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Eat Me.

Goddamn I love Thanksgiving. Happy turkey day, everyone.

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A SAD Story

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Related video: Denis Leary, he’s an asshole. Probably not a SAD one, though.

It is November, and the days have

shifted solidly into the favor of Our Watery Overlords, who will reign for the next six to seven months. There’s been a lot of forlorn sighs here in the land that is Port, a lot of dreary gazing out of windows and amazed observations of the ever-earlier sunset. Myself, I welcome the invasion of gray. All the more excuse to hole up on my couch with five cups of coffee and Netflixed cop shows.

But Emmy, you say! What about that fierce plague of the Pacific Northwest, Seasonal Affective Disorder? Yes, it’s true, at least DOZENS of Portlanders every year are reduced to sleepy, carb-stuffing lumps as a result of our rainy climate. It’s one of the MAJOR RISKS of living in Oregon.*

Now, I am not one to call bull pucky on mental health issues, but this girl grew up in a town notorious for its fog and she’s never attributed her sleepiness and love of starchy foods to anything other than being a bit of a flake. Though I do often wish I could hibernate like a bear (“It’s like, you eat a bunch of food, hunker down for a long-ass nap, and when you wake up the sun is shining and you’re thin again!”) I’ve come to accept the fact that the earth is still spinning during winter, even if my little section of it is more often tilted away from its glorious sun. As Mr. Leary says, “Sweetheart, that’s just Winter.” (WARNING: Taking life advice from Denis Leary may lead to assholishness and advanced Catholicism, and is generally not recommended)

SO REJOICE! I am here to offer you my tried and true solutions to the SAD monkey that may or may not be on your back. Because even though the sky is dreary and the wind is sharp, your ass has got to get to your goddamn job or you gonna get fired.

Solution #1: Denial

Man up. Don’t even think about it. Just get out of bed and put your damn pants on. Don’t think about the fact that it was dark when you got up, it’s dark all day at work, and it’ll be dark when you leave to go home. Don’t think about the wet piles of arboreal detritus lining the streets and slicking the sidewalks every time you step outside. And ESPECIALLY don’t think about your mounting utility bills and the precious minutes of your life wasted in waiting for your car to warm up.

Solution #2: Give in to commercialism

You guys, how can you not get excited over SWEATER WEATHER?! And fuzzy slippers, and flannel PJ pants, and even, lord help me, Ugg boots. Now’s the time to kick up your shearling-lined heels and give in to all the cheesy, Old Navy Commercial-like cliches of fall and winter. Drink spiced apple cider. Buy reindeer-printed sleep sets for your loved ones. Wear one of the 5,274 scarves you knitted but keep in the back corner of your closet because you actually suck at knitting. And always, always have a bottle of red wine handy. Which leads us to…

Solution #3: Pencil in your vices

Fuck the gym. I say start your day with coffee, end it with a drink, and fill in the hours between with delicious food. November may be the month of rain, but it is also the month of Thanksgiving, an ENTIRE HOLIDAY dedicated to eating (and also the mass fucking over of native people, to be fair). Give in to tryptophan, people! It’s awesome!

What I’m saying is, approach these things not with the sucking dread of a life ruled by weather patterns, but with seasonal joy and merriment. This morning, for example, I decided to sleep as long as humanly possible. That was on my mental to-do list for the day. When I go into work tomorrow and my coworkers ask what I did on my weekend, I will tell them “absolutely nothing,” and you bet your sweet bippy they’ll all be jealous. The point is to choose to do the things that you want to do, whatever they may be. If you want to go hang out with friends, fine. If you want to lie in bed reading romance novels, that’s fine too. We all have our obligations, the things we have to do to keep our life running. But in my free time I’m not gonna angst over the fact that it’s so coooold and saaaaad to go outside and do the things I don’t actually want to do because it’s so cold and fucking sad. Which, by the way, is not a bad philosophy to adhere to at any time of year. So there.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with a butternut squash and a glass of chardonnay.

*The other one being death by sparkly vampires. Also known as twoooo wuvvvv.

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Big Pimpin’ in Seaside

It is my belief that Lewis and Clark,

Soggy and suffering from a recurring strain of malaria, were looking for one thing and one thing only when they stumbled into Seaside, Oregon. It wasn’t money or fame, or even a decent bed or the company of a good (hopefully syphilis-free) woman. It was the thing we all seek at one point in our lives. The thing that brings us together, binds man to sea and potato to shellfish.

That’s right. Clam Chowder.

“WELL WHERE THE FUCK IS IT???”

-M. Lewis, January 8, 1806

It wasn’t the chowder specifically that brought Yean and I to Seaside a couple weeks ago, but I will say that our journey did involve a lot of food hunting. Portland’s turned a bit chilly by now, but Seaside was still a comfortable mix of sunny and breezy. I always feel bad when we head to other places on the coast like Astoria, because we end up passing through Seaside without a second glance. We scoff at the Pig n’ Pancake and outlet shops and go on our merry way. But there’s more to seaside than whet you see along the highway! This is alarming to me, as someone from a beach town that’s pretty much exactly what you can see from highway 1.

Seaside is kind of like if Monterey and Santa Cruz had a baby. And then that baby started banging Pier 39. It was October, so it was a little on the dead side, but there’s a long touristy street with bright ice cream and fudge shops and semi-shady nautically themed restaurants/bars. At the end of that is a little turnaround with the statue from the top of the post, and a looooong hotel-lined boardwalk extending in either direction. We walked up and down it exactly 5,000 times.

I’m not ashamed to say our first stop was The Buzz On Broadway, an enormous candy shop boasting fudge, gummies, and A LOT of bacon-related goodies. Now, I am not one to be swayed by candy shop selections. I work with sugar all day. I’ve seen it all. And there’s no nostalgia factor for me because my parents did not let me eat that shit. But I am strangely taken with these gummi cola bottles, which smell like ass but taste delicious. Also there is a massive fudge selection. You can get a “6-pack” of fudge, ensuring you’ll never have a real six pack but oh who cares it’s buy four, get two free, or B4G2F. Faced with the undeniable bargain of B4G2F, Yean and I bought six initially impressive pieces of fudge which we of course had no desire to finish after day three. We liked pumpkin the best, creamsicle the least. Peanut butter swirl was good but needed more peanut butter. Chocolate-walnut and milk/dark layered were good but nothing to write home about, and maple pecan was…sweet. Very sweet. And the nuts could have been fresher. I gained five pounds regardless.

Then we went to the Aquarium! To see seals! The Seaside Aquarium is one of those old-timey boardwalk attractions that has somehow survived despite the fact that it looks like a place where fish go to die. But hey! The aquarium has octopus and a giant lobster exoskeleton and a thriving Harbor Seal breeding program. These are no loose seals.

Is it wrong to say that I found this really enjoyable? The dorky laugh at the end of the video is me being alarmed at the splashing of some frustrated seals who had HAD IT UP TO HERE with the tourists next to us, who were being indecisive with handing out the little fish you can buy at the ticket booth. Sadly, it had the opposite effect the seal intended and we all ran away giggling instead of giving up the tasty snacks. Later they had a “real feeding” with bigger fish, and the noise was fucking ridiculous. I found myself jealous of these seals. “Those fat bastards.” I thought. “I’d like to swim around all day while people give me treats. I guess it would get boring, but then you could just go hump something.”

We really needed a vacation, is what I’m saying.

Then we went for a nice little walk on the beach, which was surprisingly clean and condom-free. There wasn’t even a Taco Bell to interrupt the view. SERIOUSLY, THIS BEACH TOWN GIRL IS CONFUSED. You actually use your beaches for recreation? And people are okay with that?

We rounded out the day with linner at Norma’s Ocean Diner, which had sub-par chowder but DE-FUCKING-LICIOUS fried oysters. Even the tartar sauce was amazing, and I am not necessarily a big tartar sauce person. Yean had a salmon BLT, which she claims was exactly as wonderfully decadent as it sounds. I didn’t try it because I didn’t want to share my oysters. Sometimes it’s like that when we eat.

I can’t even feel bad about the chowder, which was a tidge skimpy on the clams and very, very potatoey. But I knew from the start it wouldn’t be my One And Only Chowder. It says right on the menu that it’s pork-free, and me, I’m a pork girl. The search continues! Side note: why do saltines taste so good in soup? They’re so bland otherwise. But put a soup cup in front of me and I go all Napoleon Dynamite.

“You gonna eat your ‘tines?”

Yean gave me hers. She didn’t even make me bark for it. I did slap my belly, though.

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Because It’s Monday, and I’m Surprised Jimmy Fallon was Actually Funny

Though technically Monday is my Sunday? Regardless, I think we could all use a little T-Pain.

Side note: Were the Emmys actually good last night? I can’t even tell. I just get excited when my name trends on twitter for 24 hours. But I think NPH is the delicious snack cake of the entertainment world: Nobody doesn’t like Doogie.

That’s not how it went down, but it’s how I saw it.

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Oh no, don’t go: Or, I did not mean this blog title literally.

So, the socially acceptable part of me says

“Emmy, why would you make the third ever post on your blog about peeing in the shower? Why would you do that?” And probably, I’m just that sort of person. So here! Here is a Brazilian ad urging citizens to conserve water and “Xixi no banho.” Or “Pee in the bath,” as I’m given to understand.

Hey now! That last one is just King Kong peeing off the side of the Empire State Building! In a rainstorm! God help the New Yorker that forgot their umbrella on that day. Also, a giant monkey might destroy their city.

You know what? I’m a pretty gross person. I’ll wear the same jeans four days in a row. My work shoes recently had to be thrown out because they attracted ants. And I only really shower every other day, tops. So when I get around to the chore that is showering, I’m not gonna ruin it by peeing all over myself.

Fun Fact: At my old apartment in Oakland, CA, the only thing my roommate and I could do to contribute to the county’s imposed 10% water reduction goal was to religiously follow the “If it’s yellow, leave it mellow” directive that California residents will remember from the 90’s. Single baker girls that we were, we barely showered, only ran the dishwasher once a week, and took our laundry home every weekend because we never had quarters. It worked great except that we quickly realized there was an upper limit to how many pees you could get per flush, especially with our already clog-prone toilet. I’m sure the neighbors were appalled at the daily plunging sounds coming from such polite young ladies.

Probably that’s why we didn’t get invited back to the labor day dinner party. Or because the previous year my roommate, who’d been up since 4:30, poured diet coke into her champagne glass for the toast. But that’s another story.

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