Wednesday, March 30, 2011

So... Here I Am.

I'm Emigh. No, you can't pronounce it. Yes, I know it's odd.

But still- I'm Emigh. I'm never going to grow up. I'm always going to cover for my brothers. And I'm rarely going to make complete sense.

Nice to meet you.

My daughters are 11 and 5. They're awesome. The oldest, Tay, is officially a pre-teen drama queen. Her life and all its trials and tribulations are of the utmost importance. No, really, just ask her. She is anti-girly (she says) in a very "cover mom's house in glitter" sort of way. Don't worry, I don't get it either. The small one, Taryn, is a hellion. She's adorable and she knows it. She uses it to trick unsuspecting people into giving in to her will. She's actually quite good at it.

I work at a shelter. A people shelter, not an animal shelter. I do... you know, stuff. Little bit of this, little bit of that. Whatever needs doing, really. *free advice- don't ever accept a job with "assistant" in the title or "other duties as assigned" in the description. Just sayin.* Sometimes I'm a receptionist, sometimes I'm a bouncer, sometimes I'm Santa's helper... I'm very versatile. The job is interesting and provides me with tales of wonder, woe, and outright WTFness. We'll get to that later.

I have a husband. His name is Chris. Eventually he will find out about this blog and probably read it, so I will say only nice things about him. Like, I love how one time he put his shoes away by himself (even though he had a snotty look on his face when he did it). And how he puts up with my shit (even though I think he only does it because it's easier than actually telling me I'm being crazy and/or collecting crazy people). Also, he's a pretty good husband (even though I try not to say that too often- he gets all big-headed). And really, all of that just makes him no fun to write about.

I have been told numerous times to write about my life. And I take direction well, so there you have it. This is an exceedingly boring post. I'm aware of that. No gimmicks, no cliffhangers, no fun at all. But it's an intro. That's all it is. It's me saying "Hi. I'm me." and expounding upon that. Really, if I have to explain the purposes of an intro to you, I'd prefer you not follow this blog anyway. I can promise you, however, that future blogs will be full of fun. Or at least full of things that make you laugh at me. I have a ridiculous life. The things that occur on a day to day basis in my life are really only acceptable as plot-lines in sitcoms. In an effort to prove to you that you will, at some future point, be entertained by my adventures, I will give you some information:

*I once fractured my elbow playing with my daughter's toys then had to show up at a board meeting bruised and bloody. I refused to see a doctor because I felt it would be "silly" to explain how I hurt myself. Unlike walking around with broken parts, which makes complete sense.

*I have brothers who are all equal parts defenders, friends, and royal pains in the ass. Some day I will reminisce about the time one of them got drunk and decided to catch a horse. Or the time another one of them dressed up as Gumby and had his friends shoot firework rockets at him.

*My kids are evil geniuses. Have I mentioned that? They are.

*I am a lightning rod for weird people, strange occurrences, and horrifically bad luck. In the past 10 days- literally the 10 days leading up to the creation of this blog- the following things have happened:

Day One- After being up for nearly 48 hours, I then got to spend all night in the ER with Tay.
Day Two- Determined Chris' insurance won't pick us up because they are complete morons
Day Three- Tay got sick at school and the car died.
Day Four- Tay gets the flu and is out of school for the rest of the week. The hospital called. $1200 for that uninsured ER visit. The garage called. $800 for the water pump.
Day Five- Broke the washing machine. And the shower.
Day Six- Got a letter from the IRS claiming I owe them $1500.
Day Seven- Chris gets the flu. Not the regular flu- the MANflu. And Tay gets a double ear infection.
Day Eight- My coworker's house burned down. I am covering her job and mine. I suck at both.
Day Nine- Garage calls again. That $800 repair needs to be followed up with another $600 repair.
Day Ten- Someone tried to steal the car I'm borrowing from my mom while ours is in the shop. Police reports, all that fun stuff.

Somewhere in there my ex-husband moved from wherever he is living and into his car. Which he has parked in front of my house. As part of a cosmic joke being played on me. Because I am engaged in a lifelong battle of wills against the universe at large. Yes. So far I am losing. A lot. But have no fear- I'm just a late starter.

Or maybe a slow learner.

Either way, fun for you to read about.

Monday, March 28, 2011


What the hell? MANners? That's ridiculous. Why on earth are they called MANners when men seem to be morally and ethically opposed to using them?

"All men?" you ask.

Probably. I haven't actually met every single man alive, but I can safely say that I know enough men to feel comfortable announcing that they are mannerless.

Let's talk manners:
1- Say please and thank you. Excuse me. I'm sorry.
2- Take responsibility for your words and your actions.
3- Clean up after yourself- in your home, your workplace, your world.
4- Treat others as you wish to be treated.
5- Don't rush into judgment or jump to conclusions.
6- Respect differing opinions.

Now let's talk MANners. Today's test subjects are my three grown brothers, my husband, and several friends. I'm not saying who is who because someone may someday read this and then they'll be all offended because truth hurts and I'll have to explain that to them, but they'll be all irritable anyway and they won't accept that it's probably true and then it'll be all about me being bitchy. Let's not go that route.

1- Say please and thank you. Excuse me. I'm sorry. Say nothing. Ever. Make demands if you think you can get away with it. I'm sorry is a foreign language- use it never. You are MAN, there is no need to apologize, ever. Please is for suckers. Thank you? Hell no- everything you have is fucking DESERVED! Excuse me? WTF is that even for? If you're in the way I'll move you. If I fart, that's just awesome.
2- Take responsibility for your words and your actions. Take what now?
3- Clean up after yourself- in your home, your workplace, your world. Clean? Did you just call me a bitch? I LIKE those socks on the floor. That's where I think they should belong. Yes, in fact I DO know where the garbage can is located, I just don't give a damn. My car isn't diry, it's perfect- shut up or get out.
4- Treat others as you wish to be treated. If they were as purely manly awesome as I am, I would.
5- Don't rush into judgment or jump to conclusions. My opinion is fact. I can rush to fact all I want. Have you seen that guy's hair? He had to be told it was ridiculous. Hey, I was doing him a favor. If you don't like my opinions, you don't have to talk to me.
6- Respect differing opinions. Re-what?!? Differing... no. Abso-fucking-lutely not. If your opinion is differing, it's obviously WRONG. That's what differing actually means, you know- WRONG. So shut your face.

I hear stories about men that help out around the house. I hear about men who clean up after not only themselves, but their offspring too. I hear tales of men who offer help, give help, like to help.

Of course, I've heard of Sleeping Beauty too and that chick clearly isn't living in my world. Wait for a man to save you? Good luck with that... hope it's not football season.

So since I've decided that men with manners are a myth (right up there with Bigfoot, Nessie, and women who just love strip clubs) I have to assume that mannerless is acceptable. Because, you know... we have men all over the place, being all mannerless and whatnot. So I've decided to try being mannerless in my own day to day activities. Here's how that would go-

Mom at PTA meeting: Well, I just think it might be better for the children if they were able to have a little fun while they raise money. So I'm suggesting an American Idol type of event.
Me: You're a fucking nutjob, you know that? First of all, you want that type of event because your maniacal little brat has been forced to endure years of singing lessons as she tries desperately to give you the experiences you failed at as a child yourself, so you have an unfair advantage. Second, that event is only fun for you Attention Whore types who need to have a spotlight at all times. Some kids actually like to play- you know, like a sport or game or something. Some kids don't need all the lights and applause to feel worthwhile. Maybe you should shut the hell up with your "opinion".

*Coworker at the staff fridge.*
Me: *shove* Hey, watch out now! When this chick is hungry it's best to just move from my path. Ha ha ha ha! Aw, suck it up, you'll be fine, princess.

*Police officer ticketing me for littering.*
Me: What. The. Hell. I pay you to defend and protect and serve ME. What are you doing? Saving me from trash? I'm pretty sure I can hold my own against a candy wrapper. I put it here on the street to let people know that I tried it, I liked it, and they should try one too. Clean it up? Do you see an apron on me?

So after I get thrown out of all school functions, fired from my job, and arrested for being a bitch in the general direction of a police officer, I think we can call this experiment a success, don't you?


Not a successful story if it ends in social disgrace, unemployment, and possible jail time?


Then why are they called MANners?