Another All Natural Deodorant Adventure

by Emma


There is perhaps no greater example of the dichotomy of The Person(s) I Want to Be than my relationship with deodorant. I suspect it stems back to my days at Wheaton where I was bookended on one side by beautiful women who rejected deodorant and on the other by beautiful women who dabbed on this clinical-strength, prescription-only ointment that effectively halted any naturally occurring moisture under one's arms. 

I was, and still am, friends with both of these types of women, and I admire them both to no end. Which is probably why I vacillate so regularly between my love and hate of typical deodorants. Embracing them allows me to become this posh, tailored version of myself: smooth legs, lipstick, wearing a hat for fashion as opposed to function, and without a hint of pit stains clinically guaranteed for up to 12 hours. Reject them and I become damp, joyful and slightly aromatic, but that's okay, baby, 'cause you know that's the way everybody naturally is, and what could be so wrong with that?

A woman I used to dance with told me that my armpits smell bad because I don't eat a raw diet and body odor is the only way I can release my buildup of putrid toxins. And I said, "Can you seriously smell my armpits from where you are?" and she said, "Only when you put your arms up." That was pretty embarrassing, because of all the places you can smell bad, I kind of hoped dance class was one of them, and it's hard to dance without putting your arms up. And I didn't want to start eating only raw things, so I started wearing deodorant. But then I went to Maine and no one in Maine wears deodorant, so I stopped, and I wore Tom's of Maine for awhile, and then nothing for awhile, and it was like a faucet under there and my coworkers joked that they'd get me these for Secret Santa:

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and so I started wearing it again.

And now it's a new year and I've swung the other way again. I got this for Christmas and I am in day three now. My scent in Bergamot Lime and it is delicious smelling and so far I haven't noticed any faucet effect. So maybe this is it! But probably not. Because it will only be a little while before I want to be something else again, so rather than throw my deodorant away, I've just tucked it into the medicine cabinet so it can hibernate for awhile.


And It Makes Julienne Fries!

by Emma


Had pre-Christmas with my brother and his fiance last Friday and gifted them with this custom print Matt and I made. I think it is possibly the funniest thing I've come up with to date. Turns out, few agree (both that it is the funniest thing I've come up with to date or that it is funny at all).

Good thing we made it GIANT too!

Maybe you agree that it is the most fun. Maybe you want one of your own? Custom sizes/colors available. Give me a ring-a-ling (phone) or a clickety-clack (text/email/comment).

Merry Christmas (Eve!) one and all! 


Portland Cello Project

by Emma


Lucky me, lucky me. Just got home from the Portland Cello Project performing in Kirkland. Not so lucky for them. Because a Sunday night in Kirkland is basically just old people who have no clue why 12 musicians playing Fleet Foxes and Kanye West is hysterical and families with kids who hate Vivaldi.

How you doing tonight Kirkland?!

[a few claps and my mom saying "yeah!"]

Okay!

Anyway, listen to them, especially this song, and love them.

ALSO!

Laura Gibson came out and sang a few songs. Tra la la la la!

Oregon-based folksinger Laura Gibson was a good sport when we invited her to play a mini-concert for us at the desk of All Songs Considered host Bob Boilen. She drew a small crowd of curious office workers while playing a handful of delicately crafted songs.


In response to Beary-Babe

by Emma


My version of this woman's song to her pet is as follows:

"Fa fa fa fa fa fa fa fa far Frida"

Obviously to the tune of Psycho Killer. Obviously just that one line of it. Obviously over and over again.

Other less sing-song terms of endearment include:

Frida Frida Pumpkin Eat-a

Kitten Little

Farta (only when she's farting)

Fri-ta-ta

Paul Walker (only when she's walking around a lot)

Mushroom

Monkey


Am I An Adult?: Owning More than One Set of Sheets

by Emma


I was at least 22 the first time I heard about people owning more than one set of sheets. She was the fiancee of my coworker/carpool buddy and she mentioned, totally in passing, like it was a universal truth, changing her sheets every Sunday. I was floored.

"You do laundry every week?" 

She was confused. "No? I just put on different sheets."

I should clarify that I did not spend my youth in squalor and I am positive my parents' closets are overflowing with thread count. In fact, I may have had weekly (or maybe bi-weekly) fresh sheets myself. But it was such a periphery to my growing-up years, something that came along with Family Laundry Day, I didn't even notice. 

Fast forward to post-college life. What I did notice was how many quarters it takes to do one load of laundry and what a time suck it is to wait for a spin cycle because god forbid you leave your laundry in the dyer for three minutes past the buzzer else risk them being tossed onto the floor (or in the case of my favorite, very special 500+ thread count sheets, being stolen because damn if those puppies aren't soft). 

The obvious solution, the one that apparently comes with age and wisdom and disposable income and reading Jolie Kerr, is to buy more than one set of sheets you enjoy sleeping in.

It's that easy! Plus, sheets are pretty. They nicely fill that hole on your Christmas list. If you have flannel ones, they keep you warm in the winter!

I now own a total of three sets of sheets: flannel ones, my favorite ones, and other ones that I don't love but will do in a pinch if I don't feel like laundry. Just like a real adult!

One day I will live in a place big enough to have a linen closet and that linen closet will be bursting.

One day I will live in a place big enough to have a linen closet and that linen closet will be bursting.


All The Times I Have Thrown Up In Public

by Emma


On every airplane I was on between the ages of 9 and 19.

In 45% of the airports I passed through between the ages of 9 and 19.

In 27% of the vehicles taking me to an airport between the ages of 9 and 19.

On the school bus on the way to the ferry to take me to Tilikum Village.

On the ferry taking me to Tilikum Village.

On the charter bus on the way to play the bass clarinet in the Regional Band Showcase.

On the side of the road by a Jack in the Box in Paulsbo while my dad waited in the car.

On the side of a road by a wheat field while my whole family waited in the car.

In a potted palm beneath the pyramid in the lobby of the Louvre.

In a different potted palm near the first potted palm beneath the pyramid in the lobby of the Louvre.

On a tourist catamaran off the coast of Nuevo Vallarta.

In the ocean next to a tourist catamaran off the coast of Nuevo Vallarta.

By the pool of the Four Seasons Las Vegas.

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