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LA was definitely a breath of fresh air.
(Well, okay, not “fresh air” but let’s just go with the analogy, no one ever said, “ahhh, what a refreshing breath of smog!” besides me.)

Here’s one thing I don’t get: the LA hate. It seems to me that so many people, Californians and otherwise, hold so much resentment towards that city. And I think some people are just jealous. I’m jealous, in a lot of ways. Especially when I know I was on track to make a career there and know so many amazing people who reside in the area. I think it is a very special, surreal place. There is no other metropolis like it. I dare one person to name another city that is similar. Seattle and Portland? Pretty similar. You get what I’m saying.

If I were a cheesy asshole, I would say “oh and it looks like I brought the sunshine with me!” because finally Seattle is sunny and warm. But I am not a cheesy asshole, therefore I will not say that. I will just say, I am very thankful about this, it made returning to regular life back in Washington a much easier transition (everyone knows how much I detest cold weather, right?). If I had landed and it was rainy and dismal like it has been all summer, I might have booked the first ticket back… turns out I just get to feel bummed I’m back from vacation and go run around Greenlake in 80 degree weather. I can suck it up in this scenario.

The funny thing is, I never really DO anything when I visit California. When I lived in OC/San Diego, I feel like I always went on adventures and went exploring and found creative ways to entertain myself. Now when I head down to visit, I just party and drink and bar-hop and eat burritos and shop. It’s kind of sad. I told myself on this trip that I would go to Runyon Canyon, eat at Canter’s, patronize the Getty, finally visit the Elliott Smith mural (as referenced in my last post)… oh and speaking of promises I didn’t live up to from my last entry, I didn’t even eat at Pinks! What is wrong with me?! Too busy imbibing tequila, I guess. As usual. I will say that I got to visit and compare/contrast the LA Cha Cha… sorry, Seattle, it totally owns us. Their photobooth is in color and only $2, plus they serve Sparks! No contest. On the other hand, we had to wait in a massive line to get in, something foreign to me as a Seattle partier.

And I did get to hit up the heaven that is Yogurtland not once, but twice.

Celeb sightings? So glad you asked. Only the most obvious: Cee-lo (at Mel’s) and Janelle Monae (at the Beverly Center – and she was eating Yogurtland too!).

In conclusion: There were good and bad things about going. There were good and bad things about coming back. There is not one city that I feel I 100% belong in. I will never honestly be able to say, “oh SO glad to be back in my real home, Seattle!” and I know if I left here and returned to California for good, I would never be able to say “Thank God I ditched stupid Seattle, now I’m where I belong for certain!” This is not an epiphany. Every trip to LA, even a random party trip, I just have to handle the weird “life choices” emotions and know that time will take me in many unknown directions. Apparently at this point, it is taking me in the direction of Sparks and bad late-night Mexican food, and that is good enough for now.

Thank you to California and especially a few of its most incredible residents for a memorable holiday and escape.

detox, retox

As per my last entry, lately I have been feeling… gross. In every way. Why? Multiple reasons. Sometimes just working through life seems like this huge pressure that I am unprepared to deal with. 

When I am really overwhelmed by my existence, I like to revel in it. I’m like a pig in shit. (Is that the saying? Well, it fits.) Seriously. Normally I am a really tidy person. I have nearly impeccable hygiene. I like to plan, I don’t like surprises, I like to keep busy, I like to feel in control of my activities and actions… so when that goes out the window, it REALLY goes. We’re talking bad. I don’t buy groceries, I don’t do laundry, I don’t even bother to put clothes back in my closet or in the hamper… I either don’t eat at all or binge on random snacks in a drunken stupor. I don’t move or I obsessively workout all night long. I listen to bad music alone in my room while wondering where all my friends are, or if I even really have friends. I sleep at random times but not when it’s dark out. Symptoms of depression? Just apathy? Regression into the lifestyle of a teenage boy? All of the above, probably. I’ve been feeling like Lindsay Lohan, and not in a good way. (see pictorial evidence.)

Anyway, I was pretty lame this weekend. I mostly just slept way too much in the daytime, drank a lot of alcohol, and ate a lot of Taco Bell. I woke up with a dual hangover from both late Sunday morning. I was supposed to go downtown for the Seattle Pride parade. While I am clearly not gay, I do support the lifestyle as well as equal rights for everyone. Furthermore, and almost as importantly, I support any holiday in which I am encouraged to day-drink in public while watching people in funny outfits. My dreams for any afternoon activities were shattered, though, when I remembered the tequila shots at the karaoke bar, the stupid texts, the Chicken Crunchwrap Supreme… I wasn’t in a very festive mood, to say the least. Luckily, my friend Yumi pulled me out of my Mexican torpor with this text convo:

Yumi: We’re getting ready now and heading up there. Your plans?

Emily: …still at home. In my pajamas, listening to R&B.

Yumi: Emily!!! No R&B in PJs! Come hither and hang out! How was the Rickshaw?

Emily: Intense. I just re-realized I ate Taco Bell.

After she didn’t respond to my pathetic Taco Bell epiphany/excuse for being a lazyass, I decided I needed to get myself together. I was a mess and it had gone on long enough. It was time to put on a colorful dress, buy a Gatorade, go downtown, and participate in the celebration.

Revisiting the public and life outside my pit of a bedroom, I felt a lot better about life. If the gay community can be so festive in the face of such oppression, I can at least get out of bed at a reasonable time and keep my living space tidy, for christsake. I came home that night, and armed with determination. In true Emily fashion, about five minutes into my mission I got bored/unmotivated and was about to give up and watch Entourage, but when I stepped on a tortilla chip with my bare foot while making the journey to my bed, I knew I had to get my ass in gear. Not only was my abode an embarrassing disaster, so was my entire digestive tract and nutritional compass. I finished what I started and promised myself I would do even better the next day.

SO YESTERDAY, GUESS WHAT. Not only did I eat incredibly healthfully, I did not drink a drop of alcohol, I worked out a shitload, and even ran (literally!) to the grocery store to reload on healthy groceries. I was almost drawn into temptation by a gigantic display of the newly released “pretzel-filled” M&Ms (excuse me?!? This must be revisited after I lose 10 pounds in July), but the knowledge that I was trying to turn my life around propelled me to the produce section instead. Score. Then, last night, I fell asleep alone, naturally, which never used to feel like an accomplishment, but lately…
Then, granted, today I ended up doing happy hour, but it was to celebrate Shawna’s promotion, plus I only had two glasses of red wine, which is heart-healthy. I also walked for a very long distance to get to the bar, including multiple flights of stairs. That’s something.

Here’s the sad part. I was so proud of my Monday (and semi-Tuesday) of glory, but the truth is, that shining moment of health is over. Tomorrow I am going to a show with Matt and Mini, two of my favorite people in the world, and also two of the worst (and therefore, in a way, best!) influences when it comes to making decisions involving “having a good time”… Thursday a huge preemptive 4th of July BBQ blowout in my backyard… then I have a sick 3-day weekend which will have to be expounded upon in a later entry. So, enjoy that 48-hour period of health while it lasted, everyone. Let’s just take a moment though, and acknowledge that I knowingly made positive decisions. I at least don’t feel as Lohan-esque, more Ashley Olsen at this point. Yes!

sunday morning smackdown

I awoke from a very vivid and realistic dream of being an Olympic swimmer (it could happen!) to the sad realization that I was fully clothed and fully hungover on Steph’s couch. We have spent a verrrry lazy morning here, mobbing on some delicious homemade bacon-avo eggs benedict and trying to piece together last night and how/why it quickly commenced on a downward spiral of self-destruction and gay leather bars. Oh well. Some things you will just never have an answer to.
Stephanie says: “I don’t think we learned any lessons, though.”

Here are snippets of our ultra-important and competent conversations this morning:

(Chris and Ryan are playing with an air rifle.)

Emily: What is that thing?! What is its purpose?
Chris: Nothing. To do this. (while Ryan is fake shooting it in his face)
Emily: But… why?
Chris: Had to spend money on something.
Emily: Wait, you refused to go out to breakfast this morning because you didn’t want to “waste money” but the air gun was a necessity?
Steph: …Yep.
Emily: But why own it? Is it, like, part of a program or something?
Steph: A “program”? A program for what?

Ryan: You guys, I had the best day at work on Friday! First of all, this lady gave me a gift basket full of candy for delivering a package to her door.
Emily: Why did she give you a gift basket for just doing your job?
Ryan: Because I bought it to her actual door! It was great. She even gave me sour apple Warheads! Those are my favorites, for all of your future reference.
Emily: I haven’t thought about those since junior high.
Ryan: Then, I was bored and was digging through the trash at work…
Steph: You were digging through the trash because you were bored?
Ryan: Yeah, and I found a Nalgene!
Emily: You found a Nalgene in the trash? Good one.
Chris: What’s a Nalgene?
Steph: Wait, no, do you seriously dig through the trash at your workplace?
Ryan: That’s shit’s like $10 in the store!
Chris: WHAT’S A NALGENE?
Emily: C’mon. You know what Nalgene is.
Chris: I’ll know once I Google it.
Ryan: Then we can go outside, cook some ribs, and toss around the Nalgene.
Steph: …What?

Chris: Steph, do you want to come to the store with us?
Steph: I can just tell you what I need and you can pick it up for me.
Chris: Sweet, then I don’t have to buy all that name-brand shit.
Ryan: Yes! Safeway Select brand, bitches!
Steph: But I need name-brand cheese because it tastes better!
Chris: Did you say “Velveeta”? I thought you said “Lucerne.”

dutch blitz

I sometimes joke that I am “getting boring” or “getting old”… I think we all do… but honestly, inside that throw-away comment is a kernel of truth. I am definitely more of a homebody than I used to be. Don’t get me wrong, I have my moments (to put it lightly) but in general, I’ve really toned it down.

Newest piece of evidence:

I have a new favorite game. It is a card game called Dutch Blitz. Why had I not heard of it before last night? Oh, turns out (according to Wikipedia) it’s favored by the Pennsylvania Dutch/Amish, Christian, and homeschool communities. OUCH. I prefer to look on the bright side and say hey, here is proof that not all things religious are unenjoyable. (Not that there is anything religious about this game besides its target demographic, but still, usually my preferences fall blatantly opposite of this group’s. So I took note.)

This compelling card game was discovered during Taco Night at my favorite couple, Chris & Steph’s, place. I met this awesome girl, Annie, who turned out to be RAISED MENNONITE. I got really excited because I’ve never known a Mennonite before! I am very easily enthralled by people who were raised in drastically different locations/backgrounds than me. Diversity! I really have to hold back from firing a ton of questions at them. I didn’t want to overwhelm, so I played it cool… but I did not play Dutch Blitz cool, I played it HOT and played to WIN! (Sadly,  I did not win. Next time…)

Anyway, if the set-up wasn’t clear, obviously Annie is the one who introduced us to Dutch Blitz, which apparently is popular amongst the Mennonite community. It’s kind of like Uno, but mixed with Spit and Egyptian Rat Screw and building a house in Mexico. What? I don’t know. Read the website I linked. This is way funner (yes, funner) than Texas Hold ‘Em or anything, therefore I need it to gain popularity outside the Christian homeschool community so I can play it with my friends! Also I am competitive and I know I can beat everyone since I have more experience now.

Dutch Blitz also makes a great drinking game! (Then again, what doesn’t? See, I haven’t completely lost my spark.)

sparks: going the way of the dinosaurs?!

My friend Emily (not me, obviously. I don’t do third person.) passed this beautiful article along to me, and I feel it is my duty to share this groundbreaking formula with the world.
It’s no secret that Sparks contains less heart murmur-inducing ingredients than it used to. To add insult to injury, even this weak formula is getting harder and harder to find in your average grocery store. At least, here in Seattle. (And apparently San Francisco.) And all I have to say is: WHY? WHY WOULD LIFE PUNISH ME IN THIS WAY?!

But as I told Emily: it’s kinda hardcore. When Sparks is outlawed, only outlaws will drink Sparks.

Sparks Outlawed? Now You Can Make It At Home.

(courtesy of the San Francisco Food Blog. Because clearly Sparks is nutritional “food” for everyone.)

Back in December 2008, MillerCoors voluntarily removed caffeine, taurine, guarana, and ginseng from energy drink Sparks, due in part to pressure from San Francisco City Attorney Dennis Herrera. Hipsters everywhere lost their collective shit. The overly sweet malt liquor/energy drink hybrid saturated the fabric of many a party flannel. Subtract the caffeine and all you have left is a really gross drink, instead of a really gross drink that makes you stay up really, really late…

psychic weekend

It is Monday morning, and I am sitting here, Doogie Howser style, recalling the events of this past weekend… in retrospect, it was a pretty eventful one. They almost always are. This weekend, especially, seemed to be destined for mayhem. The universe was telling me I had to do my best to make those two days of glory count. How do I know this?

Quite simple.

While walking home from Norwegian class (yes, voluntary Norwegian class, I’m about to get bilingual on y’alls asses) on Thursday afternoon, a trinity of symbols forecasted the activities to come:

1. Miller High Life.

PROOF. (Yes, I busted out my iPhone for proof, I’m sure at least one person had to notice the crazy girl intently taking pictures of a discarded beer can on the sidewalk. And I keep wondering why more neighbors haven’t stopped to welcome me to my new community… sorry, Ballard. I’m here to stay.)
Now, we all know that I am willing to drink any number of delicious, refreshing alcoholic beverages, but when I am trying to save money and still want a taste of luxury, my number one selection is the one and only champagne of beers. This message was especially meaningful because the universe chose to send this sign through a limited-edition fall fashion CAMO printed High Life. The exact same kind I have been hoarding in my fridge. (I mean, hey, limited edition = destined to become a classic collector’s item. I should just retire right now, wait thirty years, then let the dollars roll in through a couple lucrative eBay auctions…)
ANYWAY, clearly something out there was telling me that I should indulge in the High Life this weekend.

As I continued my journey, I once again was stopped in my tracks, this time by…

2. Taco Bell.

We can all agree this is more than just coincidence. What is my number one late-night culinary indulgence?! I’ll give you a clue: I have to run to the border in order to attain it. YO QUIERO. Taco Bell inevitably makes me feel really bad about myself the next morning… ashamed, really… but then again, most behaviors I engage in over the weekend cause similar chagrin, so I just roll with it. ESPECIALLY when now I am receiving divine intervention telling me I must treat myself to this Mexican treasure.
(Sidenote: Michael Ian Black wrote an emotionally raw piece about Taco Bell over on his blog, entitled My Secret Shame. I highly recommend it.)

Finally, as if that combination weren’t enough to make you believe in a higher power, mere moments later I froze in shock as I found at my feet…

3. Gatorade G2.

MY ULTIMATE HANGOVER CURE. It was even the G2 edition! First, I was torn between joy and rage… joy that God clearly condones my Gatorade-swilling ways, and rage that some careless human would allow an UNFINISHED G2 to languish on the sidewalk, its tattered label halfheartedly clinging on… I decided to be a “glass half full” (or “Gatorade bottle half full”) person and look on the bright side. Fate smiles upon my weekend activities. I am making wise decisions and am following the path I was meant to be on. Besides, it’s only orange flavor, which everyone knows is subpar.

SO… what did I do? Did I live it up and accept my mission?
Let’s just say that Beyonce is no longer the top “destiny’s child”.
(Yeah we could point out Kelly and Michelle, but everyone knows they never really counted in the first place.)

is it in you?

This summer I have experienced a renaissance in a very important relationship that had been on hiatus for quite sometime. It’s been pretty heartfelt and intense, and I’m never going to let it slip through my fingers again… I’m talking, of course, about rekindling my affair with Gatorade. How could I have forgotten how awesome this shit is?!

calling all master mixologists!

As you may or may not know, I recently moved into a new place. I’m pretty smug about it. This is a gorgeous old 1940s brick house in Ballard with all the charm one would imagine… my roommates and I of course decided to take full advantage of the possibilities of the chalet by transforming its supposed living room area into a classy bar/lounge. Of course, for me, “classy” traditionally implies anything involving Miller High Life (champagne of beers!) instead of PBR, so don’t get your hopes too high. BUT I’m attempting to raise the bar! New house, new beginnings. Time to step it up. We have a gorgeous old oak hutch to host our bottles and everything!

roughing it

Appears pretty innocuous, right? Wrong. This campsite turned out to be a hotbed of debauchery, embarrassment, and trashy denim outfits.

• Within the first couple hours of “popping the tent” (as we hardcore campers like to call it), I “lost” both my ticket and my left flip-flop on the way back from the outhouses.
• I found my ticket in the front pocket of the overalls I was wearing at the time… after my friends helped me tear apart the site searching for it… I think everyone was less than pleased with me at this point in the trip. The next day, my missing shoe was found in the snack bin. Reaching for a handful of Costco-brand trail mix and ending up with a mouthful of deliciousness AND a black Haviana, now that’s what I call a good morning.
• A traveling drug salesman attempted to interest us in some illegal substances, unfortunately for him he was approaching the wrong campsite. I decided that approximately 100 bottles of beer would be sufficient for the weekend and wanted to get rid of this hippie right away; I recited the FDA food pyramid to him instead (to demonstrate my commitment to a healthy lifestyle and NOT his questionable wares) and he rewarded me with a free granola bar! Naturally, I am suspicious of anything free from an unknown individual, so I did not eat it. It’s probably laced.

• What DID I eat, you ask? Well, I sadly yet impressively developed a new and improved food pyramid. Its base consists of Fat Tire and PBR, while its middle tier is filled with varied salted nuts, M&Ms, and an assortment of packaged snack chips. Its tip is comprised of warm Ketel One, children’s Clif Bars, and Sparks Lite.
• The pièce de résistance of our trip memories occurred when an unnamed member of our troop (I must emphasize: NOT ME for once) imbibed about 6 PBRs before noon, went to take a nap in the warm van, and emerged a short while later, projectile vomiting into the grass. When another friend went to check on this unfortunate incident, in her haste she ended up stepping in the vomit with her bare feet.

THIS WILL BE A TREASURED MEMORY FOR THE REMAINDER OF MY LIFE. I can assure you that.

While my recollection of the trip will be tinged with visions of van vomit, warm malt liquor-induced stomachaches, and the unwelcome addition of the Honey Bucket to my daily routine, I will also hold dear in my heart the beauty of Washington and the array of music I enjoyed over the vacation. Seriously.

I would especially like to thank M83, of Montreal, the Avett Brothers, Crystal Castles, and my eternally beloved Girl Talk for encouraging some relaxed dancing and entertaining me and my drunkass friends during this trip of delight. I would especially NOT like to thank the makers of sodium (so.. God?) for making every nonperishable camp snack so saltily delicious and addicting and only adding to my dehydration in the 90° weather.

apologies to all

The night started out innocently enough… a lovely patio happy hour downtown at my favorite Italian douchebag/delicious hotspot Barolo, where Jensine and I enjoyed the lingering 5:00 sunshine, 1+ bottles of Pinot Grigio, and a savory cheese plate. Topped off with me brazenly attempting to hit on a hot valet guy outside the restaurant. (Do you know the meaning of the word “dignity”? Good, because I clearly don’t.)