Category Archives: Random Thoughts/Happenings

My 21-Year-Old Self Was an Idiot. Here’s Proof.

We are moving apartments tomorrow, so the past week has been a lot of packing and cleaning out old crap. All of which has been done by a constantly sweating yet not ONCE complaining Eric, while I sit on the couch rubbing my belly, drinking ice water, and grumbling that I’m overwhelmed.

Yesterday Eric pulled this huge dusty box out of the depths of the closet and said “Hey, Emily from 1990, here are your files. Maybe go through them and see if this is something we can throw in the garbage, since we now live in the computer age, and have for 20 plus years?”

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So I just went through the box and he was right– I do not, in fact, need a paper copy of the 1-year-warranty for the Sony Vaio laptop I bought in college, nor a receipt for a Gap cardigan purchased in January. Of 2004.

It took me over an hour to go through, rip up, and discard all the blatantly irrelevant crap this box possessed, but my hard labor was rewarded when I reached the end of the files and came across THIS little gem, posted below (in the form of a PDF link. Sorry, after a whole 2 seconds of trying, I couldn’t figure out how else to post it).

It is a paper I wrote during my senior year of college, entitled “The (abridged) Autobiography of Emily Lerman,” and it is ABSURD. Absurd because it is exactly the kind of sarcastic, self-deprecating shit I would post on this blog, except I HANDED IT IN TO A PROFESSOR. AT AN IVY LEAGUE SCHOOL. FOR A GRADE. 

Now, granted, I got an A. So my professor was either awesome (don’t remember that being the case) or EXTREMELY bored (more likely). Or maybe she appreciated seeing something “different” come across her desk? Most likely she was just drunk. I don’t know, but there’s no doubt something was amiss, because this shit is less a paper for a college course and more a bad audition for Last Comic Standing that ends with the comic sweat-stuttering offstage to a chorus of “You suck!”

So naturally, I need to share it.

A few parts are redacted to protect the innocent, but otherwise I left it in its purest, this-was-definitely-written-by-a-21-year-old-moron form. It’s not even that the writing is that bad (save for a few blatant grammatical errors), it’s just VERY dramatic. Not sure if that was for comedic effect (important in a paper for HISTORY CLASS) or because I was a CHILD when I wrote it, but I do feel the need to clarify that I probably wasn’t THAT miserable as a kid, and Potomac was not THAT absurd a place to grow up (furthermore, the random unneccesary dig I took at my mom, saying she was a real estate agent “when she felt like working” was completely unfair. I can make that joke NOW, but back then, the woman hustled).

Or maybe I was that miserable and growing up in Potomac was that absurd but I’ve now had 15 more years of distance from the “trauma” (img_7593) and kind of just want to smack my young self across the head and be like, “Lighten up, Sassypants. Your life wasn’t hard. You drove a 4Runner.”

Anyway here it is. Enjoy. ( shrug_1f937)

Yes I wrote this for an academic college course

P.S. Future daughter– if I send you to college and this is the kind of shit you produce on my dime, you’re paying your own way.

 

Completely Unfair

When I was in high school, I drove a Toyota 4-Runner. It was fucking enormous, and I was very bad at controlling it. My parents bought it for me with the mentality “Better she hit things than things hit her,” a sentiment I took far too literally and thus proceeded to hit all the things.

The parking situation at my high school was a certifiable shitshow. If you couldn’t wake up in time (so for me– every day, my whole life, always) to get one of the ten parking spots alloted to students, you had to parallel park on the street. You could only do so if you had a street permit claiming you lived in that neighborhood, which I obviously did not. Luckily, my oddly resourceful boyfriend (the kind of guy you could be like “I need a talking komodo dragon that knows karate and is wearing a tutu, stat,” and he’d be like “I know a guy”) was able to procure a fake permit for me, so I was one of the 1500 lucky students who got to illegally vie for a parallel parking spot within a .5 mile radius of the school every morning. It was a battleground.

One day after school I walked up to my car and found a note stuck to my windshield.

“Learn how to park, you fucking bitch. Your car is taking up three spots.” Then, scribbled in pencil at the bottom someone chimed in, “She has a $35,000 car and she doesn’t even think that’s expensive. She’s a spoiled cunt.”

Which is just completely unfair.

I had no idea how much that car cost.

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I’m Not Delusional

Ok, for all you overly critical people who think I’m an ignorant dreamer for believing Oprah could really be the next president, and that it’s kind of simple-minded to think that yet ANOTHER tv personality is the solution to our current disaster, well just RELAX. Oprah isn’t my #1 anyway, it’s just a silly delusion.

My real first choice is Randall Pearson.  flag-for-united-states_1f1fa-1f1f8.png

 

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This Mom Nailed It

Me: “So today we are going to read this biography about Barack Obama.”

Kid: “Oh! That’s my Dad’s Christmas dinner guest!”

Me: “Um…explain.”

Kid: “So every year everyone in my family decides who we would invite to our Christmas dinner that year, if we could invite anyone in the world. My dad chose Barack Obama.”

Me: “Oh, I love that! And who did YOU choose?”

Kid: “Taylor Swift.”

Me: “Also a good one. And your Mom?”

Kid: “She chose ‘any black female voter from Alabama.'”

Me: smilelaugh.jpg

Kid: “Yeah I didn’t really get it.”

Here’s How to Take a Great Idea and Ruin It

I thought cutting off all my own hair, alone and by myself, while listening to Kesha’s “Praying” would be super therapeutic (and it was! For exactly 5 seconds), since the only other time I cut my own hair was in the middle of the night when I was 6, after which I promptly blamed my brother, so I never got to really bask in the glory of my work.

Newsflash: There is no glory. I look very very bad.

Turns out there is a reason hair dressers do this for you. One reason is that THEY KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THEY’RE DOING. Another reason is that they have a straight angle, and can therefore cut the hair evenly. As you can see in the haphazard-looking nubs above the hair bands, I did not accomplish this. It looks like someone cut my hair with a samurai sword.

The good news is that some child, through the nonprofit Children With Hair Loss, will receive a lovely 11-inch wig, which is a small price to pay for me looking like a gnome.

Now, Jose at Aveda Salon, you better hold on to your hat. Our appointment today will be more therapy than haircut.

#iwasonlysupposedtocut8inches #oops #shorthairdontcarefreakingthefuckout #shorthairDONTDOTHISATHOME (oh, you would never do this at home, because you’re smart and rational? HOW NICE FOR YOU.)

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What I Am

Our building busybody (the same lady who commented inappropriately on my ring, and assumed that because I am a tutor, I am a dog walker) is at it again.

Busybody: “So, how’s married life? Have you changed your last name yet?”

Me: “It’s great! No, I haven’t. I’m not sure it’s necessary to legally change it.”

Busybody: “Oh my god really? I couldn’t WAIT to change my name.”

Me: “Ok. Well, to each her own! I mean I’ll informally use Eric’s last name, I’m happy for people to call me Emily Taylor, and to introduce myself that way. Just don’t see the need to go through a legal process. But we’ll see, maybe one day.”

Busybody: “His last name is Taylor? What’s yours?”

Me: “Lerman.”

Busybody: “Oh, honey. You should change it. Taylor is a great last name– then people won’t know what you are.”

Me (silent, confused pause): “You mean…a Jew?”

Busybody: “Yeah.”

Me: (blank stare)

Busybody: “Sometimes it’s just better, in certain circumstances, that people don’t know, you know?”

Me: “No.”

So now I’m keeping Lerman just to spite you.

Bitch.

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