The Numbers Game

Twenty facts that I am certain will bore you to tears, but nonetheless I encourage you to read for the sake of my own self-esteem.

20. The number of consecutive minutes I tried running today. (Skip to number 13 to see how many I actually ran.)

 19.The number of times at work I've explained that "I am one of seven children, all from the same set of parents--who are still happily (until I hear otherwise) married.

18. The number of times people ask "are your parents in a cult or something?" after stating previous fact. (finally, I foresaw the impending question and simply stated "and no, we're not in a cult--so don't ask.")

17. The average number of judgmental glares I get at the park before I swell with anger and blurt out, "No, I didn't have kids when I was 14 years old you dimwit. I'm their nanny."

16. The number of times I repeat, "don't eat meat today, it's Friday, it's Lent, it's Friday, it's Lent." Before I think I'll remember...only to have eaten meat twice on Fridays this year. Total fail.

13. (Cont. from #20) Bet I made you think I lasted the BIG 1-3 huh? Nope. Only twelve. Sorry to disappoint. Trust me, I was disappointed as well. But the chocolate smoothie I devoured afterward helped ease my emotional disappointment.

Oh did I just skip from 16 to 13? Yes, yes I did. If you have a problem with that stop reading now because I'll spoil the ending for you and tell you that numbers 8 and 9 don't make an appearance either.

10. The number of days I will gone on a vacation avoiding reality at all costs.

Stop looking for #8 and #9. I already told you I didn't deem them blog worthy and cut them out of this post.

7. The number of seconds it will take you to read this and realize I couldn't actually come up anything interesting for number 7.

Or Number 6.

5a. The number of times I've been told, "You look JUST like Brittney from Glee!"

5b. The number of times I decided not to take that as a compliment when I googled this "Brittney" character and stumbled upon this little beauty.

4. The number of times I forgot to put on deodorant this week. Oops. Big Oops. (Maybe those judgmental park stares had nothing to with my unwed-teen-mother-look and more with my non-hygienic natural stank)

3. The number of books by Suzanne Collins (The Hunger Games) I have yet to read.
30,000 the number of times I've felt left out via people blogging, facebooking, talking, tweeting and seeing the movie without me.

2. The number of men who saw me trying to lick iced mocha out of my hair this morning after a particularly nasty spill in my car.

And finally (if any of you made it this far) number 1 is a tie-breaker. Split right down the middle between the one man who just laughed at me licking my hair and the other man who clearly thought I had some weird hair eating fetish and wanted to send me to the asylum quicker than you can say 'shebelongsinthecrazybin.'

Did you make it all the way through? Way to go! Give yourself a pat on the back--and then go do something extremely productive to make up for wasting the last 5 minutes of your God given life.

Hasta Luego!

π

Co-worker #3: So, what did you do with your day off?

Emily: Well, it was π day so my friend and I baked a pie. It was fun.

Co-worker #3: Whoa! Emily, I didn't know you were the type?!

Emily: Questioning stare coupled with a slightly awkward silence.

Co-worker #3. Wait, you're saying you 'got baked' yesterday right?

Emily: Oh ha, No. I'm saying I baked a pie. And I ate it. While in a sober state of mind. 'Baking' and 'getting baked' are two different phrases.

This time it was his turn for a questioning stare and an awkward silence. Until he broke the silence with, "Man Emily, you are seriously the weirdest person I know." and walked away with the excuse that he needed to water table 20. 

Thanks co-worker #3. You're not exactly normal in my book either but I'll cover your shift April 20th if you need.

Old Maid

As if having a co-worker strongly suggest that the only way I'll find love is to sign up for Christiansingles.com (since I'm not willing to compromise on the whole 'three months of dating bliss and were living together thing') wasn't enough to make me begin questioning my life choices, I was graced with this conversation at my nanny job today:

While starting the game LIFE (which is entirely too long and complicated even for myself, so why a 5 yr old wanted to play I'll never know) we reached the ever famous 10th square where you get your spouse. In the game of LIFE marriage is guaranteed, one can't move on without it (don't some of us wish real life was like that). Anyway, I rolled severrrral one's in a row and I was clearly behind in LIFE because I still had yet to get husband (in the game and in reality).

Finally the 8 yr old has a little mercy on me and says, "just let Emily move up and have her husband, it's boring when she's this far behind."

To which the 5 yr old promptly responds, "No. Emily will never get married." I'm taken aback because by his tone he has stopped talking about the game and is now talking about reality.

As I wait for him to explain himself, and something cute/redeeming like "She can't get married because I love her too much and I want her to babysit us forever."

 He actually says, "She's waaaay to weird to get married."

O.M.Gsh.

Dear Mom and Dad,

Don't bother saving for a nice cushy retirement home. Just pay for me to get my Home Nursing Aide Certification and I'll be available for the next 50-60 years.

Love,

Your prude of a daughter

Food Coma

Just in case you were wondering what on earth kept me from blogging this weekend (because so far I have been ever so diligent up to this point) I had a surprise visit from what I can only describe as bosom buddies (credit Anne of Green Gables) and I was too busy celebrating a whole host of things:

Engagements! (Congrats Jessica &Elliot)
Two WHOLE days off of work in a row (mini miracle)
Reuniting with previously mentioned bosom buddy after a six month hiatus
Getting 50% off the best Creme Brulee that has even graced itself in my mouth
Bridesmaid shopping
And again, the two full days off of work. It was like a double sabbath. (Is that even possible?)

How did I possible manage so many celebrations in 48 hours you ask? Let the over detailed and repetitive story begin.

We decided to forgo wasting time by documenting the event so fortunately for you fine readers, you'll only have to endure seeing the one and only picture we took all weekend (even though I lugged my 6 oz camera around allll freakin weekend)

Yes, I did win the aware for most unnatural pose ever. The ribbon in on the fridge.

But, I'm getting ahead of myself. This was taken at the end of the weekend. After swindling a much beloved friend (Hilary) into picking Jessica (the newly engaged, brown haired one in the middle) up at the airport because of my ridiculous work schedule, I showed up at my ghetto apt to find the beautiful maiden waiting for me. After the 3 minute uninterrupted hug forced on her by me, low and behold Miss Abbi can'tevertellalieevereverever Jaeger jumped out from the kitchen and sent my into a shock that would have been cute if the circumstances were that she had just come home from a war after 12 months like this little girl...but no, I'm just always looking for a little flare to the dramatic.

And the weekend begins. We ate, we drank, we slept. We repeated. After a self proclaimed feast day we decided to forget any Lenten commitments that might have hindered our celebration in anyway, shape or form. The lowest of low might have been rationalizing that it was "5 o'clock some where" when ordering mimosas bright and early Sunday morning (after Mass of course).

I won't include a list all the food we ate (I've heard rumor that men hate it when you list everything you ate in one day and I'm fairly certain the same goes for blog readers) but when asked for an account of what we did this weekend I might just have to make stuff up to prevent myself from admitting the nasty truth that we ate without a break from dusk till dawn and then dawn till airport drop off where I stopped stuffing my face with white cheddar popcorn for the exact amount of time it took me to give them each both a hug and send them on their merry way.

If you're looking for me, I am now off to eat my way through the 4 boxes of leftovers in my fridge...the only evidence I have (besides the atrocious picture above) that this slice of Heaven did indeed take place.

Until the next time I decide to bore you. 

Much love,

Em

Tips

Just a few nuggets of wisdom I've picked up in the last few weeks on how to survive working in a "secular restaurant" as a Catholic girl:

1. When told by a co-worker they blacked out from drinking last night, don't try to relate it to the time you fell off your horse, got a concussion and blacked out "just like them." They won't understand the correlation. It might however lead to a conversation about "drinking to the point of hilarity" and you know I never leave the house without a good Aquinas quote in tow.

2. When asked if you're "into voodoo" after someone sees you making the sign of the cross before eating, try not to spit food on them from laughing so hard.

Lastly, in all seriousness.
3. Don't be afraid to tell someone you're Catholic. Sure the first words out of their mouth might literally be, "Oh, you're the statue worshiper type huh?" but taken with a little class and a sense of humor you might be able to fight that stereo-type and give someone a little food for thought after you school them on the teaching of intercession AND confession all in one go with this little verse.

Badabingbadaboom. They think I'm a little crazy...but the craziest thing of all is that I totally agree with them.