Sometimes I like to think my prayer is really deep, genuine, mystical, mindblowingly (not a real word, deal with it) awesome and then other times I sit down and say, "Jesus, (pause for dramatic affect) Thanks for making me HOT!"
I know that might come as a surprise seeing as the last time I blogged about such a topic I was tipsy from an ill advised creamy pumpkin liqueur purchase and not in best mindset, but tonight I'm callin' it like I see it. And that is what my prayer consisted of--Thanking the Good Lord for my Hotness Factor.
Oh well, you lose some -- you lose some more.
Also, since I've clearly lost all hope for my moral integrity to remain in tact on this blog and in the real world, I might as well be honest about my daily dose of literature and share with you this trashy garbage I can't wait to devour the moment it hits Netflix.
Catchy sign off,
~Emily
Oh!...Were you waiting for me to give some deep reflection on how having normal conversations with the Lord produces a more 'personal' relationship or something? Have you not been paying attention? Here at Justweirdenough we set impossibly low standards and hit the nail on the head every couple of months when I drag my head out of People long enough to write my own trash. If you're really desperate though give this a once over. He does a wonderful job of easing my mind by rationalizing that even the more distracted, directionless prayer has to be doing us some good.
*Feel free to leave comments on how to focus in prayer and I'll feel free to leave my eyes in the permanently elevated position known as the eye roll.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Real Life
"Well, it's not actually my goal in life to look 'hot'."
I'll give you one guess as to which job I uttered this sentence at earlier today.
You have two options:
Nannying for two boys ages 5 and 8, or a completely demoralized fine dining restaurant where you're publicly ridiculed for your lack of knowledge on how to operate a bong.
I know what you're thinking. Demoralized restaurant? Okay fine, I'll give you one more guess.
That's right ladies and gents I felt the need to explain this to an 8 year old today. If you were hoping for some sort of glory story, renewed hope in humanity, or a post on the innocence of children please go ahead and hit CTL + Z (or Command + Q for my mac followers) because you will find no such positivity around these here parts for at least a fort night.
I wish I could walk you through the events that led up to this statement, but the steam blowing out my ears is clouding up the room and making it hard to see the computer screen and to find the high amounts of liquor necessary to subdue the horrendous, judgmental and blanketed statements I'm about to make about the state of our society.
Bear with me while I stumble my way through our foggy living room and find some liquor.
Brb.
Two shots of Bailey's and one terrible shot of some Pumpkin liquor (only half joking, sorry Mom) I am feeling much better. As tempted as I am to try and change the world with a sarcasm riddled, anger filled tangent, I think I'll wait till I'm about 20 posts in before getting up on my high and mighty horse and staying there for good.
Till then, please continue to enjoy the substance-less, humorous (hopefully) happenings of my life and take 10 seconds to pray for 8 year old boys everywhere. Actually scratch that. Pray for my soul to have mercy on them and that I don't release my wrath upon one particular 8 year boy tomorrow. I hear internet privileges are hard to come by in prison.
*I rarely succumb to peer pressure, (Liar liar) but I must dedicate this post to my sister who has plugged this pathetic excuse for a blog multiple times and each time I have failed to deliver any post at all, much less one worthy of her compliments. I hope this run-on filled, angry toned, non-proof read post appeases you.
I'll give you one guess as to which job I uttered this sentence at earlier today.
You have two options:
Nannying for two boys ages 5 and 8, or a completely demoralized fine dining restaurant where you're publicly ridiculed for your lack of knowledge on how to operate a bong.
I know what you're thinking. Demoralized restaurant? Okay fine, I'll give you one more guess.
That's right ladies and gents I felt the need to explain this to an 8 year old today. If you were hoping for some sort of glory story, renewed hope in humanity, or a post on the innocence of children please go ahead and hit CTL + Z (or Command + Q for my mac followers) because you will find no such positivity around these here parts for at least a fort night.
I wish I could walk you through the events that led up to this statement, but the steam blowing out my ears is clouding up the room and making it hard to see the computer screen and to find the high amounts of liquor necessary to subdue the horrendous, judgmental and blanketed statements I'm about to make about the state of our society.
Bear with me while I stumble my way through our foggy living room and find some liquor.
Brb.
Two shots of Bailey's and one terrible shot of some Pumpkin liquor (only half joking, sorry Mom) I am feeling much better. As tempted as I am to try and change the world with a sarcasm riddled, anger filled tangent, I think I'll wait till I'm about 20 posts in before getting up on my high and mighty horse and staying there for good.
Till then, please continue to enjoy the substance-less, humorous (hopefully) happenings of my life and take 10 seconds to pray for 8 year old boys everywhere. Actually scratch that. Pray for my soul to have mercy on them and that I don't release my wrath upon one particular 8 year boy tomorrow. I hear internet privileges are hard to come by in prison.
*I rarely succumb to peer pressure, (Liar liar) but I must dedicate this post to my sister who has plugged this pathetic excuse for a blog multiple times and each time I have failed to deliver any post at all, much less one worthy of her compliments. I hope this run-on filled, angry toned, non-proof read post appeases you.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Harsh.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Just checking, do you want Grandchildren via your third child? Because it kind of seems like you don't.
Love,
Your wonderfully eligible daughter
Back in the day when I was living at home, checking in with my parents was an absolute must if I was out later than say --- 5 pm. It was the law (and rightfully so) to let my parents know where I was at all times. If I mistakenly didn't contact them soon enough I would get the ever scary text: "WHERE ARE YOU!?" I instantly knew I needed to contact them ASAP or fear for my life.
What does this have to do with me being single? I now have an immediate reject button when it comes to being interested in a guy.
It's easy really. If you want to be my FRIEND--shoot my a text. If you want to shoot your chances with me in the foot--send me a text. Perhaps it seems odd, but my parents have instilled a hate-hate relationship with texting. You do it as a necessity. Not as a way to woe me. If you don't like me enough to want to hear my voice, you probably don't like me enough for me to even think about being interested in you. Plain and simple.
Perhaps the letter should read:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thanks for making it really easy to decide whether or a not a guy is worth practicing my new last name on my note book in my spare time.
Love,
Your ever grateful, albeit ever single daughter
Just checking, do you want Grandchildren via your third child? Because it kind of seems like you don't.
Love,
Your wonderfully eligible daughter
Back in the day when I was living at home, checking in with my parents was an absolute must if I was out later than say --- 5 pm. It was the law (and rightfully so) to let my parents know where I was at all times. If I mistakenly didn't contact them soon enough I would get the ever scary text: "WHERE ARE YOU!?" I instantly knew I needed to contact them ASAP or fear for my life.
What does this have to do with me being single? I now have an immediate reject button when it comes to being interested in a guy.
It's easy really. If you want to be my FRIEND--shoot my a text. If you want to shoot your chances with me in the foot--send me a text. Perhaps it seems odd, but my parents have instilled a hate-hate relationship with texting. You do it as a necessity. Not as a way to woe me. If you don't like me enough to want to hear my voice, you probably don't like me enough for me to even think about being interested in you. Plain and simple.
Perhaps the letter should read:
Dear Mom and Dad,
Thanks for making it really easy to decide whether or a not a guy is worth practicing my new last name on my note book in my spare time.
Love,
Your ever grateful, albeit ever single daughter
Friday, March 23, 2012
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.
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.
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!
Friday, March 16, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
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
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
Monday, March 12, 2012
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)
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.
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. |
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
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