Category Archives: work

Well you can tell by the way I use my walk

Chewbacca*: big Saturday Night Fever fan?

emmanation: nope

emmanation: I seem to remember it being quite depressing

emmanation: right?

Chewbacca: oh emma

Chewbacca: there are so many life lessons in that movie….I am really starting to feel distant from you.

emmanation: I hate depressing movies

emmanation: tell me the life lessons

emmanation: without me having to watch it

emmanation: then we both win

Chewbacca: and horror movies are not depressing…….mmmmmmm you have issues

emmanation: horror movies aren’t even a little bit depressing

emmanation: you have it backwards

Chewbacca: I wholeheartedly disagree….Horror movies desensitize you to the world

Chewbacca: life lessons from Sat night fever

Chewbacca:

  1. There are two types of women….Neighborhood sluts and girls that want more out of life. You are better off with the latter.
  2. Hard work in a paint store will get you a raise.
  3. The weekend is for dancing not just drinking.
  4. A group of friends with similar interests is what life is all about until one of them gets beat up in a gang fight and then tells you on his hospital bed that it is not worth it.
  5. It is ok to have a sense of community and strut around it….and to dream of visiting other places in a bigger city.
  6. Watch out for Puerto Ricans…..They can dance better than Italians.
  7. Put a napkin over your shirt before you go out.
  8. Spending extra time on your hair will get you the girl in the end.

emmanation: LOL

emmanation: these are excellent

Chewbacca: 9) Don’t give a short whiney guy drugs…..It exaggerates depression and he may jump off a bridge

emmanation: too far

*not his real name.

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Filed under I have a pop culture problem, I make lists, other people are sometimes funny too, the people I love, work

job application

Dearest readers – are you familiar with Westword? If you don’t live in Denver, it’s a local weekly. A local weekly who just informed my culinary school that they are looking for a new restaurant reviewer/food blogger. I am completely sure that NO ONE else would possibly want that job, because doesn’t it sound just awful? Therefore, I’m going to take one for the team and apply. The worst that can happen is that I’ll be mocked on the front page. I need a sample, though, so here’s a restaurant review. I’m considering it my introductory review because obviously they’ll want to hire me and they can just publish this one, right off the bat.

Also – is this blog starting to take on an ‘Emma will try anything’ vibe? Oh well – how can you learn what you’re capable of if you don’t apply for jobs you’re not qualified for?

I’m a suburban girl right now, I freely and semi-proudly admit it. I grew up in the mountains west of Boulder, and have only lived outside Boulder county when I was forced to by my choice of college. I’m toying with the idea of moving to Denver – it would be nice to be closer to lots of food, bars, and derby practice – but right now Louisville is my home sweet home. Louisville, if you’re not familiar, is the best place to live in the whooole country, which I’m sure is only mildly related to my presence there.

If I were to move to Denver, though, there are things about Louisville I would miss. I would have a wealth of delicious options at my foottips (cause I would walk, get it?)… but I wouldn’t have The Empire.

The Empire recently celebrated it’s one year anniversary – something of a feat for restaurants on Louisville’s Main Street, where if you’re not the hour-long-wait-for-brunch Huckleberry breakfast joint or the perpetually empty Double Happy Chinese (how do they stay in business? No, really? I have theories and none of them have to do with chinese food) you’re in and out faster than the occasional nail salon that pops up. The Empire is the brainchild of Brendan McManus, who worked for the Big Red F group of restaurants and therefore is the only man the boy would ever consider leaving me for, and Jim Cohen, the man that makes food so delish even Julia Child was all “hey baby, how you doin?”. Ok, she probably didn’t say that, but she did name him one of the best chefs in the country and have him as a guest on the first episode of Dining with Julia.

Let me recount for you a few of the meals I’ve eaten there.

Date #1*: The first time I’d been. We sat in a table in the center of the front part of the long room. The restaurant is divided into four parts: the front has small tables along each wall, the middle is the bar and lounge – full of deep squishy black couches, and the rear is lined with booths and a room for parties. I was facing the always packed bar, watching Leah-the-tall-blond bartender work. The drinks are not crazy – Leah does not call herself a mixologist and the most complicated drink on the menu is the Pepino (gin, St. Germain and lemon juice). What the drink menu lacks in length, it makes up for in quality – the cherry bourbon is infused in house and the Manhattan will disappear before you realized what made it quite so delicious.

I didn’t order off the drink menu on this particular evening (I’m kind of a lightweight and tend to avoid liquor on dates (I can hear the boy laughing from four miles away)), but their list of wines by the glass is long enough that everyone except the serious oenophile will find something, and the bottles range from casual Australian whites to Silver Oak  Cab Sauv.

We started with the bacon wrapped almond stuffed dates. They’re simple food, done without a lot of embellishment, but they are as delicious as they sound. At $8 for four dates, they are not the most cost effective way to start your meal, but they are absolutely worth every penny. They can be a little sticky, but the sticks they’re served on double admirably as toothpicks.  Since we’d started the meal with bacon, we moved right into what is one of The Empire’s signature dishes – coal miner’s mac and cheese. It’s made with pancetta unless you request otherwise, and is absolutely delicious as long as you eat fast – as it cools down it gets a little heavy, because they don’t skimp on the cream and butter. For those of you who aren’t into heart attacks, no worries, the portion is small. It’s actually ideal for a kids meal as there is no kids menu available.

From there the menu can go one of many directions. You can continue to share, as I did on that first date, and go for the spicy grilled pizza. It comes in one flavor – pepperoni – and isn’t the thing to order if you were craving pizza when you came in. It’s rustic, crunchy, and not the most consistent thing on the menu, but if you’re nibbling your way through an evening it can be a strong contributor.

*The evening ended pleasantly but I liked The Empire considerably more than I liked the date. We did not go out again.

Date #2**: …

Ok, I have the date above to get through (liked the man less than the restaurant AGAIN) and my wonderfully fantastic first date with the boy, and I’m bored.  I read a review by the current reviewer and his was about 2000 words – I’m at like 900 if you count the intro. However, he probably spends more time writing them. Right? RIGHT?

I hope you weren’t bored. I may finish this later… or I may not. I’m sure I’d be more motivated if I were being paid for it.

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I would ride the darkest horse, that's the horse I'd ride

An except from the business lunch I just left.

My boss: Emma is such a geek.

My coworker: What? Emma got engaged? When??

Me:.. what?

Coworker: Boss just said you got engaged.

Me: No, he said I’m a geek. Your ears are broken. If I was engaged I certainly would have said something.

Boss: Not with that ring you wouldn’t. (looking pointedly at my empty ring finger)

Me: I don’t believe in engagement rings.

All: (Blank stares)

Coworker: Why, because of the diamonds?

Me: Well, that and the fact that when women started wearing them early last century it was because they were expected to keep their virtue until marriage, and when they got engaged it was assumed that virtue had been lost (this was me trying to avoid saying ‘virginity’ to my coworkers). The ring was so that if the guy bailed she’d have something to get her through spinsterhood. If men wore them as well it would be different.

Boss: I bought my wife’s engagement ring at Tiffanys.

Me: I’m not sure you understood the point I just made.

Boss: I told her giving it to her was like buying options in a farm.

Me: …. so, how’s your sushi?

At least I didn’t say anything about asking for fatherly permission.

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I would ride the darkest horse, that’s the horse I’d ride

An except from the business lunch I just left.

My boss: Emma is such a geek.

My coworker: What? Emma got engaged? When??

Me:.. what?

Coworker: Boss just said you got engaged.

Me: No, he said I’m a geek. Your ears are broken. If I was engaged I certainly would have said something.

Boss: Not with that ring you wouldn’t. (looking pointedly at my empty ring finger)

Me: I don’t believe in engagement rings.

All: (Blank stares)

Coworker: Why, because of the diamonds?

Me: Well, that and the fact that when women started wearing them early last century it was because they were expected to keep their virtue until marriage, and when they got engaged it was assumed that virtue had been lost (this was me trying to avoid saying ‘virginity’ to my coworkers). The ring was so that if the guy bailed she’d have something to get her through spinsterhood. If men wore them as well it would be different.

Boss: I bought my wife’s engagement ring at Tiffanys.

Me: I’m not sure you understood the point I just made.

Boss: I told her giving it to her was like buying options in a farm.

Me: …. so, how’s your sushi?

At least I didn’t say anything about asking for fatherly permission.

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bring up your seat back please, she says

Remember a little while ago I had an interview? If you recall, I didn’t end it feeling particularly upbeat. The Prospective New Boss closed with telling me I could expect to see official internal interviews pop up on my calendar any day now. For days and days, that did not happen, and I was not shocked.

Then yesterday, it did! Not just one, but TWO interviews were scheduled for this week. So either I didn’t blow that first one as badly as I thought, or no one else applied for the job and I’m getting interviews by default. I prefer to believe the prior, for obvious reasons.

My interviewer today was actually a friend of mine – lets call him Buddy On The Team. BOTT doesn’t work for PNB, but he does work with him every day and did interview the other candidates. He and I have been at several joint happy hours and he gave me the lowdown on the job prior to my applying, so I expected this to be a serious softball. As you can tell from this word for word transcript:

BOTT: Hey! How’s it going? Sorry I’m late.

Me: No worries.

BOTT peruses my resume, clearly for the first time.

BOTT: Huh. I didn’t know any of this about you, but clearly you’re a pimp.

Me: Awesome. Wanna go get a beer?

BOTT: I should probably ask you a couple of questions.

Me: Sigh.

BOTT: Ok, how about you answer this: [hardest question ever]?

Me: … seriously?

BOTT: Yeah.

Me: [Best answer ever]

BOTT using a Barney Stinson voice: NAILed it!

Me: I know, right?

End of interview.

 

It’s possible that that’s not exactly what happened – but what are the chances of that?

 

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david duchovny, why won’t you love me

 

Friday afternoon I went to a happy hour with some folks from my company. They’re not people I work with every day, but they are definitely the cool kids of the office. You know, if it was high school they’d be sitting in the back of every bus, running every pep rally, and fighting each other every crown. That’s not to say that I wasn’t in the running for a few crowns in high school – I was in fact in Homecoming Court my junior year. Of course, that’s because there were only fourteen girls in my grade and if you were nominated for Homecoming Princess you couldn’t be Prom Princess. The three  of us nominated were the three that had ditched the class meeting, since we clearly weren’t motivated enough to care about Prom Princess. I didn’t win, btw, Starla did. She was so cool…. she drove a topless Jeep and always had the best… um… stories. Yep, the best stories.

 

Off topic.

Getting invited to this happy hour was actually sort of a big deal for me – acceptance into the cool kids club bodes well for me both professionally and personally. I went, cracked the de rigueur PBR and dived into the conversation. Turns out that Matt 1 and Matt 2 both got engaged in the last couple of weeks. We loudly insist on hearing the engagement stories (sweet and not particularly original, both of them) and then it surfaces that they both asked the father of their now fiancées for permission prior to the proposal.

I oh-so-casually surveyed the other married men at the table. I wasn’t purposely excluding women, it’s just that all of us there were unmarried.

Side note: the cool kids club is all men. All the women who got a happy hour invite were unmarried. Huh.

Turns out, to a man, they asked for paternal blessings prior to popping the actual question.

I, less-casually-than-before-but-still-casually, asked if any of their wives had had an issue with that. Blank stares. Becoming slightly less casual all the time, I tried to explain that if someone were to propose to me and were to ask my father first, that would probably have an impact on my ability to answer ‘yes’ unreservedly. Blank stares.

I love my father. He’s a cool dude and when I do get married, I certainly hope that he and my husband get along. As a matter of fact, if he had some strong objection to someone I was dating, I would hear him out and weigh his contributions against my experiences.

But when do you ask for permission to do something that relates to another person? When you were little, you’d ask Timmy’s mom if he could come out and play. If you need someone in IT to drop everything and focus on a new project, you ask her manager. If someone is sick or unconscious and a decision needs to be made, you ask whoever he designated to make that decision.

In other words, you ask the person who is in charge. Do you see my problem?

My friends when pressed declared that it’s a sign of respect, and I have no doubt that they see it that way. I’m sure most fathers see it that way as well. If they’d asked both parents, I probably be objecting less strenuously – then at least they’d be quietly declaring that they didn’t see their girlfriend as someone independent, rather than that they think patriarchal approval is paramount.

These are smart, well-educated men. My industry does have an culture of ‘old boys club’ (as you can see by reading any other post categorized ‘work’), and this would probably be different if I’d asked a roomful of male teachers – if, you know, I could find one. Even in that case, though, I have no doubt that at least some men did this before they got married.

If your wife or girlfriend doesn’t mind and it makes you feel good, then by all means propose to her dad before you propose to her. Just please be aware that you’re perpetuating the idea that we as young women aren’t in charge of ourselves. You probably don’t still call Timmy’s mom when you want to head out to the bars, right?

Rant over. Needless to say, most of this went unspoken at the happy hour and has been banging around in my head all weekend. Ahhh – much better.

P.S. Dear Dad, if a boyfriend of mine ever comes to you asking for my hand in marriage, please tell him it’s my hand and he should be asking me, not you. Then smack him upside the head. Love, Emma

 

Gratuitous David Duchovny picture. 'Cause I can.

 

 

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Filed under nablopomo, the people I love, turns out I'm a feminist, work

david duchovny, why won't you love me

 

Friday afternoon I went to a happy hour with some folks from my company. They’re not people I work with every day, but they are definitely the cool kids of the office. You know, if it was high school they’d be sitting in the back of every bus, running every pep rally, and fighting each other every crown. That’s not to say that I wasn’t in the running for a few crowns in high school – I was in fact in Homecoming Court my junior year. Of course, that’s because there were only fourteen girls in my grade and if you were nominated for Homecoming Princess you couldn’t be Prom Princess. The three  of us nominated were the three that had ditched the class meeting, since we clearly weren’t motivated enough to care about Prom Princess. I didn’t win, btw, Starla did. She was so cool…. she drove a topless Jeep and always had the best… um… stories. Yep, the best stories.

 

Off topic.

Getting invited to this happy hour was actually sort of a big deal for me – acceptance into the cool kids club bodes well for me both professionally and personally. I went, cracked the de rigueur PBR and dived into the conversation. Turns out that Matt 1 and Matt 2 both got engaged in the last couple of weeks. We loudly insist on hearing the engagement stories (sweet and not particularly original, both of them) and then it surfaces that they both asked the father of their now fiancées for permission prior to the proposal.

I oh-so-casually surveyed the other married men at the table. I wasn’t purposely excluding women, it’s just that all of us there were unmarried.

Side note: the cool kids club is all men. All the women who got a happy hour invite were unmarried. Huh.

Turns out, to a man, they asked for paternal blessings prior to popping the actual question.

I, less-casually-than-before-but-still-casually, asked if any of their wives had had an issue with that. Blank stares. Becoming slightly less casual all the time, I tried to explain that if someone were to propose to me and were to ask my father first, that would probably have an impact on my ability to answer ‘yes’ unreservedly. Blank stares.

I love my father. He’s a cool dude and when I do get married, I certainly hope that he and my husband get along. As a matter of fact, if he had some strong objection to someone I was dating, I would hear him out and weigh his contributions against my experiences.

But when do you ask for permission to do something that relates to another person? When you were little, you’d ask Timmy’s mom if he could come out and play. If you need someone in IT to drop everything and focus on a new project, you ask her manager. If someone is sick or unconscious and a decision needs to be made, you ask whoever he designated to make that decision.

In other words, you ask the person who is in charge. Do you see my problem?

My friends when pressed declared that it’s a sign of respect, and I have no doubt that they see it that way. I’m sure most fathers see it that way as well. If they’d asked both parents, I probably be objecting less strenuously – then at least they’d be quietly declaring that they didn’t see their girlfriend as someone independent, rather than that they think patriarchal approval is paramount.

These are smart, well-educated men. My industry does have an culture of ‘old boys club’ (as you can see by reading any other post categorized ‘work’), and this would probably be different if I’d asked a roomful of male teachers – if, you know, I could find one. Even in that case, though, I have no doubt that at least some men did this before they got married.

If your wife or girlfriend doesn’t mind and it makes you feel good, then by all means propose to her dad before you propose to her. Just please be aware that you’re perpetuating the idea that we as young women aren’t in charge of ourselves. You probably don’t still call Timmy’s mom when you want to head out to the bars, right?

Rant over. Needless to say, most of this went unspoken at the happy hour and has been banging around in my head all weekend. Ahhh – much better.

P.S. Dear Dad, if a boyfriend of mine ever comes to you asking for my hand in marriage, please tell him it’s my hand and he should be asking me, not you. Then smack him upside the head. Love, Emma

 

Gratuitous David Duchovny picture. 'Cause I can.

 

 

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Filed under nablopomo, the people I love, turns out I'm a feminist, work