Skip to content

Ooooh, barracuda!

June 30, 2010

There are a lot of great thing coming up in the near future. I am moving (yay!), I am going to New York City/Brooklyn (yay!), and I am going to the aquarium (FUCK YES!).

Does anyone love the aquarium as much as I do? Nope, probably not. I freaken love he aquarium more than I could ever put into words.

Irony: i HATE the ocean

No, not the beach. Just the ocean. I don’t like sharing something with anything that isn’t human. Aka seaweed. Aka fish. Aka SHARKS. Don’t even get me started on sharks because I probably won’t sleep tonight. I have an irrational fear of sharks and I sometimes get scared when I shower because I think a killer shark is going to come jumping through my drain. I already said it was an irrational fear. Don’t judge me.

It is very rare that you will find me in water anywhere above my knees. Its just a thing.

One time my family convinced me to go snorkeling in St Thomas. Reluctantly I suited up and swam around looking at the all the nemo fish. I had lifted my head up just for a second and I heard some kid yell “DAD! DID YOU SEE THE TEETH ON THAT BARRACUDA?” All of a sudden I was on the beach choking on water. I have no idea how I went from being an 1/8th of a mile off the shore to being sprawled out on the beach having a panic attack.

When I was little, my cousins and I used to spend our summers in Prince Edward Island. We’d spend all day on the beach and come back to our grandmothers house covered in sunburned and covered in sand.

One day, after our 12th day in a row at the beach, we got insanely bored. We had played in the waves, we had climbed on all of the big rocks, we had collected 2398472938472983432 shells, and we had made more sand castles then I care to remember. We were bored.

Now, I remember the beaches to be really nice in PEI. There weren’t a lot of rocks in the sand, there was only seaweed during low tide, and they were never crowded. The one terrible thing I can remember, were the jellyfish. They were EVERYWHERE. Not like…deadly ones or anything. Just fist sized clear and purple jellyfish washed on the shore or floating near the shore line. We avoided them like the plague because, HELLO- jelly fish sting. And that sucks.

That day, we had  taken a walk and I stepped on a biggish clear jellyfish. I immediately started freaking out because I thought it was going to start stinging. It never did. We were confused. So we all started poking the jellyfish- first with a stick and then with our toes and fingers once we got a little braver. I figured it was dead and thats why it wasn’t stinging us. Pretty logical. We found more on the beach which we poked and prodded. We even got brave enough to touch some in the water, but we NEVER got stung. We also realized that these smaller clear jellyfish did not have any tentacles while the bigger purple ones did. After awhile, we all contemplated what this meant. Little gooey beings + no danger + awesome= JELLYFISH FIGHTS.

totally serious.

We ran back to the spot on the beach and grabbed as many buckets and pails we could carry and started loading them up with jellys. We then staked our spots on the beach. I was lucky enough to have a rock barrier around me to keep out enemy attacks.

The war began.

I wish I knew what the surrounding families on the beach thought of us. Here we were, 7-10 years old with bathing suits hanging off our prepubescent bodies throwing marine creatures at one another all along the beach. AND why didn’t our parents stop us? Seriously. SERIOUSLY.

We had wars that lasted days. No one really lost or won. Unless you count our parents and Gramma who had to deal with us coming home sunburned, sandy, AND with jellyfish stuck to our bathing suits and hair. They definitely lost. Whateves.

A few years later, we grew out of the jellywars. And by grew out of them, I mean my cousins and I were very rarely in PEI at the same time anymore. One year, my two cousins who were sisters and I were staying at the house together. This  time, we really concentrated on playing in the waves and such.

One day, we were swimming and having fun in the ocean. I was running around with my goggles on because I suck and can’t open my eyes under water. We were riding into shore with the waves and trying to avoid all of the seaweed and jellyfish that were floating everywhere. This one HUGE wave came in and I could see the dark spots in water, meaning either seaweed or jellys. As it crashed down, I opened my eyes and I saw one of my cousins a few feet ahead of me swimming towards this big dark spot.

During the next 3 seconds I asked myself “what is that? Is that seaweed? Is it just the water? Is it a jellyfish? Oh shit, its a jellyfish. OH SHIT”

I then witnessed her swimming face first into the biggest jellyfish I have ever seen in my life and just brushed it aside with her hand. We all quietly stood up where we were. My cousin had tentacles in her hair, stuck in her bracelets, and on her face.

My dear cousin’s face was stung by a jellyfish.
I couldn’t believe it.
I had never seen anything like it.

it blew up to the size of a beach ball in under 5 minutes.

I am pretty sure thats when I realized my fear of sea creatures. Coincidently, this is one of the last times I swam in ocean water that went above my knees.

a little too ironic. yeah, I REALLY do think.

June 26, 2010

Dear Diary,

Today, on this lovely saturday morning, I was driving to work. The sky was blue, the birds were chirping, and the air was warm. A perfect summer’s morn. I flipped on the radio and Spongebob’s “Best Day Ever” song came blaring through my speakers. Questionable? Yes. Amusing? Absolutely. I decided to not change the channel, because I figured it was a sign. Even though I had to work today, I just knew it was going to be a great day!

I then hit a chipmunk.

I turned the radio off and drove the rest of the way in silence.

How’s that for irony?



So like…aliens? or…martians?

June 17, 2010

I KNOW. I know. I suck and I’m sorry. To all 6 of you faithful readers (luv yaz!), I deeply apologize. Between securing a new apartment, packing up all my stuff, unpacking all of my stuff immediately because the lease doesn’t start for another month and guess what- I WILL need my toothbrush before then, and working close to 55  hours a week- I’m a liiittle swamped. I wish I could write about work, but I’m scared so I won’t.

So..anyways. I mentioned in a previous post a little blurb about my alien/baby feet. Someone actually commented on my feet recently, so I took that as a sign to tell the world feetsies.

Feet are gross. Just let that be said. I have all the respect in the world for pedicurists, masseuses, and podiatry doctors. But, really. Why go through life having to look/touch someone elses feet? EW. EW EW EW.

Well, a few years ago I got invited to a classy wedding on the Cape. I took that as an excuse to get a mani/pedi. I had a gift certificate for a salon on the way home from where I worked, so I figured I would go there. It was nice inside. It wasn’t creepy like some nail salons are. I very rarely get my nails done because I think its boring and I bite them, so this was a pretty new thing for me at the time. The woman asked me to pick out a color and I was completely overwhelmed with my options. Who knew that there could be so many shades of pink? Not me! The only shades of pink I was familiar with were the ones that came in my Crayola crayon box.

So I picked a lovely shade of pink to match the details in the dress I was wearing and we got started. She told me that getting my fingernails done was a good choice so when it came time to pay I didn’t have to worry about smudging them when I went into my purse. Completely logical.

Now, as we ALL know, I’m extremely socially awkward. So sitting there in silence (there was no one else at the salon) while we both tried to make small talk was torture. At first, I didn’t know if I should talk to her because I figured she’d need to concentrate. But, then she started asking me all these questions about my life and all I could muster out were one word answers. I HATE it when people give me one word answers, but I do it all the time. I’m sorry, but if you ask “Do you like your nails long or short” I’m going to say either “yes” or “no”.  I will not go into some big long philosophical tangent on WHY I like them long or short, but I’m pretty sure she expected more out of me.

So anyways, after what felt like a life time, she finished my fingernails. She then prepared the foot tub for the pedicure. This included about 5 different perfumes and rose petals. Uh…..k. I hopped into the chair and put my feet into the tub. After about 10 minutes of jets bubbling at my feet and ankles, she took my foot out to start pedicure-ing. She put my foot on the edge of the tub and just sat there for a good 30 seconds. This is when my mind started running rampant. “What is wrong with my foot?” “Doesn’t she look at feet like…everyday?” “They can’t possibly smell!” So I finally asked “Is there something wrong”

She slowly looked up at me and said

“You’re feet look like alien feet…or…baby feet or something”

Um…thanks? What the hell do you say to that? I mean, I toe danced for like 13 years, so I know they aren’t the most attracted things in the world, but really.

“…What do you mean?”
“There aren’t any calluses. There aren’t any rough spots. I don’t really know what else to do”

So..ok. This woman was upset because I was making her job easier by having smooth feet!? Is it really that weird? I’m sorry, I completely forgot to hike up a mountain with no shoes on before I came. Sorry!

We both sat there in silence for another 30 seconds. I seriously thought about throwing my gift card at her and just leaving. Like, what the fuck? What am I supposed to do? Now, not only am I grossed out about feet in general, I now have to feel even more self-conscious about my feet, because apparently they resemble ET’s.

She quickly painted my toenails and sent me on my way.

I have been self-conscious about my feet ever since. I mean, at least baby feet are cute. Feet that belong to someone 12 and older are not cute. Ever.

And, I don’t know. Maybe I’m making too much of a big deal about this, but I’ve never had a pedicure since. Yes, I cut my toe nails and make them look as pretty as possible on my own, but don’t try to bring attention to them. Why? because no one wants to see a 23 year old with 3 month old/alien feet.


Hey, can you beer me that CD?

June 13, 2010

Being an adult as seriously gotten in the way of my social life. Everything that I did six months ago has been deemed completely unacceptable: drinking myself into a drunken stooper at 8pm on a Tuesday, wearing my pajamas and slippers into the grocery store/packy/target/any public venue, listening to old pop punk/somewhat gangsta rap (which I am still afraid to admit that I sometimes enjoy), drinking any beer that is beneath budlight, sleeping past 930am, and getting away with coming into work in un-ironed clothing.

When exactly did this happen? When did I cross the threshold of real adult life? You know what? It stinks. It all stinks. Someone took a steaming shit on my life and it stinks to the high heavens. I just really don’t see why this is all necessary. I was completely fine with staying in my PJs, eating buffalo mozzerella sticks, and watching Friends/The Office/Sex in the City/Daria reruns on my computer. No complaints. No qualms. WHERE DID I GO WRONG?

Why is that just one year ago when I was running around campus I was thinking to myself “Fuck I can’t wait to be a grown up”. No. NO EMILY. If I saw my 22 year old self today, I would smack the shit out of her immediately and quote the always appropriate Billy Madison:

Don’t you say that. Don’t you ever say that. Stay here. Stay here as long as you can. For the love of God, cherish it. You have to cherish it.

I would give anything to roll out of bed, stumble into class at 1030am in my pajamas, sit at a desk for a total of 2 hours a day, and then skip on home. Why did I think that was the worst thing in the world? Past Emily- your life was awesome. You could get away with using mom and dad’s credit card on just about everything. You could shut your alarm off at 9am and skip class if you wanted. You could even waltz into class with a hangover the size of Canada and STILL have that reassurance that you would be back in your bed in 2 hours.

This is not what I signed up for! 50 hour weeks are the fucking worst. Everything about the real world makes me want to stab myself in the eye.

Hey, when they get that Delorean (right?) up and running, let me know.

ugh, I KNOW.

June 5, 2010

I’m sucking lately. Sit tight.

Next, on Sick Sad World!

May 30, 2010

The greatest thing you will ever read. Aside from this blog.

Why is it I do all the sweating but you do all the glistening?

May 27, 2010

Disclaimer: This post could get awkward.

Its hot out. Like, REAL hot out. I don’t remember it ever being this hot at the end of May. I do love it though, won’t lie. Unfortunately for me, my office is a fucking sauna. Every other room and hallway in my building is at least 10 degrees cooler. I can’t explain it.

Now since my office is apparently on the threshold of hell, I often wear either short sleeves and a skirt or a dress. Always work appropriate, mind you. Another thing that is quite unfortunate about my office, I have a huge leather desk chair that I am forced to sit in for 8.5-9.5 hours everyday.

So last Tuesday, it was like the hottest day known to man. My office, once again, was practically smoking. Now, I don’t sweat. I just don’t. I don’t know if its a genetic defect or what, but I don’t really sweat.

On Tuesday, I perspired. Not like sweating bullets or anything, but I got damp. Sticky if you will. I was wearing one of my favorite dresses I got at H&M a few years back. Its very sheer so I have to wear a slip underneath it, but its gorg. So I had a bunch of phone appointments, so I had to close my door so I could block out noise but also blocked out any chance of relief from my hellish office. After each half hour phone conversation, I had to stand up out of my chair because I could feel the back of my legs sticking to the leather. SO. GROSS. I can’t handle that stuff. Every time I stood up, I felt the back of my dress and it was like…damp. Not like WET or anything, but just damp. I didn’t really think anything of it. I did, however, leave my office after every appointment to get some air in the lobby.

At 7:15pm, my last appointment of the day ended. Relieved, I stood up and stretched. Sitting down all day and writing is tough, you know? I smoothed out my dress in the back and the front. Again, I felt the dampness. This time, I was REALLY grossed out. I yanked the back of my dress around so I could see it. I looked down and I saw that the damn part of my dress was SIGNIFICANTLY darker than the rest of my dress.

oh. my. god.

I ran to the bathroom so I could get a good look in the mirror. There it was. Two perfect leg marks on my dress. It looked like a peed myself. I had been walking around like this ALL DAY LONG. Not one person said anything. Not that I can blame them.

“Uh, Em? Why are you all wet?”

Yeah, maybe better that they didn’t. I don’t know how anyone could bring that up and not be awkward about it.

This is my life.