Tomorrow’s post is about boobs and smartphones.

Been a while, yes?

A lot of times when I don’t post for a while its because I got out of the habit. More times it’s because I just flat have nothing to say.

I said as much on Twitter yesterday, which drew a response from the lovely Leslie in the form of this comic from The Oatmeal.

I’ll leave you with that.

Existential Crisis

I came very close to giving up on school altogether this past week.


No really. I’ve run my mouth about being a student for years and I was all set to just fuck all and give up.

I’ve talked myself out of that, mostly.


I got sick. Like, snot and boogers and I can’t breathe sick. I stopped trying to do much of anything except exist and be, and I succeeded.

But in the succeeding, I fell behind on my school work. Quite behind, for me. Due dates were passing and I had never let that happen. It was like being in a bad dream.

It got to the point where I was afraid to check my online learning site because I just didn’t want to think about how far I’d fallen behind on everything. ABSOLUTELY ALL OF IT. And since recent revelations had established that I have a semester more than I had originally thought to go, I was decidedly discouraged.

This past weekend, I knew it was do or die. I was either going to buckle down and get my shit done or I was kissing the whole semester goodbye.

And what did I do? I put it off until Sunday. Which, of course, left me with loudmouth children and baseball and OMG THE WALKING DEAD SEASON PREMIERE and I was totally distracted.

But it got done. I live to fight another week.


And that’s what’s happening here.

reasons I would make a terrible politician

1. I procrastinate.

2. I generally dislike people.

3. I have low tolerance for bullshit.

4. I say things like bullshit.

5. I don’t care who you love or if you have matching genitals.

6. I really think people who have more should help people who have less.

7. I like to stay at home too much.

8. I can’t pretend to like you if I don’t.

9. I am fashion challenged.

10. I am not photogenic.

11. I can’t keep secrets.

12. Sleazeballs make me stabby.

13. I am not neat.

14. I would probably get my feelings hurt. Daily. Hourly. Minutely.

15. Legal documents generally frown on made up words.

Being legitimate

Someone had to know I would broach this. It was inevitable.


In an interview aired this past Sunday, Todd Akin, a Republican candidate for Senate in the great state of Missouri, made this statement when asked about his feelings on abortions resulting from rape circumstances.

“First of all, from what I understand from doctors, [pregnancy from rape] is really rare. If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down.”

He really said that. Really and truly.


Now, let me start by saying, as a woman – he has no right to an opinion. Really. I don’t get all up in his scrote and he’s never carried a baby, so we should just agree to keep our politics out of each others’ crotches.

And secondly, as a rape victim – fuck you, Mr. Akin.

Legitimate rape?

What are the other kinds? Illegitimate? Imagined? Maybe she didn’t say no loudly enough? Maybe she was “asking” for it?

I realize that people are falsely accused of rape. I know that happens, and it is a sad thing to know that someone would abuse such a delicate area for whatever reason.

But the majority of rapes (60-68%, according to a quick Googling) go unreported, and do you know why? Because of douchebags like Todd Akin. Because the first thing asked of anyone claiming rape is not, “What can I do?” not “How can I help?” it’s…..”Well, what happened?”

Because its not enough to be taken advantage of. It’s not enough to be violated. It’s not enough to matter so little that you don’t even get a choice in what happens to you.

You have to justify. You have to prove what you’ve claimed. It’s no wonder that women and men in staggering amounts just choose to opt out. Why prolong things and expose yourself to embarrassment…criticism…shame?

It happened to me. And just because it wasn’t a stranger in a dark alley doesn’t mean it wasn’t real. It doesn’t mean I deserved it. It doesn’t mean I hurt any less. It doesn’t make it any less legitimate.


So while Mr. Akin sits in Missouri with whatever opinions he wants to have about situations he will never face, I will try with all my might to let everyone know that things like this are not okay. It’s not okay to trivialize someone else’s hurt. It’s not okay to make blanket statements when you don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.

Help a little more, talk a little less. I think that’d do some good for everybody.


Taking stock

I generally think of myself as an open, honest person. I have worked for many years to be a very what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of gal.

And I think I’ve done well.

It does present a problem, though. Trying to live as an open book among the normals.

Because really? No one does that. There is always something underneath or to the side. Where I just let the freak flag fly and try not to worry about it, the rest of the world tries to pretend to have their shit together.

I’m not fooled.

But I do wonder if it’s even healthy to be so open. I mean, do I have to hide faults to make someone want to like me? Do I have to pretend to be something I’m not? Because I’ll be honest – I’m not gonna. Takes too much effort. And the result is that I’m pretty much on my own, but I’m content with that. I have people to love.

Being me is something I’ve become okay with being.

Since when does growing up mean missing out?

Always, right? It’s always been the case that being an adult means being responsible and not always doing what you want just because you want to do it.

Deep down I know this to be true.

I suppose.

But this weekend is BlogHer12 (in NEW YORK CITY), and I’ll just be honest – I am aching.

Aching not in the “oh, poor me” sense…though maybe a little bit…but mostly aching because I KNOW there are things (and people) there that I desperately need in my life.

Some people are gamers. They create networks of love and friendship through the common love of a specific goal – a set of rules, a way of doing things. Some people make these connections through church and belief systems. Still others find fulfillment and friendship through causes and uproar.

Me? I’m a blogger.

I’m not the best at being a blogger – I slack on commenting and I tend to gravitate my like of anyone towards how they interact on Twitter – but I give it all I have. I spill out my secrets and I tell you about my days.

For no reason, really. No reason other than the hope that somewhere, someone will see me and relate. Know they are not alone.

For me, the BlogHer conference is just that – a meeting of people like me when people like me are so hard to find. People who know what I mean when I say “I have a blog” and they know and understand all that is entailed.

They accept me even though all they’ve ever been confronted with is the REAL me. The me on these pages. Seriously – that in and of itself is enough to make me want to cry.

So while I can’t go this year, one day I will. And it will be just as lovely and right as I envision.

One Day.

Randomer and randomest

There are weird things about me, you know. I realize I present myself in a very pristine manner and I may seem totally put together, but I am totally deceptive like that.

So, randomly, here we go…

It makes me feel special and cuddly when someone new follows me on Twitter.

I haven’t run in a billion years.

I confirmed my schedule for next semester. Eeee.

On the subject of school, I applied for Spring 2013 graduation. That’s soon, you know.

Gordon Ramsay is a complete sellout. Complete.

That said, I adore him beyond all reason and will watch anything he does.

Yesterday we (well, Max) finally found Lucy’s left sneaker. This is a huge deal, since we have been looking for those shoes for at least a month and the child has instead been wearing sandals or rain boots. Every day. He found it behind the toilet in the bathroom that he and Ava share, which I really don’t even want to think about.

I am a new convert to the world of bananas and peanut butter. Seriously how have I never realized the wonder of this combination before?

I hope you all have a fantastic Monday. It’s a good day.

Buzzing just like Neon

I’ve grown up in the South, where food is fried and biscuits are doughy.

It’s been good times.

When I married Josh, he was a normal fried okra dough biscuit eater just like me.

He still is, but over the years I’ve watched him become so much more. He discovered how much he loved the art of good food. And as picky as I am, I have branched out….a lot, for me.

So when we go on date nights or excursions or whatever, we like to see what we can find. Local, hole-in-the-wall places are always the best kind, and face it – there’s a sharp satisfaction in knowing you’re thumbing your nose at places with packaged preserved freezer food.


Last weekend we found THE place.

It was amazing.

We had no idea what to expect, but isn’t that always the best?

We got our beers out of the freezer, sat down, ordered burgers. I was not overly excited, I mean I’ve had burgers.

Then Josh got curious about the steak on the plates of the guy and girl close to us.

He asked them what was up with their steakful plates when the menu was clearly steakless.

Turns out you can pretty much custom order anything out of their fancy free range organic pampered and petted produce section. The girl part of the duo we befriended (I didn’t think to get her name, but her dress was awesome and so was her steak) chopped up a little sampling of the stuff they’d preordered so we could try it.

I had never wanted to fold an entire steak in half and cram it down my throat before…but now I have.

I didn’t do it, but I so wanted to.

Our burgers came and…



I want to go back every weekend. It was like eating at a friend’s house – a friend with ALL of the meat and ALL of the beer.

You guys should totally go.


Everyone should be tolerant…except me


I am a hypocrite. I own and admit to this.

I’m not proud. I’m not perfect. I’ve always thought owning up to your shortcomings is the best way to remain humble.

And so, I give unto you, ways I am an intolerant ass…

I judge people by their vehicle (no, not in the “you don’t drive a good enough car” kind of way) in that if you drive around in a 1992 Honda Civic with spinning rims and custom paint bumping Toby McGray or whatever twangy nonsense youngsters listen to these days, I will probably roll my eyes at you and you may even get a double-bird for achievement in douchebaggery.

Much in that same vein, if you drive a Hummer and it is not plugged into the wall, covered in solar panels and handing out medications to AIDS patients, you are a pompous ass and I will not feel sorry for you if…well, anything.

If you drive around the WalMart parking lot with your windows down and music up when all I want to do is get across the crosswalk and buy juice boxes without dying, I may cast questionable hexes in your wake.

If I can see your midriff and you are over 12 and not a supermodel, I judge.

If you tell me all your secrets in horrific detail within the first five minutes of our meeting, I’ll probably think you’re weird. Really weird. This is perhaps the most hypocritical of all, because hello, I’m Emily. Have you read my blog?

If you specify race as a way of describing someone, I immediately classify you as a bigot.

If you are a Republican, I immediately either dislike you or want you to explain yourself. This is perhaps the most embarrassing because I firmly believe everyone should be free to have their own beliefs for their own reasons…and if someone made the same statement about Democrats or brunettes I would be highly offended. I suppose that is why this is not my list of reasons I am a fairy princess.

If you “don’t text” you don’t belong in my century. Even my mom texts.

While there are many, many (many) more of these, I will leave it at this.

Like I said before, I’m not proud of any of these things. I despise the feeling of being judged and I realize that my inclinations to do exactly that are wrong on so many levels, but hey, at least I’ve matured some in my standards of judgementery – when I was in high school you were immediately on my questionable list if you didn’t go to church, wear prolife tshirts and date rigidly within the confines of your race and creed.

Maybe when I’m 90 I’ll have this whole live and let live figured out.

The Intolerant Asshole

Global warming

If one more person asks me if it’s “hot enough for me,” I think I may dig out my own eyeballs with a spoon.

It’s true. In case you’ve ever wondered, people really do say shit like that. Stupid, silly clichés that mean absolutely nothing. I never used to believe it, but it’s true.

And to be fair, I think that being from Mississippi means that I have more tolerance for heat than you. Why? Because humidity. You can be hailing from 6,000 degree pottery kiln sand covered Sahara, but have you ever been able to SEE the air move as you breathe because it’s so thick? Our heat is thermal gluey paste, and no matter what your issues are….humidity.

I ran the other day in just such heat. I have never been so close to dying. It got to this one stretch of road where corn rises up on either side, blocking breezes and emanating heat of life and hiding Malachi, and I was pretty much ready to hang things up. The only thing that kept me from just collapsing onto the blacktop was how much hotter it was than everything else. I even considered running as a method to make air blow into my face. Somehow that didn’t quite work out.

Speaking of running, I think I want to find a late-2013 marathon to do.

Also, here are some pretty pictures of waterfalls. These are just from my phone – josh has good ones from the camera that we may see…someday.