Summer time
Life= work, barn, Manny
Work= Fine. Things are a little hectic but whatever. I am amazing there so humph. I did make a HUGE mistake though. Mistake like I thought I would get fired. I...gave the wrong dog to the wrong owner and it bit the guys son. It was all confusing because someone switched their markers with their names on it and the guy didn't notice he had the wrong dog...whatever. It is all cleared up.
Barn= Normal as usual. Millions of little girls control all the happenings there. My horse is FINALLY back to normal. So I have been riding him a lot. We also have started foal watch for Skywolf at the barn so I stayed last night as an "adult". Good times there. This morning we got up and rode all our horses. Felt like the good old days. Haha.
Manny= Great. We have been hanging out every night. This weekend we are going to drive to NC and stay at Kate's with hopefully my mom and George. I can not wait for that!
Chemistry class starts on the 17th. Yay? No. I kind of procrastinated to a point where I couldn't sign up for the Towson class and instead had to sign up for the Catonsville one. Second bad thing is that it doesn't end till the 24th and I am suppose to move back into school on the 22nd for the freshman orientation thing. Ugh. So I have to call the woman in charge of it all and ask if that is going to be a big deal.
I have been thinking of all the things I want to do. I want to learn how to play golf, tennis, guitar, model, photography, ski, snowboard, speak many languages, ect. So many things to do in so little time! Oy.
I wrote a chapter and a half of the Burnt Quesadilla book and mom said I should stop trying to immitate Teri Hatcher, because her book sucked, and write my own. So I stopped. But here is the chapter and a half of my Burnt Quesadilla book.
Quesadilla. Think about it for a moment. It is probably the most Hispanic food, next to the burrito and taco, and certainly can be the easiest to makes. Two tortillas, some cheese and maybe an extra type of meat throw in there if you want. It is also very easy to screw up though. My sister, Kate, was making us quesadillas for dinner one night and after perfectly making four quesadillas she completely burnt the one she was making for herself. Her response to her charred quesadilla was, “Well as Teri Hatcher says, it is all just burnt toast.” That got us started discussing the Burnt Toast book. We concluded that it was entirely a book on whining about the “hard” life that Hatcher had. I said it would be like me writing a book on how hard my life has been. Not to downplay Teri Hatcher’s rough life, ok maybe a little bit, I decided to write my own story. My own story about covering my burnt quesadilla with sour cream, salsa, guacamole, and lettuce and tomato if available. Of course this is metaphorically speaking considering it was my sister’s quesadilla that was burnt and not mine.
I have come from a long line of burnt quesadilla eaters. My mom was one, my grandmother was, obviously my sister and I am sure every other woman related to me was as well. Luckily for me I am learning at the tender age of 18 to say, “Fuck that shit! Make me a new quesadilla!” My mom would tell me to watch my language if I actually said that and my friends would just laugh and shake their heads and claim it was just another odd Emilyism like the already long list of Emilyisms that I have. But I digress. The point that I am getting at was, just as Teri Hatcher has put forth, that many woman tend to settle for things in life even though it might not be the best choice for them. Mostly because women never think we are good enough to expect or demand the better things in our life. A good example of this would be after we had a snowstorm this past winter and accumulated two or more feet of snow. My mom told me to take the dogs for a walk and instead of complaining and demanding to hire a dog walker like I was thinking I willingly obliged because I always do. So I bundled up in my “snow suit” which consisted of boots over my jeans, a couple sweaters, a hat, gloves and a scarf. After hooking my two chow mutts onto their leashes onto their leashes, taking my last deep breath in the warmth I opened the French doors onto our twelve acre community park and was greeted by an icy blast of air and flying snow that was blowing from the tree. I shivered, put on a smiley face and asked the dogs in a cheery voice “Are you ready?” Once I was outside for a while I didn’t feel so cold, which could have easily been the hypothermia setting in, and I decided to have fun. My own dog, Bear, obviously had been feeling cooped up for to long and wanted to run across the park. I obliged to him as well and started to run. We got near a little slope and I tried to slow him down but ended up losing my footing and fell flat into the snow. I attempted to stop the fall with my hands and knees but they slid out from under me and I ended up making a perfect snow angel, face down. I lost my boot mid-fall and unbeknown to me until I tried to get into my car to go to work, I also lost my keys. I also ripped and soaked my jeans and cut my knee. There is now an emotional experience embedded in this scar that is left on my knee. Perhaps I should have told my mom to hire a dog walked but I definitely should have told my dogs no. I should expect my clumsy self to trip and fall and make a snow angel. Hopefully the next person who walked their dog smiled from seeing the snow angel so my fall would not have been in vain. Or even if one of my neighbors saw me fall and was able to laugh hysterically that would make my fall not in vain as well. However, I now remember that one fall from that one scar which is accompanied by many other scars on my knees from my clumsy falls. Well actually, only three out of four on my knee are from falling. One is from summer camp when this fat kid pushed me while playing a competitive team game we were playing on a baseball diamond where you had a large tub at either end of the field which had to be filled with water. The only way to fill it with water was to carry a bucket full of water from one side of the field to where your team’s empty tub was. The reason this game was so hard was because the buckets that you carried water in had little holes in them and the other team would knock the buckets out of your hands. Like I said earlier this obese kid instead of knocking the bucket out of my hand completely pushed me over into the gravel of the baseball diamond. I skidded on my knee and lost all the water I was carrying. Needless, or maybe not so needless to say, I got up and pushed that huge kid over so he hit the ground like I did. He immediately left for the nurse’s office while I kept playing and our team ended up winning the game. After the game someone pointed out that I had blood streaming down my leg so I also went to the nurse’s office too. The nurse was so busy taking care of other kids who were hurt, like the large kid who pushed me over, that she told me to go wash out my cut with soap and water. What eleven year old kid would willingly clean a cut/ gash which had gravel in it with soap and water which really stings? None! And so that scar occasionally pops out pieces of gravel. That scar reminds me to thoroughly clean out all mortal flesh wounds. But the scar next to it, the one I got from running for my dogs in the snow, reminds me to say no.
I hope you will discover as you read this book that life is funny and you should enjoy it and never settle for anything less then what a queen would expect. And sometimes life won’t be perfect but that is ok too. I have a problem admitting that I am not perfect. That sentence was hard to write, mostly because I am perfect. No, really I am not. I just pretend I am. Like today at my photo shoot for the cover of this book the photographed and I started talking about sex and how sometimes we don’t feel good enough at it. Ok so my photo shoot really was only my friend and co-worker taking a picture of me and puppy at work with my camera phone. And we actually didn’t have any talk about sex but that is a minor detail. I figure if Hatcher’s publisher mandated that she would write whatever she wanted as long as it mentioned sex before chapter two I figured I would follow that guideline as well since I don’t have a publisher, yet.
Anyway just because I fabricate some of this it doesn’t mean that what I say isn’t true. And make note that I still don’t have everything figured out even if it seems like I do. Come back to me in another eighteen years and I will have more whiny stories about my life and how I made it better.
On my cork board that hangs over my bed I have a dove chocolate wrapper that says, “Your presence is often the best present.” I believe that saying is true and I think that many other women should hold that saying close to heart. Or at least on their cork board over their bed. Every woman is amazing and should realize that and demand the best from life! Demand the best quesadilla! This adds to the hunger that has been building in my stomach. Good thing mom is almost finished making chicken and dumplings for dinner.
I think I will write most of this book on my bed. Mostly because I love my bed and don’t get enough time to spend with it. The first time I sat down with my blank book and pen I laugher. My mom and sister always told me I should become a writer and perhaps this book would be my big break. Maybe not too but at least it is a better way to spend my summer then watching TV or sitting at the computer. I started writing and I don’t think I will stop until dinner is ready. I think I will be the first one to buy this book so A) I will have one before the rest fly off the shelf and B) so I can read it later and laugh at my hilarious life.
The stories here will be about every aspect of life with a wide range of emotions. This might be a bit of a daunting task for me since I tend to have a hard time emoting, but it will be good for me to push myself. So if you have ever lied about sex talks at work, or at least giggled at the story, then great and read on! And even if you didn’t then oh well and keep reading on! Hopefully you will be able to giggle at some point because journeys are always better when we giggle together.
Ducking Around
Imagine going on an all inclusive trip (might as well make it free when it is an imaginative fantasy) to Busch Gardens with all your best friends and a traveling pack of hot man servants (again might as well if it is a fantasy). At Busch Gardens they have, as most amusement parks do, a log flume. Now imagine never having been on any type of roller coaster and watching people scream while going down that hill, coming out laughing and soaking wet and joking about how ridiculous they looked in the picture that was taken on the ride. More then likely you will have severely mixed emotions of anticipation, dreading, excitement and fear. Of course having to wait in the long half and hour or more line with the sticky railings being your guide downs the windy path to the boarding area doesn’t help your emotions at all either. Wait, fantasy means no wait or if there is you will get to buzz through with the aid of the hot man servants pushing people out of the way and replacing the sticky railings with red velvet ropes. So you board the log which is made of plastic and already drenched with puddles in the seat…scratch that cause the hot man servants whipped down the seats for you. The ride starts and the log climbs a steep hill and then drops down a small one. Your heart flutters with excitement at the small drop and decide that this won’t be so bad, After a little while you get use to the small drops and splashes and expect the ride to be over soon. Then you enter the “saw house” which, on the other side, has a huge drop. As in most rollercoaster rides the carts always stop at the top of the big hills just as if to taunt you, “Haha, look at what you are about to do. Did you say goodbye to your loved ones? Are your final wishes taken care of?” If you are anything like I was at six with my dad on that ride you would utter the words, “Daddy I want off now.” Or maybe you still utter those words anyway? Luckily for you, and my previous six year old self, the ride doesn’t stop and makes you immediately face your fear and get fabulously saturated at the same time. As my dad said, “Hold on bug,” as I was commonly referred to, “the ride doesn’t stop.” Life is like that ride. The little hills are a little scary but can still end up being fun. Then you get use to those small hills and are faced with a huge daunting hill. There is no stop, only a brief pause to get an idea of where you are heading down to and then you go for it. You can either close your eyes and grip on tight or find a way to enjoy it by raising your hands over your head, screaming and having fun.
It started when I first moved into my college dorm. My next-door-building neighbor, we will call him Moses*, kept coming over to ask me for ice. Actually he didn’t start asking me for ice until second semester when he randomly burst into my room around three in the morning because he wanted to make some margaritas and invited me to come party with him. You might be thinking, silly right? What kind of girl believes it when a guy knocks on her door to borrow ice? Me, that is who. Naïve and innocent, little girl of eighteen years old. I actually knew that he had a refrigerator and freezer but what you probably didn’t consider was the fact that he had no ice cube trays. And even if he did have ice cube trays it would not be enough for the number of margaritas at the party he wanted. I could not go with Moses that night because I had to be at work in four hours but he and I talked a few times which I thought constituted as flirting. We talked about traveling the world but never made any promises about going together. What a shame. Anyway, our conversations slowly died down once I started dating his next door neighbor. C’est la vie.
Sometimes I wish that life could be more like mini-putt-putt. Unless you go crazy and attack the plastic animals, cave man, knights or whatever types of themes your local putt-putt golfing area has every shot is a new chance. Every swing, or light tap, of the club is a brand new opportunity to become a better putter and perhaps even join in the mini-putt-putt nationals. On a side note of this book I have heard that America’s mini-putt-putt team is doing rather poorly and we do need experienced putt-putt players to join so we can win our international cup back! Putt-putt can be totally zen. Unless you go to the same one I go to in Virginia Beach where the volcano in the center erupts every half an hour. That volcano makes putt-putt just like life with those huge interruptions in the center of your universe, although unlike the putt-putt volcano those interruptions are not always so perfectly timed.
Mom believed in raising children with multitudes of praise. She always told me and my siblings how wonderful we were, gorgeous we were, smart we were and generally overall fabulous. So I always thought of myself that way. Imagine then how hard it was for me to find out when I entered the real world that I wasn’t all that. Well actually, I was never told any different from anyone else so it never really bothered me. Except that I, along with my two other siblings, have an incredibly high self-esteem which has become a bit of an issue for some people. I have been on occasion viewed as a snob, stuck up and pompous. I promise I am not any of those things, I just think highly of myself.
Work= Fine. Things are a little hectic but whatever. I am amazing there so humph. I did make a HUGE mistake though. Mistake like I thought I would get fired. I...gave the wrong dog to the wrong owner and it bit the guys son. It was all confusing because someone switched their markers with their names on it and the guy didn't notice he had the wrong dog...whatever. It is all cleared up.
Barn= Normal as usual. Millions of little girls control all the happenings there. My horse is FINALLY back to normal. So I have been riding him a lot. We also have started foal watch for Skywolf at the barn so I stayed last night as an "adult". Good times there. This morning we got up and rode all our horses. Felt like the good old days. Haha.
Manny= Great. We have been hanging out every night. This weekend we are going to drive to NC and stay at Kate's with hopefully my mom and George. I can not wait for that!
Chemistry class starts on the 17th. Yay? No. I kind of procrastinated to a point where I couldn't sign up for the Towson class and instead had to sign up for the Catonsville one. Second bad thing is that it doesn't end till the 24th and I am suppose to move back into school on the 22nd for the freshman orientation thing. Ugh. So I have to call the woman in charge of it all and ask if that is going to be a big deal.
I have been thinking of all the things I want to do. I want to learn how to play golf, tennis, guitar, model, photography, ski, snowboard, speak many languages, ect. So many things to do in so little time! Oy.
I wrote a chapter and a half of the Burnt Quesadilla book and mom said I should stop trying to immitate Teri Hatcher, because her book sucked, and write my own. So I stopped. But here is the chapter and a half of my Burnt Quesadilla book.
Quesadilla. Think about it for a moment. It is probably the most Hispanic food, next to the burrito and taco, and certainly can be the easiest to makes. Two tortillas, some cheese and maybe an extra type of meat throw in there if you want. It is also very easy to screw up though. My sister, Kate, was making us quesadillas for dinner one night and after perfectly making four quesadillas she completely burnt the one she was making for herself. Her response to her charred quesadilla was, “Well as Teri Hatcher says, it is all just burnt toast.” That got us started discussing the Burnt Toast book. We concluded that it was entirely a book on whining about the “hard” life that Hatcher had. I said it would be like me writing a book on how hard my life has been. Not to downplay Teri Hatcher’s rough life, ok maybe a little bit, I decided to write my own story. My own story about covering my burnt quesadilla with sour cream, salsa, guacamole, and lettuce and tomato if available. Of course this is metaphorically speaking considering it was my sister’s quesadilla that was burnt and not mine.
I have come from a long line of burnt quesadilla eaters. My mom was one, my grandmother was, obviously my sister and I am sure every other woman related to me was as well. Luckily for me I am learning at the tender age of 18 to say, “Fuck that shit! Make me a new quesadilla!” My mom would tell me to watch my language if I actually said that and my friends would just laugh and shake their heads and claim it was just another odd Emilyism like the already long list of Emilyisms that I have. But I digress. The point that I am getting at was, just as Teri Hatcher has put forth, that many woman tend to settle for things in life even though it might not be the best choice for them. Mostly because women never think we are good enough to expect or demand the better things in our life. A good example of this would be after we had a snowstorm this past winter and accumulated two or more feet of snow. My mom told me to take the dogs for a walk and instead of complaining and demanding to hire a dog walker like I was thinking I willingly obliged because I always do. So I bundled up in my “snow suit” which consisted of boots over my jeans, a couple sweaters, a hat, gloves and a scarf. After hooking my two chow mutts onto their leashes onto their leashes, taking my last deep breath in the warmth I opened the French doors onto our twelve acre community park and was greeted by an icy blast of air and flying snow that was blowing from the tree. I shivered, put on a smiley face and asked the dogs in a cheery voice “Are you ready?” Once I was outside for a while I didn’t feel so cold, which could have easily been the hypothermia setting in, and I decided to have fun. My own dog, Bear, obviously had been feeling cooped up for to long and wanted to run across the park. I obliged to him as well and started to run. We got near a little slope and I tried to slow him down but ended up losing my footing and fell flat into the snow. I attempted to stop the fall with my hands and knees but they slid out from under me and I ended up making a perfect snow angel, face down. I lost my boot mid-fall and unbeknown to me until I tried to get into my car to go to work, I also lost my keys. I also ripped and soaked my jeans and cut my knee. There is now an emotional experience embedded in this scar that is left on my knee. Perhaps I should have told my mom to hire a dog walked but I definitely should have told my dogs no. I should expect my clumsy self to trip and fall and make a snow angel. Hopefully the next person who walked their dog smiled from seeing the snow angel so my fall would not have been in vain. Or even if one of my neighbors saw me fall and was able to laugh hysterically that would make my fall not in vain as well. However, I now remember that one fall from that one scar which is accompanied by many other scars on my knees from my clumsy falls. Well actually, only three out of four on my knee are from falling. One is from summer camp when this fat kid pushed me while playing a competitive team game we were playing on a baseball diamond where you had a large tub at either end of the field which had to be filled with water. The only way to fill it with water was to carry a bucket full of water from one side of the field to where your team’s empty tub was. The reason this game was so hard was because the buckets that you carried water in had little holes in them and the other team would knock the buckets out of your hands. Like I said earlier this obese kid instead of knocking the bucket out of my hand completely pushed me over into the gravel of the baseball diamond. I skidded on my knee and lost all the water I was carrying. Needless, or maybe not so needless to say, I got up and pushed that huge kid over so he hit the ground like I did. He immediately left for the nurse’s office while I kept playing and our team ended up winning the game. After the game someone pointed out that I had blood streaming down my leg so I also went to the nurse’s office too. The nurse was so busy taking care of other kids who were hurt, like the large kid who pushed me over, that she told me to go wash out my cut with soap and water. What eleven year old kid would willingly clean a cut/ gash which had gravel in it with soap and water which really stings? None! And so that scar occasionally pops out pieces of gravel. That scar reminds me to thoroughly clean out all mortal flesh wounds. But the scar next to it, the one I got from running for my dogs in the snow, reminds me to say no.
I hope you will discover as you read this book that life is funny and you should enjoy it and never settle for anything less then what a queen would expect. And sometimes life won’t be perfect but that is ok too. I have a problem admitting that I am not perfect. That sentence was hard to write, mostly because I am perfect. No, really I am not. I just pretend I am. Like today at my photo shoot for the cover of this book the photographed and I started talking about sex and how sometimes we don’t feel good enough at it. Ok so my photo shoot really was only my friend and co-worker taking a picture of me and puppy at work with my camera phone. And we actually didn’t have any talk about sex but that is a minor detail. I figure if Hatcher’s publisher mandated that she would write whatever she wanted as long as it mentioned sex before chapter two I figured I would follow that guideline as well since I don’t have a publisher, yet.
Anyway just because I fabricate some of this it doesn’t mean that what I say isn’t true. And make note that I still don’t have everything figured out even if it seems like I do. Come back to me in another eighteen years and I will have more whiny stories about my life and how I made it better.
On my cork board that hangs over my bed I have a dove chocolate wrapper that says, “Your presence is often the best present.” I believe that saying is true and I think that many other women should hold that saying close to heart. Or at least on their cork board over their bed. Every woman is amazing and should realize that and demand the best from life! Demand the best quesadilla! This adds to the hunger that has been building in my stomach. Good thing mom is almost finished making chicken and dumplings for dinner.
I think I will write most of this book on my bed. Mostly because I love my bed and don’t get enough time to spend with it. The first time I sat down with my blank book and pen I laugher. My mom and sister always told me I should become a writer and perhaps this book would be my big break. Maybe not too but at least it is a better way to spend my summer then watching TV or sitting at the computer. I started writing and I don’t think I will stop until dinner is ready. I think I will be the first one to buy this book so A) I will have one before the rest fly off the shelf and B) so I can read it later and laugh at my hilarious life.
The stories here will be about every aspect of life with a wide range of emotions. This might be a bit of a daunting task for me since I tend to have a hard time emoting, but it will be good for me to push myself. So if you have ever lied about sex talks at work, or at least giggled at the story, then great and read on! And even if you didn’t then oh well and keep reading on! Hopefully you will be able to giggle at some point because journeys are always better when we giggle together.
Ducking Around
Imagine going on an all inclusive trip (might as well make it free when it is an imaginative fantasy) to Busch Gardens with all your best friends and a traveling pack of hot man servants (again might as well if it is a fantasy). At Busch Gardens they have, as most amusement parks do, a log flume. Now imagine never having been on any type of roller coaster and watching people scream while going down that hill, coming out laughing and soaking wet and joking about how ridiculous they looked in the picture that was taken on the ride. More then likely you will have severely mixed emotions of anticipation, dreading, excitement and fear. Of course having to wait in the long half and hour or more line with the sticky railings being your guide downs the windy path to the boarding area doesn’t help your emotions at all either. Wait, fantasy means no wait or if there is you will get to buzz through with the aid of the hot man servants pushing people out of the way and replacing the sticky railings with red velvet ropes. So you board the log which is made of plastic and already drenched with puddles in the seat…scratch that cause the hot man servants whipped down the seats for you. The ride starts and the log climbs a steep hill and then drops down a small one. Your heart flutters with excitement at the small drop and decide that this won’t be so bad, After a little while you get use to the small drops and splashes and expect the ride to be over soon. Then you enter the “saw house” which, on the other side, has a huge drop. As in most rollercoaster rides the carts always stop at the top of the big hills just as if to taunt you, “Haha, look at what you are about to do. Did you say goodbye to your loved ones? Are your final wishes taken care of?” If you are anything like I was at six with my dad on that ride you would utter the words, “Daddy I want off now.” Or maybe you still utter those words anyway? Luckily for you, and my previous six year old self, the ride doesn’t stop and makes you immediately face your fear and get fabulously saturated at the same time. As my dad said, “Hold on bug,” as I was commonly referred to, “the ride doesn’t stop.” Life is like that ride. The little hills are a little scary but can still end up being fun. Then you get use to those small hills and are faced with a huge daunting hill. There is no stop, only a brief pause to get an idea of where you are heading down to and then you go for it. You can either close your eyes and grip on tight or find a way to enjoy it by raising your hands over your head, screaming and having fun.
It started when I first moved into my college dorm. My next-door-building neighbor, we will call him Moses*, kept coming over to ask me for ice. Actually he didn’t start asking me for ice until second semester when he randomly burst into my room around three in the morning because he wanted to make some margaritas and invited me to come party with him. You might be thinking, silly right? What kind of girl believes it when a guy knocks on her door to borrow ice? Me, that is who. Naïve and innocent, little girl of eighteen years old. I actually knew that he had a refrigerator and freezer but what you probably didn’t consider was the fact that he had no ice cube trays. And even if he did have ice cube trays it would not be enough for the number of margaritas at the party he wanted. I could not go with Moses that night because I had to be at work in four hours but he and I talked a few times which I thought constituted as flirting. We talked about traveling the world but never made any promises about going together. What a shame. Anyway, our conversations slowly died down once I started dating his next door neighbor. C’est la vie.
Sometimes I wish that life could be more like mini-putt-putt. Unless you go crazy and attack the plastic animals, cave man, knights or whatever types of themes your local putt-putt golfing area has every shot is a new chance. Every swing, or light tap, of the club is a brand new opportunity to become a better putter and perhaps even join in the mini-putt-putt nationals. On a side note of this book I have heard that America’s mini-putt-putt team is doing rather poorly and we do need experienced putt-putt players to join so we can win our international cup back! Putt-putt can be totally zen. Unless you go to the same one I go to in Virginia Beach where the volcano in the center erupts every half an hour. That volcano makes putt-putt just like life with those huge interruptions in the center of your universe, although unlike the putt-putt volcano those interruptions are not always so perfectly timed.
Mom believed in raising children with multitudes of praise. She always told me and my siblings how wonderful we were, gorgeous we were, smart we were and generally overall fabulous. So I always thought of myself that way. Imagine then how hard it was for me to find out when I entered the real world that I wasn’t all that. Well actually, I was never told any different from anyone else so it never really bothered me. Except that I, along with my two other siblings, have an incredibly high self-esteem which has become a bit of an issue for some people. I have been on occasion viewed as a snob, stuck up and pompous. I promise I am not any of those things, I just think highly of myself.