At the very beginning of my blog, I decided to start all of my posts with "on". This sounded very poetic, "On Flowers", "On Sleep", "On Why Emma Should Think Through Things".
I quickly realized, though, that I would have to be VERY careful with my titles.
Example:
If I wanted to write about a friend named Fred, I couldn't very well title a post "On Fred" now could I? Rumors everywhere, and I do have my reputation.
Or I wanted to write a post on a mixup with a friend. I thought she was talking about men's "nipples" when in reality she was talking about their "dimples". I can't call a post "On Nipples" so I had to include the tidbit in this blog.
(Side note: did you know that Aladdin has no nipples?)
So, if I have any titles that are a bit awkward, please forgive me.
Monday, November 17, 2014
Sunday, November 2, 2014
On Liquid Eyeliner
Have you ever put on liquid eyeliner?
I first experienced this terrifying phenomena on Halloween night. A time already fraught with mischief.
Despite my tomboy-ness, I'm not horribly shabby at putting on eyeliner. And naturally, I attempted to apply this new-fangled liquid stuff to the very edge of my eyelid.
And touched the brush to my eyeball.
The result was a startling spread of black ink like octopus incontinence across my ocular organ.
I looked like Hawk Eye in Avengers when Loki turned him into Sir Hamster due to brain control. Now, I am perfectly content with Loki controlling my heart. However, I am not OK with him taking over my mind with eyeliner.
I somehow managed to save my make-up job, however, I lost my confidence in liquid eyeliner.
I first experienced this terrifying phenomena on Halloween night. A time already fraught with mischief.
Despite my tomboy-ness, I'm not horribly shabby at putting on eyeliner. And naturally, I attempted to apply this new-fangled liquid stuff to the very edge of my eyelid.
And touched the brush to my eyeball.
The result was a startling spread of black ink like octopus incontinence across my ocular organ.
I looked like Hawk Eye in Avengers when Loki turned him into Sir Hamster due to brain control. Now, I am perfectly content with Loki controlling my heart. However, I am not OK with him taking over my mind with eyeliner.
I somehow managed to save my make-up job, however, I lost my confidence in liquid eyeliner.
On Getting Bread in the D.C.
I am gluten-intolerant.
It is a frustrating state of affairs, but there it is. Happily, my school dining commons, nicknamed the "D.C" (creative, right?) provides me with GF options.
A common snack of mine is bread with either mustard (yes, just bread and mustard yummmmm) or bread with peanut butter and honey.
Now to understand GF bread, one must understand that gluten is a binding agent. Thus, when not present the baked good in question is often dense, crumbly, and dry. The prevent such tragedies commercial GF bread is vacuum-sealed.
So here I am, getting my lunch. Sadly, the bread has not been opened by the kindly DC snack. I do not know why this is, they normally open it.
The bread is kept in a handy-dandy plastic container. To get to this handy-dandy plastic container I have to bend my handy-dandy 5"8' frame awkwardly in a room swarming with handy-dandy students. And since the bread has not been opened I am stuck trying to break through Ye Olde Impenetrable Plastic. I had just tried the third yank with my teeth when I heard a smooth voice say, "Can I help you?" And there, behind me, my knight in shining armor wielding a pocket knife of amazing usefulness.
Just kidding.
What really happened was I took out my handy-dandy swiss army knife. Sadly, a fellow student who had obviously never had contact with homeschoolers began screaming about terrorists. Mayhem. Luckily, the police believed that I was just a good little (and very hungry) county girl.
Ok, this is what really happened:
I tried to very discretely take out my pocket knife so the above did not happen and as quickly as possible, slit Ye Olde Impenetrable Plastic to remove the bread. Which was so dry and crumbly I couldn't get it out. I tried this piece, that piece, praying I didn't have Ebola 'cus if I did the GF population were goners.
Finally, bread crumbs raining around me as I emerged victoriously to eat some bread and honey.
It is a frustrating state of affairs, but there it is. Happily, my school dining commons, nicknamed the "D.C" (creative, right?) provides me with GF options.
A common snack of mine is bread with either mustard (yes, just bread and mustard yummmmm) or bread with peanut butter and honey.
Now to understand GF bread, one must understand that gluten is a binding agent. Thus, when not present the baked good in question is often dense, crumbly, and dry. The prevent such tragedies commercial GF bread is vacuum-sealed.
So here I am, getting my lunch. Sadly, the bread has not been opened by the kindly DC snack. I do not know why this is, they normally open it.
The bread is kept in a handy-dandy plastic container. To get to this handy-dandy plastic container I have to bend my handy-dandy 5"8' frame awkwardly in a room swarming with handy-dandy students. And since the bread has not been opened I am stuck trying to break through Ye Olde Impenetrable Plastic. I had just tried the third yank with my teeth when I heard a smooth voice say, "Can I help you?" And there, behind me, my knight in shining armor wielding a pocket knife of amazing usefulness.
Just kidding.
What really happened was I took out my handy-dandy swiss army knife. Sadly, a fellow student who had obviously never had contact with homeschoolers began screaming about terrorists. Mayhem. Luckily, the police believed that I was just a good little (and very hungry) county girl.
Ok, this is what really happened:
I tried to very discretely take out my pocket knife so the above did not happen and as quickly as possible, slit Ye Olde Impenetrable Plastic to remove the bread. Which was so dry and crumbly I couldn't get it out. I tried this piece, that piece, praying I didn't have Ebola 'cus if I did the GF population were goners.
Finally, bread crumbs raining around me as I emerged victoriously to eat some bread and honey.
Friday, October 31, 2014
On Cute People
So does everyone do this or is it just me?
I tend to avoid people I'm attracted to. Which, really, undermines the whole idea of being attracted.
Seriously, imagine this scenario:
Emma walks into her first day of class. Sitting mid-row is a stunning male. As Emma goes through the door, shivers run up her spine (I actually don't think I've encountered shivers in such situations but it sounds poetic). Strong jaw. Pretty eyes. Nice hair. &c &c Yes, she likes this one. Class begins and he, of course, takes notes. As the semester progresses she realizes he is not only good-looking but smart.
By the end of the semester they have spoken a grand total of two times. Each encounter went like this: Mr. McCutie, "Hi." Emma (nervously), "Hi." And then they part ways.
Emma, however, has made friends easily with multiple people in the very same class. She has also had longer conversations with almost every other fellow student.
Sooooooo....back to my original question, does everyone do this or is it just me?
I tend to avoid people I'm attracted to. Which, really, undermines the whole idea of being attracted.
Seriously, imagine this scenario:
Emma walks into her first day of class. Sitting mid-row is a stunning male. As Emma goes through the door, shivers run up her spine (I actually don't think I've encountered shivers in such situations but it sounds poetic). Strong jaw. Pretty eyes. Nice hair. &c &c Yes, she likes this one. Class begins and he, of course, takes notes. As the semester progresses she realizes he is not only good-looking but smart.
By the end of the semester they have spoken a grand total of two times. Each encounter went like this: Mr. McCutie, "Hi." Emma (nervously), "Hi." And then they part ways.
Emma, however, has made friends easily with multiple people in the very same class. She has also had longer conversations with almost every other fellow student.
Sooooooo....back to my original question, does everyone do this or is it just me?
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
On Funny Things My Friend's Say
My friends/family say some pretty amusing things. Example:
My one friend after telling her that I kept my A in a class:
"Oh good Emma! You retained your A-ness" (Read that out loud if you didn't get that).
Happily, I did ;)
Yes, I love them :)
My one friend after telling her that I kept my A in a class:
"Oh good Emma! You retained your A-ness" (Read that out loud if you didn't get that).
Happily, I did ;)
Yes, I love them :)
Sunday, October 26, 2014
On America's Obsession with Cold Butts
OK America, we have an obsession with icy buns.
You may question what I mean by this, but I have an illustration below.
Illustration:
leggings/yoga pants
pants on the ground (my homeschooler vocab fails to find a proper term for the phenomena)
I live in a northern state. I watch people run around with their cheeks falling out thinking, "Ew stop!" and when my eyes heal slightly, "Aren't you getting frost bite in a very sensitive area of your anatomy?"
I mean, we have sub-arctic temperatures and your only protection from the elements is a shred of breathable fabric. VERY breathable fabric. Your butt don't need to breathe.
I will never understand the fashions myself.
Sure, I guess if you have a nice figure the whole leggings thing could go for you. I personally don't choose to lay bare my every curvature for perverts to oggle. But that's just me.
Ouch, that was a bit harsh Emma.
And I'll never like the pants-below-your-butt-thing. I remember a dude who insisted wearing jeans that way despite the metal chair. In a cold outbuilding. In January. *shiver* Then he stood up and the chair came with him. Frozen. To. His. Toosh.
OK, so that didn't happen. But that was kinda what was going through my mind as we sat there freezing.
You may question what I mean by this, but I have an illustration below.
Illustration:
leggings/yoga pants
pants on the ground (my homeschooler vocab fails to find a proper term for the phenomena)
I live in a northern state. I watch people run around with their cheeks falling out thinking, "Ew stop!" and when my eyes heal slightly, "Aren't you getting frost bite in a very sensitive area of your anatomy?"
I mean, we have sub-arctic temperatures and your only protection from the elements is a shred of breathable fabric. VERY breathable fabric. Your butt don't need to breathe.
I will never understand the fashions myself.
Sure, I guess if you have a nice figure the whole leggings thing could go for you. I personally don't choose to lay bare my every curvature for perverts to oggle. But that's just me.
Ouch, that was a bit harsh Emma.
And I'll never like the pants-below-your-butt-thing. I remember a dude who insisted wearing jeans that way despite the metal chair. In a cold outbuilding. In January. *shiver* Then he stood up and the chair came with him. Frozen. To. His. Toosh.
OK, so that didn't happen. But that was kinda what was going through my mind as we sat there freezing.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
On Happiness
To smile or frown.
Every moment comes down to that choice.
Regardless of mood.
When you're staring at your computer screen. When you wake up. When you're walking down the sidewalk. Cool thing is, smiling actually improves your mood. (Check out this website on smiling or google it yourself).
So that means each and every moment we have the choice to be happy or sad. It doesn't matter what we're going through. Sure, there are natural optimists and pessimists, but it comes down to how we want to live.
Do we want to have fun (who doesn't?)? Or...sit and mope?
Now, depression is a real. But even depression brings the choice of being joyful through suffering and seeking help or...sitting and moping.
But....what if we are repressing our true feelings by choosing to be happy? Denying ourselves of feeling sad when we need to feel sad?
Have a good cry then, and after...smile instead of...sitting and moping.
But....what if we are denying ourselves the chance to experience depression by choosing to be happy?
Yep, I think the same thing when I brush my teeth:
....what if we're denying ourselves the chance of a root canal by choosing to brush our teeth?
People, of all the moments in all of time, we are alive now. Isn't that just the coolest thing?
So.....
Show me that beautiful smile
Isn't that better?
Every moment comes down to that choice.
Regardless of mood.
When you're staring at your computer screen. When you wake up. When you're walking down the sidewalk. Cool thing is, smiling actually improves your mood. (Check out this website on smiling or google it yourself).
So that means each and every moment we have the choice to be happy or sad. It doesn't matter what we're going through. Sure, there are natural optimists and pessimists, but it comes down to how we want to live.
Do we want to have fun (who doesn't?)? Or...sit and mope?
Now, depression is a real. But even depression brings the choice of being joyful through suffering and seeking help or...sitting and moping.
But....what if we are repressing our true feelings by choosing to be happy? Denying ourselves of feeling sad when we need to feel sad?
Have a good cry then, and after...smile instead of...sitting and moping.
But....what if we are denying ourselves the chance to experience depression by choosing to be happy?
Yep, I think the same thing when I brush my teeth:
....what if we're denying ourselves the chance of a root canal by choosing to brush our teeth?
People, of all the moments in all of time, we are alive now. Isn't that just the coolest thing?
So.....
Show me that beautiful smile
Isn't that better?
Sunday, October 19, 2014
On Awkward Eye Contact
I was a well-socialized homeschooler, but there are a few more people at my college than my living room. So maybe ya'll experienced folks can help me with a problem:
Namely...what does one do with their eyes when a stranger is walking in the opposite direction?
I mean, there are a few options:
1) Be that creeper that awkwardly stares at the other person.
2) Be that awkward that creepily avoids eye contact with the other person.
*side note* If you want to seem really cool you can do the "cute text" smile.
And while I'm figuring this out, my bag squeaks. (Refer to "On Squeaky Bags").
Sooooooo........if anyone has any solutions to this conondrum, please tell me.
....or maybe I should just stop thinking too much......
Namely...what does one do with their eyes when a stranger is walking in the opposite direction?
I mean, there are a few options:
1) Be that creeper that awkwardly stares at the other person.
- pro: you may seem confident
- con: you may send off a variety of unforseen messages
- I am interested in you
- I have no social skills
- I am stoned (Christian college, bad idea)
- I am a super-villian
2) Be that awkward that creepily avoids eye contact with the other person.
- pro: you don't have to make eye contact
- con: you send off more unforseen messages like
- I am supremely embarassed
- I have no confidence
- I am a loser
- ........you get the picture
- a) finding something so incredibly interesting you must stare at it. (Anything works really, dead leaves, birds, clouds, walls).
- b) doing an extended blink (one, two, three, ok they are probably looking away now)
*side note* If you want to seem really cool you can do the "cute text" smile.
- pro: you may seem confident, fulfilled, socially active
- cons:
- you may seem like a jerk that doesn't give people the time of day
- you may miss the opportunity to have brief contact with another humanoid, blessing their day and profoundly affecting their future
- you get addicted to your phone (don't do it!)
And while I'm figuring this out, my bag squeaks. (Refer to "On Squeaky Bags").
Sooooooo........if anyone has any solutions to this conondrum, please tell me.
....or maybe I should just stop thinking too much......
Saturday, October 18, 2014
On The Grace of Sundays
I am a big fan of Sundays.
I believe God ordained the Sabbath as a day of rest.
Now, I have had people try to convince me that Sundays are not actually meant for resting. That God, in fact, does not say that we must take a break on this day.
People, don't try to take my Sundays. I get vicious.
My logic is that God took a break after his work week. I think He meant me to take one too (plus there are those teensy ten commandments).
So, zap from these thoughts to context. I was finishing my homework today. It had not been my most productive homework session and I was annoyed, but looking forward to tomorrow, though the thought was creeping in the back of my head, "Do you deserve a break?"
Then it hit me.
My Sunday just clicked into a larger plan.
Resting on the Sabbath is a grace given to us by God. He ordained it, yet it is our choice to follow His way or our own.
And here's the kicker:
We get this grace of rest whether or not we deserve it.
BOOM! Same as the redemption plan.
So, if you'll excuse me I'm going to mass and then relax.
I believe God ordained the Sabbath as a day of rest.
Now, I have had people try to convince me that Sundays are not actually meant for resting. That God, in fact, does not say that we must take a break on this day.
People, don't try to take my Sundays. I get vicious.
My logic is that God took a break after his work week. I think He meant me to take one too (plus there are those teensy ten commandments).
So, zap from these thoughts to context. I was finishing my homework today. It had not been my most productive homework session and I was annoyed, but looking forward to tomorrow, though the thought was creeping in the back of my head, "Do you deserve a break?"
Then it hit me.
My Sunday just clicked into a larger plan.
Resting on the Sabbath is a grace given to us by God. He ordained it, yet it is our choice to follow His way or our own.
And here's the kicker:
We get this grace of rest whether or not we deserve it.
BOOM! Same as the redemption plan.
So, if you'll excuse me I'm going to mass and then relax.
Friday, October 17, 2014
On Some Struggles
We all have struggles in life. To name a few I have recently encountered:
1) My cell phone languages.
I'm learning French. In my complete and utter brilliancy I thought, "Wouldn't it be great to change my iphone language to French? Real integration of learning!" Well my utter brilliancy forgot this would also change my auto-correct. And apparently it doesn't automatically change back. C'est un probleme!
2) Awkward cute advertisements.
Back to French. I was working through some questions for a test, using a game called "scatter" on Quizlet (yes, I'm that student). At the end of a mentally exhausting session I thought, "Time to get my best score in." Just so happens when I refresh my screen a very attractive advertisement popped up. And just a smidge of a distraction takes my score down...I hate it when a cute guy kills my self-imposed perfectionism.
3) Forgetting your third struggle.
OK guys, this is true guys. I had a third point but I forgot it.
So there goes my witty ending.....
1) My cell phone languages.
I'm learning French. In my complete and utter brilliancy I thought, "Wouldn't it be great to change my iphone language to French? Real integration of learning!" Well my utter brilliancy forgot this would also change my auto-correct. And apparently it doesn't automatically change back. C'est un probleme!
2) Awkward cute advertisements.
Back to French. I was working through some questions for a test, using a game called "scatter" on Quizlet (yes, I'm that student). At the end of a mentally exhausting session I thought, "Time to get my best score in." Just so happens when I refresh my screen a very attractive advertisement popped up. And just a smidge of a distraction takes my score down...I hate it when a cute guy kills my self-imposed perfectionism.
3) Forgetting your third struggle.
OK guys, this is true guys. I had a third point but I forgot it.
So there goes my witty ending.....
Thursday, October 16, 2014
On Squeaky Bags
I hear there are others like me out there. I know there are others that feel this pain.
But still I feel alone.
When I walk across my campus and the strap on my bag squeaks, I am sure I am the only one with this problem. And that it is written across my face.
Everyone who passes knows who I am. That is the girl who's messenger bag obstinately squalls with every step.
Not that I haven't tried to stop it. I will awkwardly shift as I trudge, swinging the dead, lead weight out and grabbing the strap awkwardly.
Maybe if I put my hand over the clasp I can muffle the sound of my shame.
But despite my best efforts the squeaking continues.
And don't even get me started on my stilettos....
But still I feel alone.
When I walk across my campus and the strap on my bag squeaks, I am sure I am the only one with this problem. And that it is written across my face.
Everyone who passes knows who I am. That is the girl who's messenger bag obstinately squalls with every step.
Not that I haven't tried to stop it. I will awkwardly shift as I trudge, swinging the dead, lead weight out and grabbing the strap awkwardly.
Maybe if I put my hand over the clasp I can muffle the sound of my shame.
But despite my best efforts the squeaking continues.
And don't even get me started on my stilettos....
Saturday, October 11, 2014
On First Impressions
Maybe it's just me. I'm not so hot at reading people so it could be just me, but I have come to realize that my first impressions are wrong a good deal of the time.
I look back to when I met my good friends, and I don't know if I liked any of them very much. Maybe I didn't dislike them, but I didn't necessarily think "this person is awesome and I love their face."
And I look back to when I met people I don't especially get along with. I don't think any struck me as people I would clash with.
Take my arch-nemesis, when I first met him, I thought he was an innocent man selling puppies. Nope, he turned out to be the most dastardly (what a wonderful word) villains the world has known.
Seriously, though...
In my wide and varied experience *cough* only twenty-something years so not very much at all *cough* first impressions have often failed me. And maybe it's the same for all of you.
So here's a test:
If your first impression while reading my small bit of blog is that I am totally insane...we are nothing alike. Your first impressions are spot-on.
If I come across as boring, mean or whiny, well then we should be friends due the similarities at our failure in first impressions.
Either way, I hope you keep reading, just so I have an outlet for my insanity ;)
I look back to when I met my good friends, and I don't know if I liked any of them very much. Maybe I didn't dislike them, but I didn't necessarily think "this person is awesome and I love their face."
And I look back to when I met people I don't especially get along with. I don't think any struck me as people I would clash with.
Take my arch-nemesis, when I first met him, I thought he was an innocent man selling puppies. Nope, he turned out to be the most dastardly (what a wonderful word) villains the world has known.
Seriously, though...
In my wide and varied experience *cough* only twenty-something years so not very much at all *cough* first impressions have often failed me. And maybe it's the same for all of you.
So here's a test:
If your first impression while reading my small bit of blog is that I am totally insane...we are nothing alike. Your first impressions are spot-on.
If I come across as boring, mean or whiny, well then we should be friends due the similarities at our failure in first impressions.
Either way, I hope you keep reading, just so I have an outlet for my insanity ;)
On Getting Wood From the Wood Pile
A traumatic experience, really.
You see, I live in this wonderful house with a fireplace in the living room. Being the lizard that I am, this nice little spot of warmth is beautiful. However, there is the matter of retrieving wood from outside...
Now, a slight disclaimer at this point. I am fully aware of poverty, and I know that this is fully a first-world problem, but it's still is one of life's sad things....
The reasons for this I will lay out for you:
Firstly, being crushed. I am quite tall, however I have almost no bulk whatsoever. Thus, there is something quite terrifying about grabbing a log from an unsteady pile. What if I upset the whole pile and they roll upon me? At the very least, a stray one could fall down and crush my foot. I've never broken a bone (I shouldn't say that cus now I will). I want to keep it that way.
Also, it's freezing. When I'm sitting peacefully by my warm fire at ten at night, watching snowflakes beat against the windows, a regular princess in my fuzzy PJs, the last thing I want to do is wade out through the snow, reach under an icy tarp and snatch frosty pieces of dead tree. Then pile them up to my chin and trod inside. Not to mention the puddles on the floor. Puddles make my socks wet *sniffle*
They sometimes have biting bugs. I am a tomboy. I love bugs. I do not like it when they bite me. Such situations make my mouth, which is not accustomed to cussing, say things I regret and toss logs across the room. Not. Pretty. At least I didn't break anything.
Now, this is a very whiny post...but they are my thoughts. This post may also make you think I am a wimp...I am when it comes to me being cold ;)
You see, I live in this wonderful house with a fireplace in the living room. Being the lizard that I am, this nice little spot of warmth is beautiful. However, there is the matter of retrieving wood from outside...
Now, a slight disclaimer at this point. I am fully aware of poverty, and I know that this is fully a first-world problem, but it's still is one of life's sad things....
The reasons for this I will lay out for you:
Firstly, being crushed. I am quite tall, however I have almost no bulk whatsoever. Thus, there is something quite terrifying about grabbing a log from an unsteady pile. What if I upset the whole pile and they roll upon me? At the very least, a stray one could fall down and crush my foot. I've never broken a bone (I shouldn't say that cus now I will). I want to keep it that way.
Also, it's freezing. When I'm sitting peacefully by my warm fire at ten at night, watching snowflakes beat against the windows, a regular princess in my fuzzy PJs, the last thing I want to do is wade out through the snow, reach under an icy tarp and snatch frosty pieces of dead tree. Then pile them up to my chin and trod inside. Not to mention the puddles on the floor. Puddles make my socks wet *sniffle*
They sometimes have biting bugs. I am a tomboy. I love bugs. I do not like it when they bite me. Such situations make my mouth, which is not accustomed to cussing, say things I regret and toss logs across the room. Not. Pretty. At least I didn't break anything.
Now, this is a very whiny post...but they are my thoughts. This post may also make you think I am a wimp...I am when it comes to me being cold ;)
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