No, I don't know where the boy got the magic soda, but I think it should only be used for good and not evil.

Happy Hunting (with illustrations)

I like to figure things out. Like anyone, I want to know the answers. I want to know WHY. But, unlike others (most notably, the boy,) it's not always about the knowing for me. Sometimes it's more about the finding out. It's about the searching. So I like to find random information by what I call scavenger hunts. Let me explain...

The rules are pretty dependent on the situation, but I like to ask people (friends, relatives, strangers on the street) whatever question we are discussing, and see if they have the answer. Sort of like a "shout out" on Cash Cab. I generally don't like to consult any type of reference text or the internet. I like to poll the general public.

For example, the boy and I were driving somewhere once and for fun decided to take the Friends challenge and name all 50 states. When we were successful (and pretty full of ourselves) we attempted all 50 state capitals. We got stuck on South Carolina. I had an atlas in the back (that I didn't mention to the boy) but we started calling friends and acquaintances at my suggestion. The first three calls yielded nothing, but it was still fun to call random friends, ask them a random question, and then see where the conversation led. I was enjoying myself. I didn't notice the boy getting antsy. The next call was to the boy's parents. When they didn't know the answer, I heard him ask his mom to get a map. I got upset. He ruined the game! I wanted to know the answer, of course, but I also enjoyed calling friends and family and having brief conversations about what people thought and how embarrassed we were about not really knowing. I didn't really care if I found out the answer right then. (I also got several emails the following Monday from everyone who had either looked it up or remembered in their sleep that night...) I couldn't really explain why the map was cheating, but I knew that it was. The boy thought I was crazy. After several other such "scavenger hunts" he's more resigned to my antics, but he still doesn't always like it.

I call my scavenger hunting another adorable quirk. Others might call it "one more reason why Emily is still single." I'm sure zlionsfan will use it as more proof that I am an extrovert (and not an introvert in extrovert's clothing as I am fond of claiming.) Whatever. I just think it's more about the journey than the destination sometimes.

Since the move, I've been exploring the neighborhood more and more on my walks with the dogs. With the beautiful weather lately, our walks have gotten longer and longer. Luckily, I live within walking distance to both my alma mater and Crown Hill Cemetery,. (come find me stalkers!!) Both great places to walk dogs.

I was introduced to Crown Hill when I was in college. My then-roommate took a field trip to the highest point in Indianapolis.
When I asked where it was, she wouldn't tell me, so I set out to find it for myself. Turns out, it's the tomb of James Whitcomb Riley and it's got a GREAT view of the Indianapolis skyline. I've since returned to his grave several times with random friends and family in tow. Not only are the grounds of the cemetery beautiful, but with this view, I think it's a neat little trip to take. Now that I'm within walking distance, it's a trek that the dogs and I take regularly. The hill makes me feel like I'm actually getting a workout - Bonus! I used to always drive when I would take friends and family. Now that I'm walking more, I've stumbled upon the grave of Benjamin Harrison as well, so I was curious about the other famous people who are buried in Crown Hill. When I printed off the list, both the boy and I were most intrigued with finding the grave of John Dillinger. Originally I thought we could just search for it on our own. The boy humored me at first. I think he knew this would be short lived. Um, I'm not so good with spatial relationships. After walking though just one part of the cemetery, and then rounding a bend in the road to see yet another huge area stretching before us, I got an idea of just how large the third largest non-government cemetery (and 555 acres) really is. So I set about finding a "clue."

After rollerblading one night (I thought we could cover more ground that way) we ran into the evening security man. I struck up a conversation and asked him about Dillinger's grave. He named the road it was near. Sweet! The next day the boy and I went back with the dogs and combed the area near that road. No dice. I still thouroughly enjoyed myself - after all, it was a warm summer night, the dogs were getting exercised, we were taking what amounted to a very nice stroll.... Nothing lost, right? The boy, however, was frustrated. He wanted to find the grave NOW. We hadn't reached our goal! The horror!! On our way out that night, we saw the security guy again, and at the boy's request, I stopped to get more information as to where the grave was specifically located. The security man thought for a second and then offered to meet us the next night at 7:00 pm to take us there himself.

The boy was excited. Me? Well... I still wanted to do it myself. I mused to the boy that if only I could find a picture of the grave with some background included, maybe that would be enough. The boy was already impatient after a fruitless night of searching and said that my idea probably wouldn't work anyway.

Undeterred, I searched the next afternoon and found this:

BINGO! That was EXACTLY what I wanted. The building in the back? White with big windows? Surely I could find that. I left work at 5:00 and had the dogs with me at Crown Hill by 5:30. At first I walked along the road where I had been with the boy, but in the opposite direction. Nothing. And of course, this was one of those beastly hot days. Luckily, there are plenty of spigots for the dogs to drink from. At 6:10, I figured I was in the wrong place, and we turned back. By the time we got back to the car, I was ready to admit defeat and just meet our guide to find the grave. I hadn't really lost anything, right? I had just had a nice walk and I was pretty much ensured a peaceful evening with tired dogs. I didn't really care that I hadn't found anything...I still knew that eventually we would find the grave. But then, at the last minute, when I realized that I had a bit more time to kill, I decided to drive back along the ground that the boy and I had already covered. At that point, I saw this:



SWEET!! Since the boy and I had already covered the ground closest to the road, I took a path a bit further back and while driving past, suddenly spotted this:



I believe my exact words were, "Holy shit, I found it!" I could NOT believe it and I was ridiculously pleased with myself. The dogs didn't seem to understand the magnitude of my achievement. After several attempts to take Casey's picture with Dillinger's grave, (she was more interested in the squirrel that was tormenting Blue) I finally contented myself with the grave itself and took off to meet the boy.



When I met the boy, we waited to meet the security man amidst more cars than we had ever seen at the funeral home. I'm not sure whose funeral was in progress, but he sure had a lot of friends. In that chaos, we waited until 7:10 and never saw our guide. The boy was dejected. I debated telling him what I had done, and then rationalized that he would be happier if he actually got to see the grave, right? So I pulled out my camera and showed him the picture. He didn't understand at first and then said, "You found it?"

"Damn right I did!!" I couldn't even contain my glee at this point. Surprisingly, he wasn't upset. Maybe he figured that even if the journey is what's important to me, that's okay - as long as he gets to the destination also. We'll see if that happens. For now, he was happy to find Dillinger's grave.

Brag Blog

There is no reason for this post other than to show the gratuitous cuteness of two of the three roommates I live with (sometimes known as "my babies" when I'm feeling super affectionate.) Moms get brag books that they carry in their purses. (And I do so love the pictures that they give me. Seriously. They're on my refrigerator. Keep that in mind, mothers whose sons I don't see often but who I love to pieces. (ahem, Sam, ahem) Cell phone pictures sometimes just aren't enough...)

I don't get a brag book. Plus, it would be very weird if I carried around pictures of my babies and made everyone look at them since, you know, they're not my actual babies.
[Besides, I don't want to be that person. I volunteer with that person. I am well acquainted with that person. Please kill me if I ever become that person.] But lucky for you all, I have a blog. And on this blog, I can post pictures that my supremely talented photographer friends take of my babies, and I can brag about how beautiful my babies are. [I know it's splitting hairs, but I figure that at least on a blog, you only have to read it if you want to. It's not like I'm pulling the pictures out at a party or something. Right? RIGHT??] I can also tell you that this fabulously awesome photographer captured Blue's personality perfectly in this snapshot, and I've now made it my desktop so that it makes me happy every time I change applications*. I am now sad that I never decided to take up photography and that I don't have the eye or the talent for it. However, I willingly offer up my house/dogs/car/body for her to photograph if she can promise to make me look as great as she made my dogs look. (To be fair, with me it might take a little more work in the form of girdles, makeup and creative lighting....)

Wait, you need more proof that I have a great photographer for a friend? Well, I don't know about you,
but I don't think I've ever seen quite such a beautiful profile as this one. Those eyes...those mismatched ears... I might be biased, but I think she deserves to get hit on as much as Blue does. This one doesn't capture Casey's personality as much as the one of Blue does... but unless we caught Casey snarling at a stranger and being completely bitchy, I'm not sure she would get much closer. Regardless, I'm sure she will have many more opportunites to try because I'm completely convinced that after last year's debacle, she's totally taking my Christmas picture this year. I'm still not thinking we'll be able to get Laney in it, but with Tyson MIA at least we have a shot...

Oh, and in case subtlety isn't for you, I think you should visit Ann, and visit her often. The pictures are worth it. Her talent can only grow, and if you befriend her now, maybe she'll take your picture and make you look cute too. (Ann, in the future I am totally willing to trade portraits for vet care.)

*This actually led to the following conversation today (possibly more than once.)
[spoken in baby voice] "Oh. Blue is such a good boy. GoodBoyBlue. You are such a good boy! Blue'sAGoodBoy!!"

"Are you talking to your computer?"

"Maybe."

(muffled snicker)

"You're just jealous that you don't have a dog this adorable. [baby voice again] GoodBoyBlue..."

The Antenna of Happiness

After a full day of volunteering on Saturday, I had my friend Jmac over for dinner. I made my signature dish (read: only thing I make well) of Peruvian fajitas. This is the recipe my mother taught me. [Side note: In high school, if I liked a boy, I would invite him over and have my mother make fajitas. It was sort of a closer for me. I don't think they've lost their effect on men over the years...]

Before dinner we walked the dogs. On the walk, I mentioned the lack of cable at my home. I believe Jmac's exact words were, "So wait, you don't have an antenna either? So there's nothing on your TV that isn't already on a DVD." When I nodded the affirmative, he thought for a second and said, "When we get back, let me check my car. I think I have an antenna in my trunk."

I won't get into exactly WHY there was an antenna in his trunk, but I will say that the antenna works with my TV, and I now get NBC, ABC, CBS and FOX perfectly clearly because Jmac let me keep the antenna. If I can stand the snow, I can also make out figures on the CW4. The important thing to get out of that information is the part where I mentioned that I get NBC clearly.

Even though the coverage of the Olympics that I've seen has brought back horrifying memories of how bad the NBC coverage was for the LAST Olympics, this doesn't mean I don't want to watch what I can of THIS Olympics. Thanks to Jmac, now I can. Also thanks to Jmac, I am now sleep deprived. Seriously, what the hell is up with coverage for the Olympics lasting until two in the morning and beyond? I mean, some of us have to work to support ourselves. Some of us don't function well on very little sleep. Some of us are very very interested in how May-Treanor and Walsh will do in beach volleyball. (FINALS TONIGHT PEOPLE!!)

Once the Olympics glow wore off, I realized that such shows as Heroes, Grey's Anatomy, and How I Met Your Mother can be watched in Emily's apartment. My happiness simply can not be expressed. I've already stopped reading, my IQ is dropping, and my attention span is lessening. I'm totally ready for my next semester of Organic Chem now!

But so so happy...

How to Purchase a Wedding Gift

Step 1: receive invitation and determine which stores the bride and groom have registered at. (There are usually nifty little cards that indicate the store's name and website. Failing that, it may be written on the back of the invitation. Failing THAT, you can always call and ask.)

Step 2: drive/walk/bike to aforementioned store. (If multiple stores, choose your favorite and go there. After all, you probably want to purchase something for yourself as well. I mean, you're already going to be there... why not take advantage? Consider it part of the "wedding expenses."

Alternate (much easier) Step 2: Log into store's website. This may be boring, but I have found it saves me a LOT of money.

Step 3: Find the inevitable kiosk where you can view and print the couple's registry. Usually near the front of the store. Look near Customer Service. If you see flying doves, or a pastel rattle, you're in the right place.

Alternate (much easier) Step 3: Click on the "wedding registry" link on the store website (usually also marked with flying doves or a pastel rattle.)

Step 4: Find the couple's wedding registry (using the bride/groom's name and state where the wedding will take place) and print it out. (I wonder if it's the "print it out" part where people get tripped up? Look, I know we're all trying to be green and all....but this is important. If worse comes to worst, you can always take the registry home with you and recycle it. (If it's more than four pages long, feel free to judge the bride and buy her a cheap gift.)

Alternate (much easier) Step 4: Search for the online registry using the bride/groom's name.

Step 5: Choose item from registry that you would like to purchase. (My choices are usually governed by budget. Some people like to find something that will make the bride think of them while using it. Don't bother. Of the brides I've polled, many can't even remember if what they're holding was a wedding gift at all, much less who gave it to them.)

Step 6: Take chosen item to the checkout counter to purchase.

Alternate (much easier) Step 6: Click on chosen item on the online registry.

Step 7: Purchase item. (Believe it or not, couples don't usually like stolen gifts. Probably because they don't get the gift receipt to exchange it with.)

Step 8*: (VERY IMPORTANT) Hand registry to cashier.

If these steps are conducted in the proper manner - particularly step 8 - situations where people may purchase duplicate items from the registry (and perhaps have to carry a large bulky blanket halfway across the continent - because it costs money to check luggage - before finding out that it must be returned because someone doesn't know "wedding present purchasing etiquitte") can be avoided. If the person who has to return their duplicate gift happens to - oh, I don't know - know the bride well, and can actually find out WHO the idiot was who doesn't know how to use a bridal registry...well...that might breed resentment and anger.

Just a guess.

I'm pretty sure the bride and groom would also appreciate if idiocy can be avoided and these simple steps are followed because - hello! - who has time to return duplicate gifts? They're on their honeymoon people!

*Note: Step 8 is only necessary if physically at the store. The neat thing about online shopping is that the gift is automatically removed from the registry, so there's no way they're getting a duplicate. Technology - makes even stupid people seem smart.

A Family Affair

Where did I go? Well, this past weekend I went to California and married my cousin.

Not the sort of "married my cousin" that the less enlightened associate with the midwest (since we obviously live in the dark ages) but the sort where I got ordained on the internet (just call me Minister Emily) and conducted her marriage ceremony.

Behold minister Emily.



The never-been-married minister is obviously imparting a very important piece of marital advice.

The experience? It was awesome.

Oh I wasn't awesome. Not at all. I mean, between the shaking legs, and the fingers that couldn't even hold the rings steady when passing them off to my cousin and her new husband...sheesh...and don't even get me started on how lucky I was not to cry. Still, the ceremony was awesome. Some of the best weddings I've been to have been the ones where the couple is brave enough to tailor the ceremony to fit them like a glove (hello Vanessa and Gregg!!) Those ceremonies are always the most intimate and make every member of the audience feel like they know the couple well....even if you're only a close friend of the bride or the groom individually. This ceremony was like that. I'm pretty sure that if my cousin didn't get everything she wanted out of her wedding day, then 99% of her wishes came true. I was honored to be asked to conduct the ceremony and glad I could do my part - shaking legs and all.

Highlights? Well, my mother's camcorder refused to work for the duration of the ceremony, so unfortunately (fortunately?) there will be no footage on YouTube of the auspicious event. This was the first ceremony I've been to that began with a story that took place in a "galaxy far far away." The bride walked herself in and was struggling to contain her tears from the very beginning....as were her bridesmaids. The after party included Rock Band. And the cake? Um, it was made by one of my cousin's bridesmaids. From scratch. Even the cake topper. Wanna see?



Seriously. From scratch. The flowers? Made from scratch. Not plastic. The cupcakes? Made from scratch. Very cool, yes? In her own words, she "made some motherfucking cakes." :-)

Unfortunately, aside from giving me more ideas about how I want my (possible) future wedding to go, I have no new insights on marriage from this experience. I just know that I hope I'm as obviously filled with joy as my cousin was when she walked down the aisle.

Priorities

"Oh my goodness! You get in at 11:45pm!"

"But I leave after work, mom."

"But so late! That's so late!"

"But I don't have to take Wednesday off."

"Oh. Oh. And it's about an eight hour flight..."

"Six hours if you ignore the whole time change thing."

"...so I guess that makes sense. Okay. But you don't get home until 9:53pm on Monday! You'll be so tired!"

"Yes. We're all about the cheap ticket here, mom."

"Is that why you make 50 stops on the way there and back?"

"Yep. Cheap. Ticket."

"I'm sure they would have had a non-stop flight for you."

"They did. I was looking at cheap. We're all about cheap here."

"Well, I guess we all have our priorities."

"Yes. And mine is cheap. Inexpensive. As close to zero dollars as possible."

"Are you checking a bag?"

"Are you kidding me?!"

The One Where I Screamed Like a Girl

Cockroaches. Cockroaches seriously scare me. Like immobilize me with fear. I dislike other creatures with more than 4 legs, but I can usually get over that long enough to do something to end the uncomfortable situation.* Even with the big hairy spiders.

But I startle easily. Open a door suddenly and I shriek. Tap me on the shoulder when I'm not expecting it and you'll get a full on scream. Say something vague like "Watch out" and I will duck, cover, and sound like I'm being eaten alive. (I do better with "Watch out for the spider web," or "Watch out for the big stick." Be specific people. I like to know my enemies.)

So I would like to clarify that when we were hiking on Sunday, and we came across this,
I did not scream out of fear, I screamed because I was startled. Startled. Some may have interpreted it as fear, but I assure you it was not. I was surprised.

And my unwillingness to approach the snake after it had been properly identified and we had taken many pictures....well... that was just common sense. After all, Casey didn't seem to care much about it, why should I?

What I found amazing about the whole experience were these things:

1) Stacey didn't notice the snake, and she seems to be much more frightened of them than I am. I would think her "snake radar" would be heightened when hiking in the woods. Much like my "spider radar" is on full blast in those situations.

2) Casey seriously didn't care about the snake. She saw it, sniffed it while passing, and continued on her way.

3) Upon seeing the snake, I halted mid-step and jumped backwards. I seriously immediately stopped all forward momentum and went in the opposite direction. I didn't even think such a thing was possible. I surely can't do it on the volleyball court - no matter how hard I try. Maybe I need snakes on the volleyball court?

I'm sure that eventually there will be more pictures from this group outing we took to Turkey Run State Park. Unfortunately, I didn't take a camera, and I haven't received many pictures from the others who did. (ahem.) Well, okay - I should clarify. I'm not all "photographer-y." I like pictures with people, so THAT'S what I'm waiting for. Stacey can post all the pretty pictures of scenery that she wants, and I'm not going to steal them :-)

It was going to be the crazy dog convention of the century, but alas, Cash was unable to attend. In his place we got to see Emma be SO HAPPY in the water, and then be SO UNHAPPY when taken out. The dogs all had a good time wearing themselves out, and there was one situation with Blue and some innertubes that I might tell you about later, but all in all I would say that Emma with her talking, her backpack, her love of the water, and her parents playing good cop/bad cop....well, she was the highlight. You should go pester her mom to post some pictures of our hike.

*"Something" includes calling the boy or the whole "live and let live" philosophy. I never said I always killed the things.

Hindsight is 20/20

So everyone needs some cheese on a random Friday, right? I found one of my favorite bloggers (Clink) earlier this year, and immediately sent a link to my friend Alisa. It was love at first blog. Since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, we totally stole this idea and decided to do a joint post of our own...

(check out Alisa's here.)

Hola Chica!

You are eighteen years old! You just started having sex! You are on top of the world! You are about to start college in less than a month. You just started having sex!!

Let me start by saying how beautiful you are. You are not fat - shut up. You've always been beautiful. You never believe it (and during that "perm phase" maybe you had a point) but you should. I promise that eventually you will be comfortable in your own skin, but if you could start that process earlier (like now) then things will be MUCH easier down the road. Trust me.

I'm sorry to tell you - your mom is right. The university you chose is not quite the right fit for you. Don't worry - you make it work, and it actually helps you realize some things you never want to become. As a bonus, you'll escape with one or two good friends who are with you through thick and thin. I know that senior year is rough, and all you do is hate, but you did do well by choosing a liberal arts college. And a beautiful campus. And a good education. All in all, though - your mom was right. And here's the worst part - that's not the last time that's going to happen.

You are in loooooove right now. But of course you don't know it. Oh no. You think you're dating this kid who you really enjoy spending time with (not to mention having sex with) but that you're completely in control of the situation. Behold - you didn't even cry when you left him to go to college. I'm here to tell you that you're in love. You're deeply in love and the sooner you face that, the better off you are. But we'll get back to him later.

You make some missteps in college - everyone does. But good things happen too. You try to continue in colorguard (so not the same) and it takes a ridiculously long time to rid yourself of the marching band. They are persistent!! (Not to worry - by the time you're 30, that embarrassing band picture that includes you has rotated up to the top level of of the fieldhouse, and should be gone soon.) You'll meet one of your best friends over a shared love of steak night. You'll join a sorority (I know, right? Trust me, thirty-year-old Emily can't believe it either) because of this same good friend (who will then leave you high and dry in said sorority) but you'll find it in your heart to forgive her. You'll meet some great women in the sorority and you'll have some great times, though you'll eventually come away thinking that under no circumstances should that many women ever live under one roof. I would tell you to stay strong and not join, but I think that in the end, enough good came out of it that you're not entirely embarrassed to admit that indeed you are a Pi Beta Phi.

Of the women you meet your freshman year, the most persistent friend will surprise you. She will make many of the choices you don't know that you will envy later (except for that boyfriend thing. You called that one from the very beginning.) She'll end up sharing a lot of good times with you. Don't forget about her when your paths randomly separate. They will always reconnect, and you could do better about calling her every once in a while.

You're at the same university as one of your best male friends ever. He is so in love with you. You cherish him, but you'll never love him that way - though lord knows you'll try. I really really really wish I could convince you that you're meant for each other, but I know you're not, and surprisingly, you knew that too. You should trust your instincts more. You guys are still good friends, and you still cherish him. And even though he caused you all sorts of pain by telling you he chose to study abroad to get away from you, in doing so he actually introduces you to the idea of study abroad.

You go, and it is awesome. More awesome than you can possibly imagine. Truly a life changing experience.

You'll return ready to be done with rules and college and wanting to GET ON WITH YOUR LIFE ALREADY. Chill out, sister. You'll get there. And when you do, you'll wonder why you were in such a rush. Smell the roses a little more. (And could you stay away from the comfort food in the midst of all that angst? Seriously. That stuff is KILLER to work off later.)

I can use no word other than "blessed" to describe how lucky you are to stumble into your first job after college. Not for the career aspect. Nope. Even though you're 22 and you think you know it all, you're not ready for that yet. It's for the social aspect. You'll make some great and lasting friends from this job. You have no idea how much their support will mean to you. With your college and high school friends scattered to all ends of the earth, this tight social network makes your life in Indianapolis so much more fun and rewarding and you're so lucky for that.

Remember that boy you were SO in love with after high school? Yeah, well, you'll see him again. Run! Run like a scared rabbit!

Of course you don't. You're "meant to be," right? Well, I'm here to tell you that he's going to break your heart into a million pieces. This boy is going to bring you to your knees. You - who doesn't bend for anyone. I know it's hard to believe, but trust me. (Can I please please please convince you not to take him back that last time? Seriously. There's only so much you can do, Emily. Why sign up for more pain? AND DON'T GIVE HIM BACK THE RING!!! ARGH. If it helps, that last time is when he's going to be dating his future wife behind your back. Please please please stay strong!! Okay fine. You're still going to do anything for that jerk. Can I at least convince you to punch him in the nose that last time you see him? I promise you that you won't regret it, but you WILL regret not punching him.)

Um, I know you don't think you need it, but can you work on not carrying grudges? Maybe if you start now, fifty-year-old Emily has a chance to be good at forgiveness. :-)

So - shattered heart. That's the bad news. The good news is that you pick yourself up again, and you do a damned good job of it. I'm not gonna lie - it sucks and it takes a loooooooong time (and a LOOOOOOOOT of MarioKart,) but you get by with a little help from your friends (and those MarioKart skillz come in handy later on :-) When you do it (though you make some mistakes - kudos to realizing you're on a destructive path and stopping it all by yourself) you remake yourself into who you know you are, and promise to never compromise her again. See, that steel core was there all along - it just needed some reinforcing.

Along the way you meet some men, you realize that you are beautiful(ish), and you start what I consider your "real" life. No more waiting for Mr. Assface. (Um, did I mention that you may have some residual anger from this high school boyfriend? More reason to punch him when you can. Preferably before the engagement is called off. That ring could have done some damage. Sigh.) You start to grow into you and surround yourself with things that make you happy.

And while we're at this point, you know your best friend ever? That girl that is so totally going to be your maid of honor some day? The one who wears the "Be Fri" necklace to your "St Ends?" Yeah, not so much on that. You should walk away now. She lets you down when you need her most and it will break your friendship irreparably. You sever the friendship and you never look back. The ease with which you drop that relationship makes you realize that it wasn't all that great to begin with, even though you probably can't imagine life without her now.

While you're living your life, you find yourself, you eventually fall in love again, and you fill your time with many different activities that range from soccer to tutoring adults who are learning to read. Some activities stick around longer than others :-) Even though your friends think you're insane for having such a crazy schedule, it actually helps you out! While wandering aimlessly, you actually stumble into something that you love and want to dedicate your life to. I'll bet you didn't even know you had this much passion about a career, did you? Well, you do, and you find it at a point where you're strong enough to defend your decisions (unpopular as they may be) and stick to them.

How does that turn out? Well, I'm not sure. I guess we'll both have to wait to find out.

Remember to be bold and courageous. You'll always regret the things you didn't do more than the ones you did. Even now, I have remarkably few regrets, so you'll do good. Even though it seems like sometimes you can't do anything right, you have love and support from so many people that you can't ever really fall far. Make sure to thank them and tell them that you love them as often as you can.

I know how you'll turn out, but I'll wish you luck anyway. (And enter one more plea to punch Mr. Assface. No? Pretty please?)

Do Good,
Old Emily

My Favorite Things

I am not my mother's favorite child.

I have mixed emotions about typing that sentence. Part of me feels like I'm saying "poor me," (which I'm not) and part of me feels like others don't believe that statement when it's stated so matter-of-factly. Like children don't know.

Oh, we know.

This situation has caused me all sorts of angst growing up (*cough* and sometimes even now *cough*) No one doesn't want to be the favorite. Sibling rivalry sucks. But slowly as I grew up, erm, got older... I noticed that my little brother just had more in common with my mother. They would spend time together in the kitchen cooking new recipes (Emily = not interested) or they would laugh at the same sick (sick sick twisted) jokes. I made my peace with the fact that my mother loved me, and she loved my brother. One wasn't more than the other, it was just a matter of different relationships.

But this post isn't about that. It's not about that at all. It's about how I'm TURNING INTO MY MOTHER! I know this, I've struggled over the inevitability of it, and then last night I had the realization all over again. And this time? This time my angst about what's happening makes the angst growing up seem very very small because, in case you hadn't noticed, I didn't like the whole "playing favorites" thing, and here I am repeating it.*

Casey was my first dog. I love her to death. She's obviously the smartest,
cutest and most talented dog to ever have lived. She's maintained the post of favored dog for about two and a half years now - ever since I got her as a teeny tiny puppy. (You can thank me for the gratuitous cuteness later.) Then again, her competition was Tyson, whom I clearly disliked. Casey could do no wrong. She knows her commands, she's obedient, she's intuitive, she's really really warm to snuggle with, and she loves me above all others. Yep, Casey is a great dog and clearly my favorite. I had no shame about this because, you know, Tyson wasn't ever MY dog. Of course I favored Casey.

Enter Blue.

Blue's personality is as different from Casey's as night is from day. Casey is independent - Blue is a follower. Casey is used to getting her way and is very vocal when things aren't going the way she expects - Blue will sit patiently to see what's going to happen. Casey is defensive and territorial - Blue is welcoming and friendly. Casey is an intelligent problem solver - Blue eats grass until it makes him sick. Casey is used to only eating good treats - Blue is the canine equivalent of a garbage disposal.

On any given walk, I'll scoff at Blue for never taking the initiative at anything. Casey always goes first, and if she's not around, Blue is looking at me to tell him what to do. On any given walk, I'll get frustrated when Blue eats yet another piece of garbage that I have to fish out of his mouth so he doesn't make himself sick. On any given walk, I'll laugh as Casey dives headfirst into the water fountain, and I have to carry Blue in (so he doesn't overheat during the course of the walk.)

But Blue is more loving to Casey's independence. If I sit down, Blue has his head on my lap and is looking at me with love, while Casey's off making sure the house is secure and nothing has changed since her last patrol. I'm hungover on the couch, and it's Blue who lies next to me in comfort. If I'm reading a book with both dogs asleep on the loveseat, I'll inevitably get a visit from Blue's cold nose looking for a pat on the head.

In short, Blue is making an awfully convincing play for favorite.

And, what?! Why? Because he NEEDS me more? Seriously?

I mean, I know that playing favorites sucks. I lived through the angst. And while the dogs won't go through that, what if I have kids some day? If I play favorites with my dogs, I'll do the same with kids, no? I have to nip it in the bud. This has to end. Blue is awesome. Casey is awesom(er). Done.

But Blue's so cute! He's so....cuddly! He's just so loving. He's all "I love you, mom," while Casey's all, "Not NOW, mom. I've got things to do!"

But Casey's so smart! She really is a problem solver. And she's so brave and smart and pretty. Blue drools all over EVERYHING. It's SO gross. And if you take your eyes off of him for a second he'll chew your favorite shoes. Besides, Casey's the first born! She's supposed to be the favorite. Blue's only been around for 6 months max. Casey's got tenure! What is going on here?

My official stance is that I love them both. If I cuddle a bit more with Blue, it's only because he'll let me. If I'm a bit more affectionate with Blue, it's because he needs the reassurance.

Maybe it's not favorite per se. Maybe it's more... well, Blue NEEDS me.

Oh whatever. I'm my mom. Blue is my favorite. Damn. Tell me this is human nature, right? Right? I can't help this, right?

*Note: I want to be clear that I am well aware that having a child is worlds away from having a dog. However, some of the responsibilities are the same, as are some of the emotions - on a much much MUCH smaller scale. One of the perks of having dogs (besides the crating thing :-) is that I can talk about the not-so-politically correct emotions associated with having something be fully dependent on you - like occasionally wanting to run screaming into the night, wishing you had never agreed to this responsibility in the first place, and wanting to throw them out the window - and not be crucified as being a horrible parent.

Keeping up with the Joneses

I exhibited the sort of grievous error in judgement that I would expect from a twenty-year-old, and it happened on Saturday night. This past Saturday night to be exact. This past Saturday night in 2008 when I am well on my way to being thirty-one and supposed to be an "adult."

I attempted to out-drink my sister in law and I failed. Miserably.

To be fair, it did not begin as an attempt to out-drink my sister in law. It began as "Ooohhh! Yummy margaritas!" and ended with "Wow. Their toilet is really clean from this angle. That's impressive."

The backstory to this event goes back to New Years Eve of this year when I unwittingly out-drank my new sister in law. Out-drank as in, I was fine the next day, and she had a nice visit with the toilet in the cabin we were staying at. Unwittingly as in I didn't realize we were in competition until she told me, "Emily, my mistake was trying to keep up with you. Not many women can out drink me, and I was trying to match you drink for drink."

If you have met my sister in law, the absurdity of her trying to out drink me would be apparent. She's taller than I am, at about 5'7", but she weighs maybe 115 lbs. I'm shorter, but I have many (many) more curves in which to store excess alcohol. Besides, I have my rich Italian heritage to fall back on. (Then again, she's German...I should have considered that. Shoot.)

Which brings us to Saturday night. I went over to my little brother's house for some dinner. I had had a rough (read: traumatic) Saturday volunteering and really just wanted to relax and forget the day had happened. While dinner was cooking, my brother mixed me a drink that had four shots and some diet Pepsi in it. Why on EARTH I did not decline that drink is beyond me. (but I did feel better about the horrible day after drinking that drink...) Dinner progressed and after the four shot mystery drink, I switched to a margarita. 'Twas good.

At this point it was suggested that I go and get the boy, and we all hang out together. Perhaps play some bags? Perhaps just drink and chat? Pool? (of the table variety, not the swimsuit variety.) So I go and get the boy. Everyone is merry, everyone is playing bags (Emily and the boy win, ahem,) and Emily continues to drink margartias. Sister in law switches to beer. Emily pays no mind and continues with the yummy margaritas.

Everything at that point becomes hazy. I know there was a point where we were all talking, and I was lying on the couch. I know there was a point when it became immediately apparent to me that I should probably move to the bathroom. An indeterminate amount of time passed, and the boy came to check on me. There was laughing, I was joking and being light-hearted while not moving my head from the cool, reassuring toilet. The light-heartedness was only for my audience's benefit. When they weren't around, I was pathetically wimpering into the toilet and begging God to take me from this cruel world. (Apparently melodrama does not go away with increased alcohol consumption. Did I mention that I'm supposed to be an adult?)

There was a picture taken of little brother posing while Emily's head was in the toilet (I hate everyone) and there was a constant mantra from Emily of "I have to drive to Ikea tomorrow." Everyone got a kick out of that. They assured me that I wouldn't, in fact, be driving anywhere tomorrow, and several "nokia" jokes were made. I asked what time it was (1:30am!!!) and at that point (with the responsibility that I had to fulfill firmly in mind) I finally told the boy that I wanted to go home.

I have no memory of the ride home, I vaguely remember the boy letting go of me for a moment while he opened my front door, and taking that opportunity to sit on the ground. He seemed upset by this. I also vaguely remember (and asked for confirmation the next day) that the boy seemed to find this extreme drunken-ness adorable. Why? Apparently it's not often that I am this "vulnerable" and "need him so much." Hmmm. I'm sure there's a lesson in there that I need to learn.

I think I remember trying to let the dogs out before the boy steered me to my bed and assured me that he would take care of them. (Looking at my basement stairs, I'm SO glad he caught me before I attempted to go down them.) I'm pretty sure I got a cold nose in my face before the dogs were again put away. I KNOW I remember Casey crying at 6:00am, trying to get out of bed to let her out, failing miserably, and wimpering to the boy that if he would let the dogs out, I would be forever in his debt. He did so without complaint. Impressive.

I somehow had remembered to set my alarm for 9:30am. (I was meeting friends to head to Ikea at 11:00am.) I woke up, felt about a THOUSAND times better than I had the previous evening (it's all relative, right?) and took a shower. What I had forgotten about hangovers is that they seem to keep creeping up on you the more you move around. After the shower (where I shaved my legs. What? Was I still drunk?) there was quite a bit of the boy laughing at me, another visit to my toilet, certainty that I would never be able to get dressed and would have the embarrassment of my friend showing up when I was naked, and finally lying on the couch cursing Jose Cuervo. (I did manage to get dressed. I'm not sure I matched though - Diane?) At this point it became apparent that I would not, in fact, be driving to Ikea. I think Blue sensed that I was not well and curled up next to me on the couch. I couldn't have moved that 50lb dog if I had wanted to. So I gave in and snuggled with him and hoped he could make the massive headache subside.

He couldn't.

So, I thought, perhaps if someone else drove, I could still attend the outing? I nixed that thought when I remembered that I get carsick in cars when I'm NOT hungover.

So while the boy watched a movie, and the dogs napped, I closed my eyes, wished for salvation from the pain, and tried to figure out how to not go to Ikea and not feel like an ass.

There was no way for that to happen.

Luckily, my friend was understanding. I'm assuming that I looked like complete hell when I saw her - I'm not really sure... But she did mention something along the lines of me not looking well. Our conversation was dominated by me trying to explain why I'm so sorry I'm an idiot, and simultaneously trying to figure out why the sunlight was made of thousands of tiny daggers that were stabbing into my brain. She was much nicer than I would have been, and for that, I'm grateful.

It wasn't until about 4:00pm that I felt some semblance of normalcy. I ate some popcorn at 2:00pm, slept through an entire movie, and then woke up at four feeling groggy, but alive.

So basically, I drank alcohol for about four hours, and then recovered in fourteen. I thought stupid decisions like that were reserved for the youth of America. Apparently not. Shoot.

I would like to say that I'm never drinking again. Unfortunately, one moment that is crystal clear from Saturday night was being helped in my car by the boy and overhearing my sister in law say to my brother, "I'm so sad. My last worthy adversary and I have defeated her. Who's left?"

Last time I checked, it was one to one, sister. We're going to need a best out of three before we start using words like "defeated."

Oh How I miss thee, Cable TV

I can see the evils of TV. I really can. I know that when I'm sitting stationary in front of the TV I could be outside walking the dogs/running/enjoying the sunshine (since we're now perpetually in the Eastern time zone and it's light until nine-frigging-thirty at night.) I know I'm not getting any smarter when I'm watching the mindless drivel that is reality TV, and in fact, I'm probably using up precious space in my memory warehouse for ANTM that would be useful for, oh, say, chemistry.

+2 if you caught that reference.

But when someone tells me that they've given up TV, or worse, that they don't even OWN a TV (like Joey says, "What does all your furniture point to?",) I always mentally stick my tongue out at them. "Oh sure, you don't need TV in your life. Excuse me for having a pea sized brain that needs the flickering box (complete with mindlessness of Grey's Anatomy, and cattiness of ANTM) to increase my quality of life. Wait! Did something shiny move??" I can't help but feel less intelligent or less, I don't know...worthy because I enjoy my prime time TV.

So I gave up cable TV to see how the other half lives.

Please rest assured that this decision had nothing to do with feeling holier-than-thou and EVERYTHING to do with stupid tuition payments that are going to suck out the rest of my soul coupled with my intense resistance to accepting student loans until I'm reduced to begging for restaurant scraps and my dogs are fending for themselves on a diet consisting solely of neighborhood children.

In the beginning it wasn't so hard. In fact, it STILL wouldn't be very hard if I hadn't.... I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the beginning it wasn't so hard. Even now, I read more, I listen to my iPod, I walk the dogs a LOT and spend time outside with them as much as I can. I go out to dinner with friends and engage in plenty of conversation with wine (which probably negates saving the monthly cost of cable, but whatever...) Remarkably, I found lots of different ways to fill my evenings. Even if I chose to knit, I could put in a DVD of Friends (which I figure isn't technically cheating since I'm not really watching [due to having every Friends episode committed to memory, again taking up precious warehouse space for biology] and since it's not cable) and be perfectly happy with that. Besides, it's summertime! What's on TV now? By the time the good stuff is on I'll be back in school and won't have time for TV anyway. And right now? With the Brett Favre stories and the Brett Favre stories and the Brett Favre stories (ad nauseum) I'm sort of glad that I can't watch SportsCenter in the mornings. I have a feeling it would just make me very very angry.

And then today I was reminded that a new season of Project Runway premiered this past Wednesday.

Nevermind. I will just read the recaps online. It will be fine. (sniff)

See? This is much better. I wonder what other shows I'm missing right now. I mean, it's summer, so there's not THAT much on. Hmmm...

OH MY GOD I'M GOING TO MISS SHARK WEEK!!

Breathe. It's okay. You have plenty of friends who have TVs with cable/satellite and will share with you. Besides, it's not like Discovery doesn't recycle programs and you haven't seen them before. You only REALLY need to see the new ones.

And then I started looking into what I missed on Army Wives this season.

Didn't see that one coming, didja?

Last year I watched Army Wives religiously. I loved it. I was hooked.

This year, I convinced myself that what I didn't know I was missing, I wouldn't actually miss. So I deliberately avoided all stories, recaps, etc about the show. But today I was bored and started rooting around on YouTube to see if some generous soul had posted entire episodes.

Um, no. But there are pieces. There are certainly very small, unfulfilling and not always consecutive pieces of episodes online. Those pieces are just enough to remind me why I loved the series and why my life is sadder without it, but not enough to SHOW ME THE ENTIRE EPISODES THAT I'VE MISSED!

Damn.

I mean, I'm still not going to get cable, but now I've seen how the other half lives, and I can honestly say that I don't like it. I'm convinced that I'm still that person with a pea-sized brain whose quality of life just isn't quite what it could be with the evils of television. Bless you, my smart friends who can exist without The Deadliest Catch. Who don't miss The Dog Whisperer. Who have never even heard of Heroes or Friday Night Lights. All I can say is, "You're a better man than I, Charlie Brown."

Now, can someone please invite me over to watch Shark Week?

Stop Bugging Me!

So my new backyard isn't huge, but it's not tiny either. There is a picnic table that was left by a previous tenant, and this is apparently a great thing to mark the center of a circular track around which Blue will chase Casey endlessly. (Poor thing, he seems to think that he will one day catch her.) When the dogs aren't eating grass, their favorite game is tearing around like crazed animals and narrowly missing mom as they run by. It's all very chaotic, but I'm glad they have this outlet for energy in addition to their daily walks. (In an interesting side note, I can't use the backyard as a substitute for walks. Casey will absolutely not go to the bathroom in the backyard. Apparently the backyard is for playing only and bathroom duties (or doodies) are done elsewhere. I wonder if she learned this at daycare?)

The fence is chain link, and not what you would call "sturdy" or "new." But it does serve its purpose which is to keep the dogs contained. The dogs know better than to chew or paw at the fence, though Casey has learned that she can jump it and does so at every opportunity...as though to taunt me with her independence. She doesn't run off, mind you - she just jumps the fence and then stands on the other side laughing at me. But I digress...

Oh! And I'm also fairly certain that I'm never going to get robbed, even though I live in a statistically safe neighborhood. When people see me in the backyard and approach to ask to mow my lawn/wash my car/pet my dogs, Casey charges the fence barking her fool head off. She'll never jump at strangers (she's a wuss at heart) but she sure talks a mean game. Blue runs along after her for fun. I've had people run away without talking to me because of this, despite my repeated assurances that the dogs are friendly. What, I don't look trustworthy?

I haven't yet spent a whole lot of time in the backyard, but I will say that every time I do, I get eaten alive by bugs. And I mean eaten ALIVE. I know that bugs just seem prefer some people and completely ignore others, and believe me, I appreciate the honor of being declared "delicious" by random insects, but in the spirit of actually using the backyard every now and then, I would like the Emily buffet to permanently close. (It seems there is also a "Casey buffet" as she is also covered in bug bites. Blue seems immune.)

(I've narrowed the source of the bug bites down to the backyard. Either that or the apartment, and I refuse to think I have bugs in my house. When I take walks elsewhere I've been with other people who currently aren't suffering the malady that I am. These people haven't been in the backyard with me.)

When I mentioned this to zlionsfan, he said that I couldn't just get rid of the bugs, I had to get rid of the source. Um, okay. What's the source again? I mean, I always thought the source of bugs was "outside." Hmmm...

There isn't much grass in the backyard. There are too many trees and too much shade for grass. Instead there's a lot of clover. (I think it's clover? It's not grass, I do know that. And it only needs to be cut maybe every four weeks or so. And yes, I know what poison ivy looks like - it's not poison ivy.) Trees surround my backyard...but they're not actually in the yard. The neighborhood is older, so the trees are HUGE and shady. The trees next door have overgrown my fence and there are big leafy branches that reach over the fence by about 2-3 feet, and vines that wind around the fence. There is also a tree in the backyard of the other half of the double. It's not technically in my half, but it overhangs and I plan to leave that one alone for shade. Now that I'm settled (and my father introduced me to hedge clippers - both the type for "leafy" and the type for "branches") I am turning my attention to cutting back my neighbor's overhanging branches and errant vines to make maneuvering around the backyard a bit easier. Last Sunday was my second foray into the world of trimming back trees. I got about halfway down the fence before I decided to call it a day.

Today, since I have little to no self control, my legs are now once again covered in scabs from the constant scratching
brought on by hundreds of bug bites. (Okay, not hundreds, but lots. Like, I could have chicken pox.) I never notice getting bitten. And I wear my Off. What on earth could I be doing to help the situation? Suggestions? Is trimming back the trees going to help? What if I mow more often? Any suggestions would be appreciated. Until then, I'll crack open my second tube of Band-Aid Anti-Itch Gel. I'm pretty sure I'm using more than the recommended amount, but you know what? I care not. It's better than the constant torment of itching. Now if you'll excuse me...

Weekend Recap

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have air conditioning.

I was originally going to try and go without the blow to my pocketbook by not purchasing the somewhat expensive window air conditioning unit. However, what with the emergence of the Evil Twin this past week, and the fact that it reached approximately 1,000 degrees (Celsius) and 99.9999999% humidity on Saturday, Evil Twin demanded that I put aforementioned window unit on my credit card to end the misery that was my apartment. I think the straw that broke the camel's back was the image of Blue literally melting off the couch and onto the floor where he lay splayed out and panting as though he had run a marathon. (Casey was napping and panting in her sleep.)

The boy called and got the angry earful as I complained about having to spend the money that I hadn't planned on spending, I had other bills to pay, blah blah blah. His response (bless his patient soul) was, "Wait, you're not going to buy it and install it youself are you?"

At the time, Evil Twin got all offended and went off on a rant about how I can do anything a boy can do and OF COURSE I was going to do it myself. I am an independent, self sufficient woman and I can take care of myself.

You can imagine how that went. I cringe to think of it.

The boy calmly talked me into eating a popsicle, pointing all fans in the place towards myself and the dogs, and waiting until he got home from work and could go with me to purchase the a/c unit.

He arrived, we went to Lowes, and proceeded to disagree about exactly how big the a/c unit should be....not to mention where it should be placed. Luckily, there is central air at Lowes which made the Evil Twin relax some, and we were able to compromise. I didn't get the ginormous, really expensive one that the boy seemed to think I needed, but I didn't get the tiny cheap one that I thought would work just fine. (The compromise did have a remote control...something I wasn't sure was necessary and now can't believe I considered going without.)

In retrospect, how come the boy got to spend my money?

Three and a half hours and a whole lot of sweat later, the window a/c unit was installed.

I don't know how long I expected it to take, or how difficult I thought it was going to be, but the actual experience exceeded both of my expectations...whatever they were. The installation manual wasn't difficult to understand, the steps seemed pretty simple, and luckily my window was perfect for the unit (outside windowsill and all) but there was this heavy ass a/c unit to maneuver, a storm window to remove, a cat to find after she jumped out the window and disappeared for 20 minutes (she ended up coming back on her own) and several instances of "Wait - let's read the manual...look at the picture. Does that help?" It was hella-hot in the apartment, too. The sunshine, the heat, the open window while we figured out what the heck was going on... I'm surprised we both emerged unscathed, actually.

Of course, as soon as the unit was installed, the cool breeze that signified impending rain began. We ended up opening the windows and letting the cool air in that evening anyway.

The end result was a really really long walk with the dogs on Sunday morning that ended with a nice quiet nap for all three of us on the couch/loveseat. No panting at all.

More to come later with stories of yard work...

The Evil Twin

I like to think that I'm nice person. I have a sign hanging in my house that says "Because Nice Matters." I truly believe that. I do my best to be a good friend to others, and I sometimes do things out of responsibility that I don't want to do, just so I don't let others down. In fact, that's one of the (few) good critiques that I got at my last job. "Emily is good with responsibility." I don't like to let other people down. I don't like to be the bad guy and have others think badly of me. Especially if I value their opinion. I want people to be able to count on me. Is that the same as being nice? I don't know. Other people seem to think I'm nice, but then, other people don't really see the motivations behind my being nice, do they? If they knew that the motivation was simply because I don't like people to dislike me, is it still being nice?

I mean, most of the time I believe in that whole "you attract more flies with honey than with vinegar" thing... but then I ask myself why I would want to be attracting flies in the first place?

It's true that I can also make cutting and cruel observations. I sometimes find life's irony HILARIOUS, especially if it causes someone else brief emotional distress. (to be fair, though - when life hands me lemons, I can usually find the grace to laugh at that irony too....eventually...later on down the road...waaaaay on down the road.) Does this jibe with nice? Are people who seem to be made of sugar and sweetness, sugary and sweet all the time? Don't they have an outlet? I need an outlet.

But then, the people who are priveleged enough to hear the cutting and cruel observations are hand-picked, tried and true friends. If I see a skinny hoochie wearing way too little clothing to be playing in a co-ed rec sand volleyball game, I don't share my venom about said hoochie with just anyone. In fact, if my girlfriend Chris isn't around, the mean observations are internalized and I just make sure to serve the ball to the hoochie every time I get the chance to confirm that, though she may look good, she sure as hell can't play. (If she can play AND she looks good, I will be convinced that she is a bitch. If I find out otherwise I will want to be her friend :-)

To the three-year-old in my neighborhood who comes over every. single. day. to see the "dog-dogs" I'm sure I'm just the nicest person ever. Without fail, I will let Blue out to jump all over said neighbor boy and lick his face to make him giggle, while holding the quietly growling Casey on the porch. For those of you who know me, does that seem like a situation that I would enjoy? Do you not think I'm muttering exasperated curses under my breath when I hear that daily knock on my door?

I love sarcasm and I'm good at it. Does that seem like a talent that a nice person has? When I'm exasperated, I tend to talk down to you and treat you like an idiot. I'm sure I don't seem nice in those circumstances. But then, it usually takes a lot to make me exasperated. I love my life, I'm usually happy, and when I use the cynicism, it's usually to make an anecdote funny - not necessarily to be mean. (The sarcasm is used to make you feel dumb, but at least other people will laugh!)

And then comes this one week per month.

During this one week per month, I am... shall we say... less than patient? I am angry, I am irritable, and I am just not pleasant to be around. My cutting remarks become more cutting and more hilarious to the casual listener, but if they were ever overheard by the subject....well....normal Emily would be horrified. I am downright cruel.

I hate myself in these weeks. Seriously. I crack myself up, but I hate myself. I don't feel well, nothing makes me happy, and if I'm not paying attention... if I don't REALIZE that it's the danger week, I tend to...um...overreact to things. I want people around to make me feel better, but I hate having people around because they irritate me. (Just ask the boy. Or my boss for that matter.) I'm dangerous during this time. Most people can catch the warning signs and run away. Emily is not subtle. The usual casualties are dumb people who don't see the train until it's too late. They're the ones who hate me.

I used to think that this week was useless. It's horrible, and it sucks and I just need to spend the week at home in bed where I can read a book, eat ice cream, and complain about how fat I'm getting. And then, yesterday, my credit card charged me a late payment fee for a payment that was posted online the pre-requisite 48 hours before the due date. The evil in me almost started salivating in anticipation for how this conversation was going to go.

I won't post it on here, but I will say that I got the charge removed from my credit card, and before I spoke to her supervisor and got my APR lowered for good measure, I'm fairly certain that I made the young customer service person cry. Now I know the true calling for my evil twin - and a nice outlet for my anger and frustrations during this week that does not involve my sister in law or mother. So, I have a proposition for all of you. In order to save the sanity of my boss, the boy, my parents, and anyone else who may accidentally come in contact with me during the second weekend of every month - you should save all of your unwarranted charges on your cell phone, false "maintenance fees" on credit cards, or numbers from jerks that treated you badly for me to deal with. Heck, I'll even lower your APR if you want me to. I'm effective, it calms me down, and I definitely enjoy myself. When I come back to my senses, I rarely feel bad for yelling at people who should have trouble sleeping at night for the things their company makes them do.

When it's over, I return to the normally scheduled programming of the person who would rather eat the overcooked steak than return the food at the restaurant. Everyone wins. So start saving them now, folks. You've got four weeks to send them to "Evil Twin Emily" to take care of.

(If you want to listen in on the conversation, I charge extra.)

Would You Like Some Cheese With That Whine?

I am without muse lately. I am muse-less. Additionally, I am cranky, out of sorts, and tired as heck. But it's been over a week, and I'm feeling more and more pressure to get a blog up (thanks J!) So I think that for this post I'll steal an idea from one of my favorite blog friends, Ann, and post my first Thursday 13.

(Note: this will not be a weekly feature. I don't usually like weekly features because I sort of want this blog to be me posting what I want to, when I want to...but I obviously can't avoid feeling SOME pressure from posting "what I want to, when I want to" because I like to think that people who read this are looking forward to the next post...so, like most things in my life, I will take an idea and use it when it fits with what I want to do :-)


Reasons why my mother should weep for my impending spinster-hood (aka, why I so love living alone*)

1) I do so much less laundry now that I live alone - it's seriously ridiculous. Are boys just dirtier? Do they just wear the same 7 outfits over and over and over each week so that you HAVE to wash them every weekend? I have no idea. But seriously, laundry maybe once every week and a half is a nice perk of living alone. I've thought about seeing how long I can go without doing laundry, but sometimes a girl just needs her favorite jeans.

2) I live with two dogs and one cat in a new place that is less than half the size of my old place, and I STILL do less cleaning than when I lived with the boy and his dog. (Are my DOGS neater than the boy? I must do more research on this before I pass judgement.)

3) I do dishes immediately after using them, and it takes roughly 5 minutes. Sometimes, I even use paper plates so no doing dishes is necessary. (GASP!)

4) I haven't yet set up cable (because I'm still undecided on whether or not I want it in the new place) or internet, and there's no one who's bugging me to get it done. (Well, there's zlionsfan, but really, I don't count him.) Due to this, I do not respond to emails sent between the hours of 5:00pm and 8:00am...but really, why are you sending me emails then anyway?? Just call me or get outside and play instead of sitting in front of the computer....ahem.

5) I'm learning about trimming bushes and trees, and edging and mowing the lawn (well, mowing eventually...) and it's really not that bad. I'm sure it will get worse when I realize that I have to do it on a regular basis, but for now, it's all about learning and accomplishment. (And after one episode of having to say, "No really, I'll do it later. Seriously. No, I WANT to do it. Stop!" I think guys believe that this is their domain, and would I get to do any of this if I lived with one?)

6) I get dates now.

Men who live with women take note. We may not complain, and heck, we may not even notice....but we DO miss dates. An occasional date night wouldn't kill you. (And this includes the asking, the PLANNING, the picking her up (even if you live together) and the paying (even though it's "our" money.))

7) A bottle of wine lasts longer than 24 hours.

(Okay, okay. A box of wine. Bottled wine doesn't keep so well and I can't finish a bottle in one night without severe consequences...besides, the boxed stuff isn't bad. [says the spinster-for-life]) Same goes for a 6 pack of beer. I can go home and decide whether or not I would like to have some beer that night. Some nights I might even say no. (the horror!!) I never understood what it was about boys that made them think that if there was beer, they had to drink it immediately lest it disappear and no beer is ever found on earth again.

8) Shave my legs? What's that?

(Okay...it's summer, so I have to keep that within reason. But just wait for the winter. I'm out to set a world record!)

9) I can take two-hour-long walks with my dogs, leave my phone at home, and be completely unreachable for those two hours. And it's okay!

10) I love confusing the heck out of my neighbors (all men, all who say "hello" every time they see me) with the revolving door of men who are at my apartment for hours at a time... Zlionsfan, the boy, Jmac, my little brother, the maintenance guy... I like to mix it up so no one guy is there more often than any other. I want to see how long it is before someone asks me what the heck kind of operation I'm running...

(Wow. I just realized that I haven't had one female visitor yet. I need more girlfriends. Come on over girls! I have wine! Lots and lots of wine!!! Girly-girls need not apply.)

(Wait, did I just type that? I AM moody. Perhaps now is not such a good time for any sort of visitor...)

11) This goes back to the "box of wine" thing, but I've had a box of popsicles in my freezer for over a week now, and it's only half gone. I can't stress how much more boys eat than girls. I mean, I eat. (I eat.) But apparently I must eat less. As evidenced by the popsicles. That are always there when I want them. And when I finish them? There's a note to buy more. And then more are purchased. It's a fascinating system really. Boys should get in on this.

12) My toilet seat is always down. Even for sleepy morning visits.

13) Everyone has a place to sit. I have a couch and a loveseat. I can stretch out on the couch and the loveseat looks like this:


*Now, this is not to say that there aren't several reasons why I miss the boy. There were good things about living with him, and definitely things that I miss...so I wouldn't completely rule out the possibility of future cohabitation. But for now? So. Happy.

Humble Pie

"Hello Gorgeous."

This is what I hear from the very hot, very shirtless guy who is jogging towards me on the canal towpath as I am walking my dogs. He's wearing an iPod which covers for the fact that I am stunned speechless and can't even muster a witty retort. (He was that hot.)

Also covering for my moment of idiocy is the fact that he's looking at my dog. More specifically, he is looking at Blue. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the hot man was hitting on my dog. I would normally be depressed by this, but at this point, I'm immune.

My dog gets hit on all the time.

My dog gets hit on more than I do.

In fact, the current tally is Blue - 110, Emily - 1. (Give or take a few. Take in Emily's case.)

To be fair, Blue is a good looking dog. I mean, he was cute when I first met him, but now he's put on weight (all muscle - that boy is STRONG) and his coat is all shiny and blue... He's a good looking dog. But, seriously, what am I? Chopped liver? Blue will literally stop conversations. We will approach a group of people talking on the sidewalk, and they will all pause as I walk by. Just when I'm about to pass them, I hear a low whistle, or a soft, "What a beautiful dog." To which I respond, "Thanks!" and am then inevitably drawn into a conversation about what his name is, what kind of dog he is, how old he is, and "What do they call that color? I've never seen that color before!" Funny - his name is Blue...

You would think that these conversations would parlay into something about me and the guy who stopped me to talk, right? After all, isn't that what dogs are supposed to do? I mean, guys walk puppies to pick up girls, right? Aren't guys supposed to start talking to me about, well, me after complimenting my dog? Isn't that conversation supposed to lead to a date for Blue's mommy?? But no... people carry on about how gorgeous Blue is and then the conversation ends. (or the hot shirtless guy just jogs on by.)

Casey usually gets the shaft. Nevermind that I think she's the world's most adorable dog... When someone deigns to comment on her appearance, it's usually something like, "I like that one's eyes," or "I've never seen ears like that before." And then the conversation turns back to Blue. I would say that she's getting a complex, but since she doesn't really like new people that much, I'm sure she doesn't mind that all these strangers are heaping praise on her adopted brother. She's off sniffing some new smell or pulling slightly - urging us to end the conversation and get going on our walk again.

It's a psychological principle that people are attracted to others of the same or similar attractiveness levels. That's for both friendship and relationships. Those relationships work out the best because there's no undercurrent of competition. Give that information, can I continue to be a good mom to a dog who is apparently my main competition in the looks department? (Um, I'm competing with a DOG in the looks category? That can't be good on any level...) I mean, Blue is ruining my mojo. That fact, coupled with the fact that the neighborhood kids called me "The lady with two pit bulls*" doesn't bode well for my chances on picking up any dates soon while walking the dogs, and really, what else do I spend the majority of my time doing? Studying? Fabulous.

Bummer, because first on my list of "must haves" for a future date is "must love dogs." Maybe it should be changed to "must love dogs - just not as much as you must love me."

*I don't know what I expected there, really. Girl? Pretty girl? All I know is that the word "lady" just about caused me to pass out from sheer panic. The only thing that could have been worse is if they had called me "ma'am."