It's not an island, you just can't see past the hills...

I had the most fabulous dinner out this weekend. I laughed so often that I swear shrimp almost came out of my nose. We all finished dinner and sat around annoying the waiter for at least another hour. When we departed, the conversation lingered in the parking lot as we were all reluctant to end the night. That's nothing remarkable to blog about - getting together with friends is always fun, and sometimes you find a group that just particularly gels together. I have lots of different circles of friends, and we all have fun in different ways. But this dinner was different, and I couldn't figure out why the night was so fun until one of the attendees pointed out that everyone at the table was over thirty and childless. (Although I'm sure that if someone read a transcript of the conversations that we had, they would put the age of the group at somewhere around 18.)

I was surprised at what a nice change that was. For once, I didn't feel like the 'crazy one who doesn't know what she's missing because she doesn't want kids.' We had dinner on a Saturday night and lingered with no timeframe in mind. We discussed a group skydiving trip and 6 out of the 8 in the group were in. I went back to a friend's house and we stayed out until 2:00am. We talked about group trips and didn't have to plan around school or baby sitting etc. etc. It was different, and that itself was surprising. So many of my friends now have children that making considerations for children when we make plans is just commonplace. (Note: it is not a burden to make considerations for children. Please please please don't take it that way. I am not here to bash my friends who have kids - especially since so many of them are awesome. This is just an observation.)

I've accepted that I'm in the minority since I don't want children. Each time a good friend of mine announces a pregnancy, I greet the news with joy and I attend the baby shower with a gift that I try to put some thought into (but seriously, I don't know the good things to get. I try, though! Specific instructions that don't include the words "breast" or "pump" are always appreciated...) I ask about updates on the pregnancy, I can't wait to know the sex and the name of the new addition... I even follow a blogger who is about to have her second child, and I anticipate each update as much for her writing and observations as for the subject matter and pictures. But I'm always a bit hesitant. Is my latest newly pregnant friend going to turn into "that mom?" You know the one. This is the woman who has a baby, usually quits her job, and is suddenly incapable of speaking about anything other than her child and the day to day "achievements" or "challenges" that she faces, much less hearing about the lives of others who don't involve her child. Dear God, just shoot me now.

Luckily, I've been largely unscathed. I can do a shout out to all my awesome mom friends individually, but that would take much too long. I can point out the people I've known who have become "that mom," which would be a much shorter list, but I'll keep the gloves up and try to be nice. I'll suffice to say that the awesome moms realize that there are different friends for different discussions. They help me out with the updates on their children (they know that I don't know what to ask, but they help me out with the important information anyway.) At the same time, they still keep it on a level that I'll understand. (The real in-depth mommy talk would be over my head anyway.) The awesome moms also still ask about my life and what's going on with me. Our conversation is not simply dominated by baby-talk, even though I'm sure they would like it to be, but it's also not dominated by dogs/school/politics like I would prefer it to be. :-) The effort put forth by both parties ensures that the friendship between "maternal" and "non-maternal" will endure. I might be biased, but I think that you need all sorts of friends in your life with all sorts of viewpoints, no?

I don't begrudge women their decision to have children. I just seriously dread the women who become "that mom." I thought it was mostly because of the loss of my friend when they morph into this completely self absorbed creature, but now I'm realizing the pressure that comes with "those moms" and how much that affects me, even if I don't want it to. My intense reaction to "those moms" is for a variety of reasons, but the most obvious one is that I don't like being called out for discussing topics other than their child (ahem.) You had a child, and they are your whole world. I know. But they're not mine. If you can't understand that I'm not going to want to talk about your child 24/7 or if you are incapable of discussing any other topic, well, it's going to stress me out to spend time with you and I'll probably do my best to avoid it*.

I thought that was it. But after a dinner with other childless friends, I realized that what I feel is implicit in that refusal to discuss anything other than the new child is a judgment on me for not wanting to have children. "Look at me! My entire life has changed in such a profound way! It is so awesome! This is obviously the right decision! Best thing I ever did! Emily, you should so totally be interested in this - what's wrong with you if you aren't? This experience is just so awesome. I mean, I just can't put it into words. It's just so....great. You wouldn't understand." Whether that's actually being put forth by some moms, or if it's in my head, either way it's a subtle pressure that I'm feeling more and more as those around me have children, plan to have children, try to have children, or can't wait to get married and have children.

I get it. I really do. Having children is awesome. It truly changes your life, perspective and everything in between. I just don't think it's a decision for me.

Feeling that pressure is my problem, and I get that. I have to work on that. But the thing is, I don't feel that pressure from the "awesome moms." All I feel from them is joy over their children. That, in turn, makes me enjoy spending time with them and their children whenever it's possible for us to get together. So then, what's the difference between seeing my "awesome mom" friends and going out with a group of childless friends?

Well, I guess that not only was the subtle pressure gone, but I see other people who have made the same decision I've made... and their life looks pretty darn good from where I'm sitting. In the absence of a "What to Expect" book to tell me how to circumnavigate life with no children, it was nice to see that others have gone before me and they're satisfied with their life and how they lived it. The decision not to have children isn't worse than the decision to have children. It's not better than the decision to have children. It's just a different path. I guess I didn't realize how nice it was to have that path reaffirmed every now and then.

*I tried to keep the gloves up. Really I did.

I don't get it*

While suturing a cut on the hand of a 75-year-old rancher whose hand was caught in the gate while working cattle, the doctor struck up a conversation with the old man. Eventually, the topic got around to Sarah Palin and her bid.

The old rancher said, "Well, ya know, Palin is a 'post turtle.' "

Not being familiar with the term, the doctor asked him what a 'post turtle' was.

The old rancher said, "When you're driving down a country road and you come across a fence post with a turtle balanced on top, that's a 'post turtle.' " The old rancher saw the puzzled look on the doctor's face, so he continued to explain. "You know she didn't get up there by herself, she doesn't belong up there, and she doesn't know what to do while she's up there; so you just wonder what kind of dummy put her up there to begin with."

*The blog title is sarcasm. Since no one seems to know when I'm being sarcastic, I'll go ahead and try to head off a bunch of comments where people try to explain the idea behind the joke...

A plea for help

I don't blog about serious stuff here. I try to make people laugh. I am a teller of stories. Hopefully those stories make you smile. Sometimes they should make you glad they didn't happen to you. Sometimes the stories are supposed to make you tell me how cute my dogs are. Sometimes I want to share the random exciting thing that happens in my life. Sometimes I just want to rant. But I try not to post about politics. (Sometimes I fail.)

Basically, I like to tell stories. I try to keep it lighthearted and sometimes sarcastic. (Though apparently I need to make the sarcasm a little bit more apparent. Hmmm.)

But today I need help. Seriously. Help.

I wasn't going to talk about this, but after commiserating with Ann I thought I would use this blog to A) let her know that she's not alone, and B) seriously see if there's something I haven't thought of to help myself out. I mean, you guys were good with suggestions for Tyson, maybe you can help me with this.

I have met my nemesis, and it is Biology. I have taken two tests and taken two ass beatings with the worst one happening yesterday evening when I left five fill-in-the-blank questions blank on a 35 question exam. The test yesterday followed a test a week prior that also did not go as well as hoped.

Total, I would say that I spent 30 hours studying for both tests. Um, that's on top of the 5 hours of class per week and the 40 hours of work per week. I'm not sure much more studying will fit. I know it's not the amount of studying, but the way you're studying, right? So help me.

Here's what I'm facing. I'm intelligent. I'm a problem solver. For all my difficulties with chemistry, I can handle chemistry. There are problems, I learn the concepts associated, I learn to solve the problems, I do well on the tests (providing I put in my study time.) The bonus to this is that I remember the concepts and can apply them to other situations later on. I learn by doing. By applying. I learned to knit from a website with pictures. I imitated the pictures and got the concept pretty quickly. But I have to DO. I have to apply. You can't tell Emily the college student about the great program that is Microsoft Access and show her examples of how it can be used. She won't get it at all. But put her in a work environment where Microsoft Access is USED, and she's all about using it for process improvements and efficiencies. In fact, if you put her in a NEW job where there is no Access, she can immediately see how much Access could help out and implement it successfully. (true story, btw)

Biology is all about the memorization, and people, I am sucking it up at the memorization. Seriously. I read my biology chapter and it all makes perfect sense. I get it. I'm down wit' dat. I understand the concept of evolution, I understand the concept of classifying organisms into classes and phylums and how they're all related. But ask me the phylum of a spider? Um... An example of a porifera? Um...

And, seriously, I read all of that crap. Not only that, but in my study group we discussed at length how all the concepts tie into each other. I can now recite to you exactly how the life cycle of a protozoa goes. I can tell you how the protozoa that causes malaria is both sexual and asexual. I can apply that. But the name of the phylum that contains that protozoa? Um...

And folks, I read the material. I copied my notes into a different format. In desperation, I typed my notes on the computer. We discuss the concepts out loud when we study. But do I remember what the three structures of a sponge are called? Well, right now I do. (asconoid, sychonoid, and leucanoid) In a fill in the blank test? Not so much. Do I know the phylum that contains the earthworm? Yes. But since it's sheer memorization (and I managed to retain that piece of information) if he asks me to apply it, I'm at a loss.

So... memorization techniques? Ways to help me maximize my study time? Help me! Seriously! With a class where there are concepts to learn and problems to solve, I know how to study. In a world where I have to memorize huge amounts of information (when in real life Google is a girl's best friend) I'm failing, I have no idea how to do better. Seriously - as a student who never had to struggle much with school, I'm starting to get a complex...along with this annoying tic in my left eye. :-)

The next lab exam is over the skeletal system (not just the bones, but the different PARTS of the bones for God's sake.) That's complete memorization. It's not like I can figure out a formula to help me determine the name of the bones he chooses to test us on. Seriously. HELP ME! I beg you. Casey and Blue beg you. Help save their mom's sanity....

Who knew all that anger would come in handy?

I'm no gamer, but I've been known to play video games on occasion. MarioKart is an all time favorite, and was actually one of my favorite pasttimes when getting over heartbreak. And I've made no secret of my love for all things Frogger and PacMan. (And I may have secret [outdated] mad skillz with Nina in Tekken.) But I was never into the "shoot 'em up" games. I've watched GTA (and heard about the fun storylines,) but never played. The competitor in me sort of yearns to be really good at the video games that zlionsfan, ropes me into to unlock things or reach certain achievements, but I just don't have the time.

Along these lines, when Guitar Hero came out, I didn't understand the excitement from zlionsfan. It was a fun game, and I could see how it would become mildly addictive, but to spend hours upon hours on that game? Then came Rock Band. Okay. It's Guitar Hero with more instruments and singing. I get it. I can play the guitar okay. I can play the bass okay. The drums look like they're way too complicated (and after seeing my cousin play - who was AWESOME - I'm super intimidated.) And singing? You mean, singing in front of people? No thanks. Besides, Rock Band was mostly 70s rock with which I am not well acquainted. (Sorry sorry sorry. In my defense - I know some of the songs!! Just not all of them.) I mean, Rock Band is fun and all, sure. Especially in a group of people. But to spend lots of time on it? Meh.

Enter Rock Band 2. All of a sudden, I know the songs I'm playing. All of a sudden, Rock Band is much more fun. All of a sudden, I'm dropping off a book for zlionsfan and staying until 10:30pm playing "one more song." Damn. But still, given the control freak in me (and with that, the dislike of making a complete fool of myself) I stick to the guitar. No drums, and no singing.

Last night we were playing "one more song" and it happened to be Alanis Morrissette. Specifically 'You Oughta Know.' Emily on guitar and zlionsfan on vocals. We play. We don't do so well. We try again, we don't do so well. In an unprecedented move I say,

"Let me sing."

I know, right? Zlionsfan tried his best to talk me out of it. He expressed doubt in that gentle way he has, and reminded me that it was on expert. I'm sure he was trying to help me avoid an epic fail. I stuck to my guns.

"C'mon. Let me sing."

What he probably didn't realize is that any woman scorned has at one point or another cranked up Alanis and sang along. That song is probably the anthem for a woman scorned. I'm not saying I've ever been a woman scorned before (cough cough) but, you know, I may have sang that tune a time or two (or fifty or sixty.) I know that song. I know the venomous nuances. I wouldn't put myself out there singing (even in front of a close friend) if I didn't think I could do it. So despite his doubt, I took the mic.

Dude, I totally nailed that shit. On expert. Go me. Happy dance for one. First song ever sang in Rock Band - woo hoo! There was no containing my happiness.

It wasn't the first time through that I was awesome. I mean, there was a learning curve of how the game works and what exactly I had to do. I did fail the first time. But in the end, I got through it, and I even got an A. :-) And then we played some other songs, and then I made him let me sing again.

(I would like to note that this does not mean I can sing well. I mean, I could hear myself. It wasn't pretty. In fact, I got an attack of the giggles, that almost made me fail, when I heard how horrible I sounded the second time around. But you don't have to sing well, apparently. You have to be on pitch, and you have to be a good mimic.)

Poor zlionsfan. He probably doesn't even know the monster he created. This might cause me to stop bugging him about MarioKart Wii. Like I need one more thing to take up my time. Man.

But, you know, we need two more people to be a band. I'm sure that if you're nice enough, zlionsfan might let you into 'Seven Years of Bad Luck.' Especially if it helps him unlock something or other. Any takers?*

*What's interesting is that my friends are divided into two camps. Those who will completely understand my excitement, and those (ahem, Kate, ahem) who will mock me endlessly for this. That's fine. I'm ready. Bring it. If I can mimic Alanis's anger, you should be very very afraid.

Daddy's Girl

"So he monopolizes my conversation, asks me what I'm doing this weekend, and then turns red, starts sputtering and runs off. WHAT THE HELL?! SERIOUSLY! I am SO done with younger men. Why do I keep dating them? I mean, how much do I have to teach them? I helped him out! I said that I was free this weekend. Then I asked him what HE was doing this weekend! What more do I have to do?! I am NOT asking him out! That's HIS job!! I've paid my dues. I've taught younger men. This school is closed. Move along Junior."

(helpless laughter.)

"Seriously!! From a male perspective, do you know what zlionsfan said that I should have answered when Junior asked me what I was doing this weekend? 'Nothing. What did you have in mind.' Can you believe that?? How much help do young boys NEED?? That's it. I'm dating only older men from here on out."

"Are you serious? You've never dated an older man in your life."

"Yes, I'm serious. I need someone older. Someone who can handle things. You know? Who will make reservations at a restaurant for date instead of having me take care of every little thing....maybe he would slip the waiter a twenty to get us a good table."

"Oh come on. No one does anymore that unless they're 55."

"Okay, okay. You know what I mean. Someone who just handles things. Who just takes care of stuff. If I have a problem, he just makes it go away."

"Oh my God! You want to date your father!"

"I do NOT want to date my father. Ew!"

(...)

"But, you know, if my dad had written a book, I'm not sure I would mind if the guy I'm dating had read it..."

Not the Sexy One

So, Halloween is approaching. It's one of my favorite holidays, but I'll be honest and say that I haven't dressed up as anything other than "Emily" or "typical late 20 year old" or "returning student" in years. I've also spent the last 6 apartment dwelling years handing out the "good candy" to trick-or-treaters if only because there are remarkably few trick-or-treaters in apartment complexes, and I get to keep the left overs.

But this year, my little brother and his wife live near Indianapolis, and if I like Halloween, they love Halloween. They're already planning their Halloween party, and it didn't take long for them to hit up me and the boy for a costume idea. What is it, you ask? Well, I'll get to that.

First, a word about my little brother and his wife. (And by "little" I mean "younger." There is nothing "little" about the genetically blessed, 6'0" tall, blue eyed handsome man that I am related to. We also could not be more polar opposite... Luckily I am saved from bitterness about his genetic good luck by having multiple embarrassing photos of the chubby little precursor [with one very unfortunate hair cut] to the handsome adonis who now greets me with "Hey sis." Not that photos of my younger years aren't equally embarrassing, it's just that I don't care, and my brother would rather believe he emerged from the womb the perfect male specimen he is today.) My brother and his wife are the golden couple. They met in high school, dated through college, got married, honeymooned in Hawaii, bought the perfect house and will now set about filling the perfect house with perfect furniture until they decide to procreate and have perfect children. If I didn't love my brother so much, all of that would be intensely irritating. As it is, his wife and I definitely have our differences to work through, but I'm sure we'll make it there someday. (right??)

I'm in a bind here because I don't want to post a picture of my brother and sister-in-law without their permission, but I also don't want to tell them about my blog. So basically, what I'm going to do is post a picture of me and the boy that my brother and sister-in-law happen to be in, and hope they never find out. I'm not using their names, so the chances of someone stumbling upon their picture with a google search is remote, right? (right??) So here we are in all of our familial glory.

Guess who's who.

Now, if you look at that group, what group Halloween costume comes to mind? Anything?? Anything?? I guess you might have to know each person's personalities a bit better to know which direction I'm heading in, so let me help. We've covered the brother and sister-in-law's perfection. How about if I mention that the boy is more comfortable in khakis than in a suit. And if you haven't inferred it, the boy is a bit...um... laid back. Relaxed. Chill about life. And me? I love to read.

Nothing yet? K. Here's a hint.

The funny thing is that when the idea was brought up, no one had to ask what character they would be playing. There was a bit of awkwardness when my brother and sister-in-law talked about who they were going to be, like they didn't want to assume, but seriously. I mean, my clean-cut brother being Shaggy? Please. Maybe Scooby, but that was never really considered. :-) And me as Daphne? Seriously? I mean, be the sexy one? There's no way I would do it. (Not that I couldn't play that role and wouldn't like to be asked, ahem...) Anyway, aren't Fred and Daphne a couple? And don't Shaggy and Scooby (possibly to be played by Tyson in a mask - can't wait until I get to blog about THAT story) get along best? Of course I was going to be short, not as attractive (and yet always smarter,) Velma (who has about zero sex appeal.) Fabulous. I'm thrilled. Can't wait. Sign me up. (I guess I should have read this article sooner.)

In retrospect, what I should have done was "assumed" that I was going to play Daphne and waited to see how long it would have taken my brother to call me and let me know that actually, I am supposed to be playing the role of Velma. THAT would have been a fun conversation to let him stumble through. Damn.

And then I realize that it is their Halloween party. And they are the ones who really love Halloween. I guess don't mind playing a supporting role in this costume that will make their Halloween so special*. I'll be the "not sexy one" this time. No problem. It just means I get to choose the next group Halloween costume. Any suggestions?

(This would be where I insert that I am obviously not dead and have miraculously lived through the "sinus infection" and only have remnants of a cough left...though I'm still sleeping a ton. Yay for not dying!!!)

*oh, and the Halloween party is taking place at the perfect house where I'll make sure Tyson has the perfect accident on the perfect basement carpet.

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."