Author Archives: emiverse
Minute Clinic = Up All Night Planning Scathing Come-back
Question: Emily, why are all your posts so self-centered?
Answer: Reader, that is the only subject on which I am an expert.
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I had a terrible experience at the CVS Minute Clinic. The health practitioner was absolutely terrible. She was condescending, rude, and worst of all, mean. She raised her voice at me, scolded me and sent me off worse for the wear. She never introduced herself. My husband called to find out her name so that I can properly loathe her. I plan on complaining in some formal way — this is quite extraordinary; I rarely cause a ruckus.
I have a long history of being non-confrontational. I am extremely tolerant of mistakes. I am not, however, tolerant of meanness. No ma’am!
Car rental reminder
Were any of you with me on Myspace? Do you remember my fantastic story about losing my rental car key down a gopher hole and abandoning my rental car in the Meth capital of the the US? Yes, well, I just want to remind you (and me) that when it comes time to rent a car, choose Enterprise.
Recently I rented a car and totally forgot my own pledge to always choose Enterprise. I was a fool. I will not forget again. At The non-Enterprise company, the car seat (we rented that, too) was gross and unwieldy to install. The insurance options were unclear and overly complicated. The directions given to me by the employee were messy.
Recovered Journal Entry
The following was found as I sort through the dregs of my old hard drive. It is from my wistful, unfulfilled past; an unsent letter to someone that apparently interested me more than the usual fella. Please excuse the self-indulgent adjectives – I was younger and prone to romantic rambling. Ah, the drama that comes with being single. . .
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Since we’re being honest here, I have to admit something. While I might inspire you to be open, your effect on me is quite different. How do I say this? Um. Ok. Well, quite frankly, you scare the hell out of me. After reading an email from you, my stomach feels like it is full of acid. I find myself marveling, in a pleased kind of way, that you so easily read between my lines. This area is usually perplexing to people. Seriously. Very perplexing. I have always relied on this space to intrigue and confuse people, thereby creating some space between us, and, a little perch of power for myself. This is the area that holds all my truth – this storehouse that few to none know how to access. Most every one is mystified by the in-betweens.
Not you. You don’t even hesitate. You just seem to know. Do you struggle with it at all? Do you think about it and the other possible meanings that I could mean? Whether I’m hinting, or revealing, or misleading, or double-talking? Or, do you have no doubt at all? Do you just get it immediately?
Your complete lack of mystification mystifies me completely. I am nonplussed. It is totally disconcerting, and I’m not sure I like it. I kind of want to throw up.
Increase or Decrease?
I am tempted to increase my digital footprint by taking “emiverse” to the next level; get opinionated, get a-bloggin’, join all the social networks, post dozens of pictures…
Then again, I’m tempted to erase all traces of “emiverse” except for my shopping account profile on Woot and Diapers.com (you know, the essentials). After all, updating my Facebook profile isn’t exactly the best use of my time.
Then again, I am blogging at this very moment, aren’t I? Yes. But that is simply maintaining the status quo. Putting just enough out there to keep things on an even keel. Boring.
Random thought:
I watched Twilight. I thought it was kind of good, kind of stupid. That character Edward sure has worked his way into the hearts and minds of thousands (if not millions) of women. He’s like Crack for the female psyche.
Why my hair is pink
Subtitle: An unapologetically self-centered review of myself
Growing up I was often called “bossy.” Frequently I was charged with “impatient” or “know it all.” During the middle years, my friends would tell me how “nice and sweet” my mother was; I would get “smart” [ass], and if I was really lucky, “funny.” I tried, for awhile, to match my mom’s niceness and see if even one person might describe me as “sweet.” No dice.
I did, however, on one very special night at a Spaghetti Warehouse get called “classy.(!)” I’ll remember that night until the day I die – I bet I’ll even hang on to it through my inevitable dementia. Can you imagine? Classy!
Then again, I was in a Spaghetti Warehouse, a veritable Carnival Of Food for kids and their more sophisticated toddler friends. What is the massive appeal to these small people? Do they think the warehouse building is actually MADE of spaghetti (i.e. “Spaghetti Warehouse”)?
Anyway – that’s why my hair is pink now. No more working through “bossy and impatient.” No more hoping for “smart and funny.” No more fantastical dreaming of “classy.” Now I’m, “that woman with the pink hair.”
How nice it is just to be judged on my appearance!
I miss my cool
One moment you are a single woman. The next you are married. Less cool.
One moment you are a married woman. The next you are pregnant-married. Less cool (per society, per biology – way cooler).
One moment you are pregnant-married. The next you are a mom. Way less cool (per society, per family – way cooler).
I’m the same person, I have the same thoughts, I know the same people.
My newest theory (as of 2 minutes ago) is that coolness is directly related to potential and availability, and potential of availability (with good looks being an exponential factor to multiply the results of the rest). I’d like to throw coordination in there, too – but I admit that coordination might be a bit of a personal fetish. (Not all-encompassing though – Viggo Mortensen is very coordinated, I still don’t want to be in the same room as that small-voiced freak).
Ah. I crack myself up! Viggo. Why did you stand in the rodent-voice line in the Great before-birth Ether?
This post has a lot of hyphens.
Alas. There is little to no potential of availability here. I do not want to flirt with you. I do not want to make you feel different and special. I’m tired from lack of sleep – I am happily squared away with my family. That will have to be cool enough. For now.
How to name your children
I had started this posting with an eye towards this unhappy economy and how hard it is for so many people. I started sharing my personal battles with money and my first day back at work tomorrow as a new mother. Half way into it, I stopped, realized how depressing it was to read and promptly erased the entire entry. I’ve decided to keep my posts light hearted, if not a little bit removed, if simply to avoid anyone feeling anything but levity when they read it. This means you. :)
Thus…
A pregnant woman is involved in a car accident and falls into a deep coma. Asleep for nearly 6 months, when she wakes up she sees that she is no longer pregnant and frantically asks the doctor about her baby.
The doctor replies, “Ma’am you had twins! A boy and a girl. Your Uncle came in and named them.”
The woman thinks to herself, “Oh No, not my Uncle… he’s an nutcase!” She asks the doctor,” Well, what’s the girl’s name?”
“Denise.”
“Wow, that’s not a bad name, I like it! What’s the boy’s name?”
“Denephew.”
Pet owner’s secret
My mother tells me that all pet owners share a secret: their floors are spotted with random, occasional “accidents.” Oddly, this makes me kind of happy. To think about all the millions of homes out there with little furry creatures inside of them, all marking their territory, or losing control of their systems, or vomiting ‘gourmet tuna dinner,’ or simply shedding fur everywhere. Yes it is gross. Very gross. But those families (for the most part) keep their pets and love them anyway. I like to think of us as a nation of soft hearted cuddly snugglers that love our pets so much that we forgive them for messing up our Berbers.
That being said, I need new carpet.
