See Emily Play

Yeah, I ordered two extra large jackets from you. That...

Wed, 10 Oct 2012 00:28:37 -0400

Yeah, I ordered two extra large jackets from you. That doesn’t mean that you need to make assumptions about the state of my thighs. Everybody chafes, fuck you. Your mom chafes, Lanacane. Your fucking mom chafes. Think about that the next time you think it’s necessary to stick a free sample in my package.

Sorry that my cats, like, don’t even give a fuck any of...

Tue, 09 Oct 2012 12:03:09 -0400

Sorry that my cats, like, don’t even give a fuck any of the time.

Sorry for being, like, mad adorable all of the time.

Tue, 09 Oct 2012 10:55:24 -0400

Sorry for being, like, mad adorable all of the time.

This Is What It's Like to Be My Friend

Mon, 01 Oct 2012 11:50:36 -0400

This exchange took place last night over a series of text messages:

Me: Have you seen A Walk to Remember?

Friend: Bits and pieces

Me: I can’t even breathe

Friend: Aw, honey

Me: He said he was sorry that she never got her miracle, but she did, it was him

Friend: Oh, Emily

Me: I literally almost vomited

Friend: Emily. Calm down, girl. Shoo.

Me: Mandy Moore had leukemia. And she stopped responding to treatment. And she married Shane West because they fell in love during the school play. I am mourning.

Friend: I love you so, so much

Me: Love you too, sister wife!

Dear Society

Sat, 29 Sep 2012 13:31:01 -0400

Oh, hey! Can we talk about something? Can we just rap for a minute? I’ll be cool this time, promise!

Can you just go eat a bag of assholes?

No, wait, come back! Come back! I’m sorry, that was out of line. You might not even be hungry right now, and I don’t want you to get a tummy ache! So please accept my apology. And munch on a bag of assholes at your leisure.

Love,
Emily

I asked this on evil beet but I forgot the post and I was never able to find it again to see if you answered. Anyway, my question: what dating site did you meet your fiance on?

Tue, 14 Aug 2012 12:19:27 -0400

Oh, hey! I met him on OK Cupid. I did have to go through a couple of creepers, like some giant crazy bananas creepers, but it all worked out in the end!

Dear Self from One Year Ago

Thu, 12 Jan 2012 05:33:46 -0500

Hey, you crazy bitch! What’s happenin’? Oh, you’re sleeping all day and crying into your pillow all night? That’s cool. No, I know you’re working, and I know you do things sometimes like watch Golden Girls marathons and go out for sushi. But, girl, all these things that you’re upset about now? It’s nothing, sister, I promise. You’re going to make it through this. You’re going to be ok.

I know it’s hard to believe right now, trust me. I know you feel horrible about yourself, I know you feel completely unlovable and like you’re not in control of your life, and I know you think that you let everybody down and that you’ve disappointed everyone, especially yourself, but you know what? You haven’t. You’re cool. You’re a smart chick, you’ve got a lot of things going for you, and, again, you’re going to be ok.

You’re going to start working more, and you’re going to start fully realizing how awesome your job is and how lucky you are to have it. You’re going to go “hey, I’m getting paid to do something that I’ve loved to do since I learned how to do it. I’m fulfilling a dream that I’ve had for about 15 years.” And that’s pretty damn cool.

You’re going to start working out. I know, I know, “yeah, right, ok,” but really, you are. I know you’ve had a lot of issues with your body and your self esteem, but for real, this is going to make you feel so much better. Like, girl, you’re going to work out so hard that you get sore. From lifting weights. It’s crazy, but it’s true.

You’re going to adopt the most precious little guinea pig that ever was. And I know that you don’t really think of guinea pigs much, but really, you’re going to have the cutest guinea pig, and he is going to be such a little light in your life. He is going to make you smile till your face hurts and warm your heart with his little purrs and squeaks and all those adorable noises. You are going to love him so much that you take pictures of him in bad lighting that you look at about seven times a day.

You are going to meet the most amazing man that you could ever hope to meet and, wait for it, he’s going to be completely in love with you. He’s going to be so funny and sweet and just the most charming thing, and he is going to be so into you. Like, I don’t want you to get cocky or anything, but I just want you to know that you’re finally going to get that wonderful, lovely person, and he loves you to death. He’s going to love you so much that he takes you to see animals and mountains and the planetarium on New Year’s Eve.

He’s going to love you so much that he takes you to see horses.

And he’s going to love you so much that he asks you to marry him. I’m sorry, girl, I don’t have good photos just yet, but just so you know, you say yes. And you’re absolutely thrilled about it.

And, ok, I’m not going to fib and say that there aren’t some shitty parts, because there are. There are a good few shitty parts, and they’re going to make you sad and they’re going to be hard, but the most important thing is that you handle it. You make it through, and I am so proud of you for it.

All right, I know you probably have some episodes of Golden Girls to watch or whatever, so I’m going to wrap it up here. But just remember, no matter what anyone else says, and especially no matter what you say to yourself, you’re a good person. And your going to have a totally kick ass year.

Love,
Your Future Self

Dear Dog

Wed, 21 Sep 2011 23:22:12 -0400

I love you! I love the way you can just lay at my feet for hours and hours while I blog and play Neopets and buy makeup online, and I love the way you always bark at the door relentlessly when I come home. I know it’s probably because you’re morbidly obese and you’re pretty much completely blind, but it means a lot to me all the same.

Never change!

Dear Super Hot Guy with the Hillybilly Voice and Homely Guy with the Scottish Accent from College

Tue, 03 May 2011 15:26:31 -0400

I know we haven’t spoken in a while. I know we only ever spoke at all because we had that one class together and we were in the same group. I know that you have no idea who I am, and that my Facebook friend requests were made in vain. Despite all of this knowledge, I feel like we could really have something special.

Here’s what I’m proposing: a three-way relationship. Well, sort of, it wouldn’t be like a traditional three-way relationship. What I have in mind is that, Super Hot Guy, you will be my boyfriend mainly. We’ll hold hands and snuggle and make out and go places and stare lovingly into each other’s eyes before we fall asleep in each other’s arms every night. But here’s where you come in, Homely Guy - you have a way more appealing voice. So what you would do is stick with me and Super Hot Guy, and the two of you would be trained so that SHG moves his mouth silently in conversation, and you speak for him from the shadows. Get it?

In outlining this relationship, I came into another problem, which is that neither of you are that skilled at holding good conversation. To solve this problem, I think that while SHG and I work on our physical relationship, HG can search the area for a smart, funny, interesting guy. SFIG will whisper or write lines for HG, who will speak them while SHG mouths words.

I hope the two of you realize my sincerity and admiration for you, and that you can consider my proposal and get in touch with me to make arrangements.

Love always,

Emily

Dear Girl from The Movie Theatre

Thu, 24 Mar 2011 22:56:53 -0400

I feel for you. I really, really do, and before anything else, I want you to understand that. But that being said, as I emptied my nervous bladder full of Cherry Coke, the last thing I expected to hear was that your pregnancy test was positive.

You weren’t even gossiping with your friends about your pregnancy, no - I know this because the way I found out, along with all your friends and all the other occupants of the ladies’ room, was by your blood-curdling scream of “shit!” followed by “it’s positive, the test is positive!” As if that left room for any doubt as to what you were doing, I saw you sitting in the stall with that terrifying little test in your hands as I made my way to the sink. I might have offered you a hug or a piece of gum, but I knew you were ok because when your friends asked you what you were going to do, you replied with “I’m gonna just watch the fuckin’ movie and hope everything turns out all right.” And that kind of attitude will get you so far in this unexpected pregnancy.

I don’t know why you took your pregnancy test in the bathroom at the movies, but really, I don’t have to know. All I have to know is that you’re going to be a spectacular, upbeat mom who can really appreciate a good movie. And that knowledge in my heart is enough to overpower all the curiosity I have about your fucked up ways.

Best wishes,

Emily

Dear Guy I Almost Watched Get Run Over By A Train After Drinking Too Much Whiskey

Sun, 30 Jan 2011 17:42:08 -0500

First of all, I don’t like you. I just want to make that perfectly clear. I don’t care for your kind of shenanigans and I didn’t care to be a part of them.

I didn’t even care to be at your party in the first place. When I found out that the location of said party had moved from a house to a little place under a bridge by the railroad tracks, I did not jump for joy - quite the contrary. Do you think a girl like me enjoys maneuvering down a wall of rock at least two times as tall as she is? Trick question, because the answer is a very obvious “no.” But I’m a trooper, and my high school prom date that I hadn’t seen in a year was down there by the railroad tracks, and I knew that, so dutifully I crawled through the hole in the fence and worked my way down the rocks by stepping on some dudes’ shoulders. And then I met you.

I suppose when one attends a bonfire under a bridge by the railroad tracks, one should expect that those specific partygoers will be drinking like hobos, but tragically, I did not. But luckily, I caught on quickly as a train went by shortly after my arrival and you stood entirely too close to it, hooting and hollering like a hobo drinking under a bridge (which, as far as I know, you certainly could have been). I pushed aside the nervousness you caused me and instead focused on my prom date and his guitar playing, but of course, you just had to raise the stakes.

The first thing I thought when the train whistle blew in the distance and you settled yourself in the middle of the tracks was that I had seen this happen in a film before. The next thing I thought was “this kid is out of his mind.” The third thought I had, and the one that lasted the longest, was “this kid is going to get run over by a train right now.”

If I could give you one compliment, it’s that you do know how to build suspense. As the train rolled into sight and your friends yelled and pleaded with you to get off the tracks, you held steadfast. It was only at the last possible minute that you allowed your friends to pull you up and back to safety, and that takes some dramatic skill, and I commend you for that. However, it doesn’t change the fact that you are one of the douchiest douches I’ve ever seen have a near death experience. Nothing will change that.

Love,

Emily

P.S. I think I saw you at a concert last night wearing the same thing you wore that fateful first time I met you - cargo shorts, a wool hoodie, and a bandana covering dreads. You should know that God’s not going to keep watching over you if you keep looking like a tool.

Dear 13-Year-Old Girl From Teen Book Club With A Pentagram Tattoo on Your Calf And Emotional Issues

Tue, 18 Jan 2011 04:14:25 -0500

I never wanted to be your friend. There, I said it. I don’t feel like I should have been obligated to be your friend just because your parents got divorced and you didn’t handle it well. You should have been more like your older brother who was also in Teen Book Club and dyed a red streak in your hair and gotten into skateboarding. But no. Instead, you got some shady back alley tattoo of a pentagram with a goat head in the middle of it right on your adolescent calf. And that was your choice.

How did you even do that? Seriously, you were 13, at most. I remember because one of the librarians told me that you got suspended from your middle school for threatening a teacher. Do you have a relative with questionable morals and a tattoo gun? He’d also had to have some artistry, because it looked pretty good, you know, for a pentagram featuring a goat head.

What’s more, what was up with the Satanic body art? Were you in a phase that you thought you’d be in for the rest of your life? Spoiler alert, that wasn’t the case.

Anyway, all this is just the prelude to asking why you thought it was ok to bang on the store windows at the mall as I was driving away, yelling my name like I’d turn around and talk to you? Especially when it wasn’t even me, but my best friend who looks absolutely nothing like me?

In conclusion, it is clear that in all these years since we met, you have not once checked yourself. And girlfriend, you’re long overdue for wrecking yourself.

With the utmost respect and cordiality,

Emily

I Realized This Way Too Late

Fri, 14 Jan 2011 12:46:22 -0500

Prayerdesign. I use this for everything. It’s my AIM screen name, my Twitter screen name, and an email address that I use when I want to register for wedding sites to see the dresses and pretend I’m getting married to Eric from The Little Mermaid after he realizes that Ariel is not the girl for him because seriously, do you want to be with a girl who makes deals with terrifying octopuses and deserts her whole family just to hang out with you?, and I even used it on an OK Cupid account I had for like two weeks that I used to send probing, witty questions to people in my area to see if I had missed any cool people (I hadn’t). I’ve had prayerdesign for around five years now, and I just now realized that people probably think I’m some kind of super religious girl, which is the opposite of what I want.

It’s a David Bowie lyric, you guys. ”Columbine, my prayer design, I see you see me standing on my own.” It’s this whole Commedia dell’Arte thing, it’s beautiful. So, see, I’m not a super religious girl at all. Unless you count David Bowie as a religion. Which I do.

It looks like people were right all along. Praise Him.

I would be hard-pressed to find a better mate for myself than...

Wed, 12 Jan 2011 01:35:58 -0500

I would be hard-pressed to find a better mate for myself than this guy right here.

"Seriously, you guys, where’s my fucking unicorn? I told you, I’m totally cool to ride. ..."

Sun, 26 Dec 2010 16:08:16 -0500

“Seriously, you guys, where’s my fucking unicorn? I told you, I’m totally cool to ride. You guys are some piss-poor excuses for merry fucking gentlemen.”

- Jesus after five glasses of wine at the Christmas party

The Top Five Songs I Sing That Make Me Hate Myself

Sun, 19 Dec 2010 03:52:32 -0500

And keep in mind that I sing a lot of songs. Like, a severe amount. If the number of songs I sing a day was the number of fingers you had, you’d be like some incredible mutant who was really popular with the ladies (RE: fingerbanging). While some of these songs are original and potentially groundbreaking and some are well-loved classics, some are worthless and make me want to hit myself, which would be pointless (RE: I’m a pussy). These are the latter.

5. ”Baby” by Justin Bieber (actual lyrics sung: “I was like baby, baby, baby, ohhh” times a trillion)
4. ”You’re the Inspiration” by Chicago (actual lyrics sung: ”When you love somebody, no one needs you more than I need yooooou. Inspiration! And I know!”)
3. ”Mandy” by Barry Manilow (actual lyrics sung: whatever the fuck I want. Barry can’t dictate who came and gave without taking.)
2. ”I Want to Know What Love Is” by Foreigner (actual lyrics sung: again, the chorus times a trillion. However long it takes until I force myself to shut up or whoever I’m with gives in and shows me what love is [this has never happened].)
1. ”I Don’t Want to Wait” by Paula Cole* (actual lyrics sung: all of them. Every last one. I start with the “du du de du”s and follow through till the fadeout. This might not make me want to harm myself if I actually knew the words instead of just the melody and also if the song didn’t conjure up tough memories of my stepdad mumbling at me about his Dawson’s Creek obsession.)

*Fun fact: the first time, I put Paula Abdul instead of Paula Cole. How crazy would that song be, Paula Abdul’s “I Don’t Want to Wait?” So crazy.

Dear Super Hot Homeless Guy I Saw On The Street This One Time

Sat, 18 Dec 2010 03:12:43 -0500

I miss you so, so much. My soul aches when I think of what could have been. Had I taken the time to speak to you instead of staring at you in awe, mesmerized by your incomparable beauty, I could have offered you a bath. Perhaps we could have gone into the magic shop and asked the super hot guy who works there if we could use his bathroom for a moment with pure altruistic intentions, and while I ran the flaky toilet paper over your dirty face, I’d have seen that not only was I uncovering the extent of your physical beauty, but your inner beauty as well.

We could have walked down to the coffee shop and shared a cup of hot chocolate while you regaled me with your homeless adventures, and as you were telling me of your tragic past, my nose would dip into a bit of whipped cream that I wouldn’t notice because of my enraptured state. And with a sweet smirk, you would pause your tale to wipe it away. I would grab your hand quickly, an instinctive response I have when things come at my face (this is thanks to my borderline autism, which you would surely understand), we would both feel lightening bolts, hear bells, and see stars. I would look down at your hands, your beautiful hands that I had made clean, and I would know without a doubt that I had found my little slice of forever.

I’m so sorry that I cut our destiny short because me and my girl were on our way to the mall and you looked kind of shady.

With my eternal love and sincerest regret,

Emily

Hey, I drew a picture of myself. Well, it’s me if I made...

Mon, 29 Nov 2010 03:35:40 -0500

Hey, I drew a picture of myself. Well, it’s me if I made my clothes and drew on my eyebrows in between hits off my meth pipe and if I were in possession of one clown shoe and one classic clog. And if my eyes were actually just peas. And if my arms were made of semi-coagulated tapioca pudding. Other than that, the likeness is astounding.

I Have a New Five Year Plan

Sat, 06 Nov 2010 19:40:25 -0400

I graduated college back in May, and I have a job and everything, but I’ve sort of been floundering. To get my life in check and to provide a direction for myself, I’ve developed a five year plan.

Step One: Get another job. Save as much money as possible.
Step Two: Find some sort of organization to join (Peace Corps?) so that the government will cancel your student loans. This way you’ll have less financial obligations and can save even more money.
Step Three: Move to Los Angeles.
Step Four: Go to tons of auditions (movies and television - no theatre).
Step Five: Become incredibly famous.
Step Six: After becoming incredibly famous, start drinking a lot and maybe try cocaine.
Step Seven: Convince a drug buddy to alert paparazzi to your favorite clubs, where you will be waiting with a bottle of Grey Goose and a bag of coke that I’ll be “holding for a friend.”
Step Eight: Refuse any sort of treatment until I get approached by producers from Celebrity Rehab.
Step Nine: Appear on Celebrity Rehab.

And that’s it. I know it’s sort of ambitious, but I have a lot of faith in myself.

I totally should have majored in art. That, or genealogy.

Wed, 20 Oct 2010 16:46:00 -0400

I totally should have majored in art. That, or genealogy.