Good Morning

if you're up & would like a good laugh tomorrow morning, i'll be on good morning america!

they are shooting their national weather broadcast live from dc central kitchen all morning, and i'll be there, bright & early.

gobble gobble. wishing you all a happy thanksgiving.


Whoa Nelly

my mormon boss just asked me, "hey - you wanna see some wood on a desk?" and it gave me pause.

of course, he meant that my coworker's desk was now so clean you can see the surface, but still...


Being Shy is a Waste of Time

"emily made us laugh so hard we almost peed our pants..."

last wednesday was fray day 8. dc's event was held at love cafe, proprieted by the charming, handsome, and, evidently exhausted, warren brown. i found out about fray day by reading tequila mockingbird's (above linked) blog and when i realized she was a featured speaker i marked fray day on my calendar in bright, pink ink.

a chance to see tequila mockingbird? in person? and hear a story? in person? and eat cake? hot damn. it doesn't get much better than that.

i arrived early and got seats for me & kristin, who was kind enough to come with me, and even offer me dinner afterwards! we sat and listened and laughed and contemplated and applauded as all of the featured and scheduled speakers took their turns at the microphone. there were stories about parents and computers, crazy men burying their cremated wives, finding love where you least expect it, delayed puberties, adolescent summer camp pranks and not having a boyfriend to take home to your ever-persistent and anxious family. (ahem ahem.)

once all the scheduled speakers had a go, the mic was opened up to anyone else with a story. the only guidelines were that it had to be true and it had to be personal.

and that's when it happened.

before i knew what was going on, i stood up.

"i'll tell a story."

[holy fuck, was that me?!]

"hi, i'm emily."

[what are you DOING? you're petrified of public speaking! you hands were all sweaty just moments ago in sympathy for that other person. sit down!]

"i figured i should step here so i could face my greatest fear...that, and i don't know anyone here..."

and they laughed. all of them.

[okay, maybe you can do this, you badass.]

i went on to tell a funny experience i had at best cellars. into a microphone. (did i mention there was microphone?) and the audience, they kept laughing, and at all the right moments. when i finished, they applauded. for the entire time it took me to get back to my seat.

wow. sometimes i suprise myself.


And It Don't Stop

last night bonnie & i saw talib kweli at the 9:30 club and it rocked!!! well, it hipped and hopped, rather.

last time i tried to see him i went with these two adorable wankers who can charm the panties right off barbara bush, but they made me really, really late and i missed practically the whole show. so this time around i knew better. i went with bonnie. she was there on time, looking cute, and she made friends with the bartender. (which is probably why she ended up with 'i heart black cock' written on her arm and 'leroy' on her knuckles.)

last night we were "those people." no, not that kind. the kind of people who get the most amazing spot for a show without. even. trying. (see diagram a.)

diagram a

i could see! everything! it couldn't have been better. talib had great energy, dj chapps spun wickedly, the sound was perfect. and the people around us even afforded my bedonkadonk a good three foot radius in which to bounce.



Arf I Did It Again

right before halloween i had the pleasure of serving as celebrity judge in a dog halloween costume contest. and let me tell you, it was a riot. there were 53 dogs in costume. fiftythree. here's some evidence:

the sailor

the biker

monster and tinkerbell

the bride

the elvis (i think he is, in fact, a hound dog)


the scarecrow, our favorite costume

celebrity judge and her handsome, handsome dog in his *new* sweater!



saturday i was sitting in a movie, totally paying attention, when a sentence, out of nowhere, hit me.

"i have just a little bit of cancer." and the image of my father holding up his index finger & thumb to indicate that "little bit" was just as vivid as the moment he said it. immediately, i felt exactly as i had four years ago - my knees went weak, and i felt the cush of the bed underneath me as the tears steamed on my cheeks.

this memory, strangely, made me think. it's amazing how a memory can come flooding back, the feelings can be just as real, and a phrase can echo in your head.

"i can't be your boyfriend anymore." a year and a half ago, that crushed me. i thought that my life was derailing right before me, and i was totally powerless to stop it. nothing i could think to say or do, no position i could take, no reaction i had would get it back on track. i was sad. i was angry. i was hopeful. i was powerful. "well then what the fuck are you still standing in my living room for? get out. now." and i pushed him out the door as he cried.

"i have the most handsome little dog for you," she said over the phone on christmas day. dog?! i don't want a dog. and particularly not a little one. a scrap. a yapper. can he fetch? can i wrestle with him? can he be my pillow as we lay on the floor in front of a fire? little did i know, that sentence would change my life. and in so many ways for the better. leroy can't do any of those things, but he can do many, many, many things i never thought he could.

"i'm going to spend the night at david pritchard's house. and you can't come." a wave of frustration and hurt swept over me and i laid down on the living room carpet and cried. i think there was even some kicking and screaming. i knew my dad wasn't just going for a night. i was five, and i knew. and i knew i couldn't come because he wasn't coming back.

"i love you." whispered. drunk. through tears. some sort of self-destruction was happening right before me, and i couldn't stop it. i couldn't even understand it. but right then, our...whatever took an irreparable turn for the worst. and it never recovered, even when it seemed fantastic. i tried to pretend, for days, that i hadn't heard it. but i had. and that was the beginning of the end, because he didn't mean it, at least not the way he should, and there is no recovering when those words are misused.

"pardon me, do you have a minute?" flirtatious. hopeful. confident. mysterious. this guy - this beautiful, jovial, interesting guy wanted to talk to me. me. and with that, a friendship was formed that has provided both of us an outlet, a fantasy, a boost when things seem less than perfect.

"i'm engaged." i knew it. i knew it was coming, and i knew by the tone of his voice on my message last night that this is what he had to tell me. i didn't call back. and then he emailed; he needed to talk to me. rather than having to face what i already knew over the phone, when my reaction couldn't be hidden, i forced a hint over email. break the ice. prepare myself. but there it was.

and in my mind they still are.


Crappity Crap Crap

it's amazing to me that people cannot recognize crap. i just went to the office printer and there was a pile of screwy, incoherent garbage printed on a stack of papers that someone had just left sitting there. no one needs this. no one is going to use this. this is obviously crap - throw it away! or better yet, recycle it, so we have less crap. and do it for yourself. i am not your crapmaster.

but it's not just this. there's crap everywhere and people buy into it, even encourage it. like shopping at ann taylor loft or eating spam or voting for people like tom coburn. CRAP! recognize crap for crap and say, "I DO NOT LIKE CRAP! IN FACT, I ABHOR CRAP!" and just be done with it. definitely don't be a crapmaster.

on a totally crap-opposite note, i have a really addictive personally when it comes to things i love. if i love something, i just want more & more & more of it. (note to self, boys: i'm a great girlfriend, *wink wink.*) i have been reminded of this characteristic lately, ever since my roommate gave me a feather bed/down comforter combo and introduced york peppermint patties into the household in a 24-hour time span. every day since, i have looked forward to nibbling on a peppermint patty in bed later that night. i'm a fiend. (note to self #2, boys: you're easily replaced by a candy and an episode of Cheers.)

and more on crap: i really want to beef up e2theLos. this is something i really enjoy and i would love to spend more time on it, if i didn't have to create everything at my crappy work computer under crappy fluorescent light. the more i visit other blogs, the more i am aware that this site is just not where i want it. i say it hovers right around crap plus four. i want better graphics and a cooler lay-out and neater fonts and more photos. so, for christmas i want a nikon d70, a mac super-duper laptop and an i-pod. for creative inspiration, of course.

but you what santa will say? "THAT'S CRAP!"


If This Doesn't Totally Boost a Girl's Self-Esteem Then I Just Don't Know What Will

"I was also distracted by your breasts which looked quite bangin' in the Selena outfit. Please let them out more often." - Really Hot Guy


Don't Call It A Come Back

last night i did something that i hadn't done in a long time. something i really enjoy. something that starts in public but ends up the privacy of your own home, using all sorts of fun toys and different viscous substances. and once you're done, you fell totally spent & satisfied.

that's right, i cooked.

here's a little known fact about me, internet: i love chicken pot pies. i crave them. i think they are the worlds best comfort food, and any time there is a even a hint of cooler weather or a little sadness or a slight cough, i want to be all over a chicken pot pie. problem is, they're not the healthiest thing to eat, so my heart goes through a little tug of war.

[frivolous los:] just eat it. you're sick. eh eh

[cautious los:] oh why don't you just take it & stick it right on your ASS, cuz that's where it's going! you whore.

you get an idea of the dilemma.

so last night i was tickled pink to find a recipe for chicken pot pie soup! yes! an alternative to the pie that i easily made much healthier than the crusty version, but ever so satisfying.

i'm telling you, she may be in the pen, but martha's spirit lives on at 1522. except that i used canned soup, and she would have milked the cow. but that's not the point. the point is my victory, neither small nor lame.

Totally Enjoying

"i take my victories like my hookers, small & lame."