Trick(s) and tip(s) to being a classy(ish?) fucking lady

I know about a total of (1) trick(s) to doing makeup. I will share it with you. If you put on mascara and happen to blink or a spider makes you jump or some shit and you get it (mascara) on your skin DON'T try to wipe it off. Instead, wait a minute for it to dry and take a Q-tip, and it will wipe right off. I shit you not. Seriously. Next time, do it. The only thing you have to remember about this helpful hint is to (1) LET IT DRY. And (2) HAVE Q-TIPS. Boom. You're a real woman now.

And on the subject of being a "woman" (which for the record, I don't identify with at all [but that's a different subject for another blog post]), I have found an awesome way to trick people into thinking that you sort of care about your appearance...So, let's just say that you are lazy and didn't wash your hair and your front hair OR bangs (call it what you will), are greasy. Well just take a simple bobby pin and twist it up a little and pin it. Use a bobby pin that is special in some way if you can, like colored or some shit, it will add interest and detract from your greasy-ass hair. THEN put on some earrings. (This only works if you have your ears pierced or own clip-on's [ARE YOU 102 YEARS OLD?]). Anyway, put some fucking big-ass/flashy earrings on and everyone will be all like, 'Oh, you look so nice today!'.

I'm not kidding. Try it if you don't believe me.

It sounds too good to be true, but it's not. I'm giving you the fucking key here.

This is almost everything I know about being female.

I don't have a mullet and a shitty face

AHA HA HA HA HA! It's that rare time of never when I actually feel good about myself. Sometimes just seeing a picture of someone is enough to do the job. Right now it's really good to be me. SERIOUSLY. Oh Google, how I love you sometimes.

The biggest little lip-rip

The last two movies I've gotten from Netflix have been really good. I watched Black Swan, finally, and though I thought I would hate it and find it gratuitous, I actually found it to be really intense and fascinating. I was leaning in toward the screen for the last twenty minutes of that movie. And tonight I watched 127 Hours, which I was afraid I would find boring, but decided to go with it because I have been in love with Desario for about 11 years...Yeah, it was a really anxiety ridden movie, but just seeing him smile...ahhhh. I really urge you to check it out.

Then I was outside smoking after I watched 127 Hours, and I pulled a drag off my smoke...and that thing happened where if your lip is wet and the cigarette is dry, you can accidentally rip the skin off your lip? Do you know what I'm talking about? Well, that happened to me and it was the biggest little lip-rip that's ever occurred. And I really felt, through all that pain, like I could relate to James Franco's character. Almost exactly the same.

Happy Birthday America!

I find it ironic that on today, of all days, INDEPENDENCE DAY, I was smoking PARLIAMENT lights. I never smoke those, technically, I shouldn't even be smoking because it turns me into a terrible person, and a terribly sick person, but I do anyway. My point, is that I'm a good god-damned American who smokes patriotic AMERICAN SPIRIT cigarettes. American Spirits make me cough less, I know it makes me sound insane, but it's true, and now I'm hacking up a lung because someone had to go buy some Parliaments on the Fourth of God-Damned July.

Next year I plan on not smoking at all and planting like a hundred apple trees in honor of our first pilgrim, Johnny Appleseed. You're welcome future Fourth of July!

This one's for EVERYONE!!!

This one's for the ladies

A moment for you:

My boyfriend bought us a huge pack of toilet paper. He then leads me into the bathroom, points to it and says, "Look at all that toilet paper Emily! I want you to feel like we're rich."

(O_o)

I was saying 'Boo-urns'

Oh yes, I am sick once again. After two days of self imposed quarantine in my apartment, I decided that it was time to venture over to the doctor for proper medication; codeine and antibiotics...

And god-damn, it was sunny this morning. As soon as I stepped outside, my arms went up to shield my face and I started hissing like a vampire thrown into a sunbeam. I am in no way proud of how I dressed to go to the doctor. I had my rats nest of a hairdo in a shitty ponytail, or as you would probably call it: a mange-tail. No socks, which proved to be a HORRIBLE idea because my stupid new shoes tore the shit out of my stupid ankle. The crowning glory of my look, besides no makeup, was the dirty, dog-hair riddled tank-top I found on my floor.

Yeah, it's about 85 degrees in Chicago today, but I'm walking around with a kleenex and making bug-eyes on the bus because I can't stop hacking. I'm what you might call 'ladylike'. Ugh.

So, after I infected everyone on the bus with my various diseases, I finally arrived at the doctor's office. They have these masks there for people like me to wear so I don't get everyone else sick, but if I wore one then I would feel like a fucking insane freak, so I always get this moral dilemma, which ends with me sitting as far away from everyone as possible and pretending like I didn't see those masks. Whatever.

And I SWEAR TO GOD that the doctor kept looking at my upper breastel region in AN UNDOCTORLY WAY! I caught him glancing like at least 3 times. And since I'm never paying attention to dudes doing that shit, if I catch someone I must assume that they are (1) really bad at looking and (2) that I didn't catch them the 10 other times they were staring at my chest.

I just really don't have it in me for that kind of shit today. AND I forgot to buy kleenex at the pharmacy. So, you know, sometimes you lose. Then you lose again.

R.I.P. My Bike

http://chicago.craigslist.org/chc/bik/2355968073.html

To Donald Trump, BOOM!

A timeline of unfortunate events

2.40am- My boyfriend and I go to bed.

2.43am- My boyfriend falls asleep. I am still awake.

2.44am- My boyfriend starts snoring.

Me: *whispering* "Hey, roll over..."

2.46am- My boyfriend starts snoring again.

Me: *still whispering* "Hey, you're still snoring. Roll over..."

3.30am- More snoring wakes me up.

Me: "Lay on your side. You're snoring. Lay on your side."

4.00am- Seriously?!

Me: "You need to lay flat on your stomach. IT'S BECAUSE YOU'RE SNORING.

Lay on your stomach."

4.30am- I wake myself up coughing. Did I mention that I'm sick? Oh, yeah, I'm sick. So, I go

take a cough suppressant and go back to bed...

5.00am- Guess who's snoring again. Hint: not me.

Me: "I'm going to stab you."

My boyfriend: "Wha? Stab...Wha?"

Me: "I'm GOING TO STAB YOU."

My boyfriend: "Your mom's going to stab YOU."

Me: "SLEEP ON YOUR FUCKING STOMACH."

I'm tired.

And yet...I still, somehow, love him...

I was a telemarketer for 3 weeks once

Back in my day there was this telemarketing business in my hometown. It was a total rip-off to the people we called, and to the employees that worked there. Big surprise right?

I'm not too proud to admit that I telemarketed for a few weeks of my young life once...

There was a binder of things we were allowed to say to people. They were called 'rebuttals' and they were specific and dumb.

The best one always goes through my head, even years later, because it was so humiliating for everyone involved:

Potential person getting ripped off: "This seems too good to be true! What's the catch?"

Me: "The catch is Red Snapper, and we're fresh out."

Imagine me saying it slowly and completely deadpan, no emotion in my voice what-so-ever. Yes, yes, yes. So perfect. Oh, to be 17 again...

Burlesque me no questions

If you knew me quite well, you would find it at least a little weird that I started taking burlesque classes. I know that I think it's totally fucking weird. I went into this not knowing very much about burlesque. I guess that it's basically classy stripping. But more positive, and more fun.

I don't REALLY know though, because I've never been to a burlesque show, and I kind of doubt that I ever will go to one...Who knows though, because I never, not even in a month of Sundays, ever thought that I would be taking a class like this.

AND NO, I do not get naked in this class. EW.

It's basically learning a few moves like sexy walking and 'bumping', 'grinding', and 'shimmying', all of which I can barely do (and some of which I can't do AT ALL [seriously]), in case you were curious. But being out of my element is kind of fun. And thinking about burlesque in the olden days makes me feel all black-and-white-movie about myself. So, that's pretty cool.

The only thing is that you're supposed to be all bouncy about everything that you do, and I've spent the best part of my life trying to NOT be bouncy. Eh, I just hate to jiggle, it doesn't feel awesome. I think that's normal behavior, but I'm being forced to go against the norm.

The only other real problem that I have in this class is the mirror. I know that's totally stereotypical (but also, not really), you see, every time that I'm trying to be serious about my skillz I end up glancing at my stupid face in the mirror, then turn into a ham. I can't keep a straight face to save my life.

But, sometimes you just gotta change it up bitchez.

Everyone should probably take some weird class that they wouldn't normally be interested in.

And that's my advice for the day.

Open Letter: To People With Babies

Dear People With Babies,

First off, you should know that I fucking LOVE the shit out of babies, AND children. I really, really do. I like trying to make them laugh, I like watching them interact, I like playing with them and listening to their insane stories. I even enjoy trying to figure out what the hell they're trying to say when they aren't making any god-damned sense. I truly can say that I get a real kick out of kids. I even want to have a pup or two somewhat soonish. It's a short term goal.

You need to know that I really, REALLY LOVE KIDS. Because what I am going to say next is going to make me sound like a hater.

There is no excuse for some of the things that you People With Babies put others through, specifically; me.

I do not care if your kid is running around a little. (Kids forget rules all the time, that's why we call them kids and not adults). I do not care if your kid doesn't say 'please and thank you' (kids don't understand social norms). I do not even care if your kid is having a fit (that's your problem, so you figure it out).

What I DO FUCKING CARE ABOUT is when you let your kid chew on shit in your shopping cart and then when I go to scan it, I GET FUCKING SPIT AND SLOBBER (AND ONE TIME BARF) ALL OVER MY FUCKING HANDS.

Now, you might say, "Oh, don't freak out, it's just a baby", yeah, I totally understand that, but it's not MY FREAKING BABY and NOT MY FRIEND'S BABY. It's just somebody's baby who may or may not have a contagious disease. Babies do have diseases. It's a god-damned sad fucking fact in this world.

So, when I get your kids expectoration all over my hands, I often-times am stuck on a register for an hour, sometimes longer. YOU ARE RUDE AND I CAN'T JUST GO HOP OFF AND WASH MY HANDS. That means that I have to touch the next persons stuff with spit on my hands. THIS MAKES ME AND THE CDC VERY UNHAPPY. I am working in retail, and getting paid for retail work, not working and getting paid to deal with bio-hazards THANKYOUVERYMUCH.

I am busy wondering why people are so rude. If I put spit on something and made you pick it up, you would probably either punch me or tell my boss on me. So, WTF PEOPLE? Also, and this is a fact; I know that the packages of almost everything are super dirty and have, at the very least, been on a floor. I take stuff out of boxes for a living, and my hands often get quite dirty just from opening and shelving a box or two of whatever. Think about what you're letting your kid put in it's mouth for a god-damned second. Then remember to bring a semi-clean toy for your little peanut to occupy itself with.

When your kid has a sloppy nose, I give you a kleenex. Don't hand me stuff with a bunch of spit on it. Stop being rude.

Social tips for parents from an anti-social, non-parent.

With love and rage,

emily illinois

Snarky little peanuts

I, for some reason, have been pretty sick, on and off, for basically this whole past month. (Probably most of the reason why I haven't been inspired to post lately).

AND, I've been in a bad mood for the past two hours. Partly due to Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty...Maybe...

And my boyfriend just picked one of my prescription bottles up off the counter and (referring to my middle initial which is "B"), says to me, he says, "What does the 'B' stand for?"

I instantly yell, "BITCH!!!"

It's like a smooth-rollin' comedy duo up in here.

Where was I?

So, I guess that this is what cough medicine looks like now. Hello Millennium.

Drill instructors are sexy?

Here's how I define 'sexy' today (because I'm sick); 'sexy' is someone that I would feel compelled to have sex with even when I am so sick that I can't stop coughing.

Maybe this definition doesn't work everyday, but it works for me, today.

I just went to the doctor because I can't stop coughing (I am sick), and while I was waiting forever for the bus, I saw on the bus-bench that someone had written, "Drill instructors are SEXY!!!" I totally disagree. Maybe some drill instructors are sexy, but most probably aren't. In fact, I can't think of anything less sexy right now than some dad-guy yelling at me to do push-ups and run around. Especially if he has a flat-top and a red face.

Anyway, not sexy. I am in no way compelled to have sexual relations with that stereotype...Try again bored kids at the bus stop.

It's how I think I am coping

Ten years ago I figured out that I can get really frustrated. Like really fucking frustrated. Like so frustrated with simple shit that I just want to scream--for like 5 minutes non-stop. That's humanly impossible. But I so wish that I could.

Since it's technically impossible for me to scream at the top of my lungs for for 5 minutes straight, I, at some point (probably during an acid binge in the late 90's), started visualizing Shaking The Shit Out Of Things.

It doesn't really work that well. And I've never actually got past the 'visualizing' point, but these sick days that I've been homebound with my boyfriend are bringing me dangerously close. I love the dude, but if he makes me try to explain how I don't understand how to post a link on Twitter and make it small one more time, I am probably going to have to come out of this cough-syrup induced haze and Shake The Shit Out Of Him.

Help a bacon-loving sister out!!!

One of my friends is involved in the amateur cook-off for the Chicago Baconfest! And she needs votes to stay in the top 5! Please help by voting for her! It takes 5 seconds and about 2 clicks. There is no registry or email needed.

Follow the link (and scroll to the bottom of the page) and vote for #15-- Rebekah Persaud with her delicious Toasted Bacon Ravioli!!!

Thanks!

http://baconfestchicago.com/nueskes-amateur-cookoff-contestant-roster-please-vote

xoxo!!!

Remember how awesome I was?

Yesterday at work I was kicking ass. I dominated my sections and defeated all obstacles. I helped a million people and even had time to drink half a cup of coffee. I was winning! Until my last hour. Suddenly my vision went like this:

Like there was this weird crescent taking up my field of vision in one eye. It was like I had stared into a bright light (but I hadn't). And as the minutes ticked by, it got bigger and bigger. Until I had a huge blind spot. I got distracted by what was going on in my eye. I couldn't help anyone. I couldn't work. I couldn't even explain myself to my coworkers. BUT I ONLY HAD ONE HOUR LEFT.

Anyway. I knew instantly that I was getting a migraine. And for me, when my vision goes like that, initially there is no pain. But eventually there will be. And that is a fact. So, as I'm trying to finish my last hour of work I am panicky. I am trying to tell myself that it's just because I KNOW THAT I'M GOING TO BE IN SERIOUS PAIN SHORTLY. But that isn't the case, and it's not that I was panicky. It's that I turned fucking retarded. My I.Q. dropped 50 points. I'm not kidding. I started to think that I was stroking out. For example; somebody said, "Omega 3" and I had no idea what they were talking about. I was like, "???What the hell is that? I feel like I know that word, but I'm not sure if it's made up or not? Is that a serious word? I can't spell it. ICAN'TSPELLIT!!!" (this was all going on in my head).

GOD. Last night was dumb.

To make a short story short, because I know that you don't have all day, I did make it home. Somehow. I probably looked insane on the train with a crunched up face and a wonky eye, but at least everyone left me alone. I got to my apartment, walked in my door, took two Excedrin Migranes, picked up my dog and went to bed. And that's the story of how awesome I was.