I was reading a blog today...

that a friend wanted me to read and one of the posts was titled "no one wants to be e".

One can't help but think, "Fabulous. And what does that mean about me?"

I can't drink.

That's all.

I think that at least once a day for something like the last two weeks, I just spill all over myself. And, there's really no excuse. I mean, I haven't even been to the dentist since August -- no numb mouth.

Maybe it's good. Maybe it's an Ela Woman moment, and my water would be poisonous if I actually figured out how to ingest it, and... um... maybe the dust on my skirts is trying to kill me, so it drowns. Ok. I'm stopping now. Before I hurt myself.

I am woman; hear me roar!

Yesterday, I overheard this conversation about "Wicked:"

Kate: You know that song "Defying Gravity," when she's up in the air? How do they get her in the air?
Emily: On a string.
K: But, what if she breaks the string?
E: She won't break it! She's a woman!

On holiday

Sometimes, it amazes me how beautiful some places can be.

Ode to Strawberry Water

So deliciously
Refreshing and brisk, your stream
Of flavor delights.

Sorry, OJ; I still love you, -- greatly -- but I think my favorite drink has changed.

Backpack with legs

I was thinking recently about me. Maybe I do that too much, but I was thinking about me in jr. high; if you're doing that, you're probably not going to get conceited. Anyway, when I started jr. high, I took my brother Jon with me to pick out my backpack. (More accurately, he took me. And Jon's always perfect for that kind of thing.)

I ended up getting a big ol' camping backpack, which doesn't make a lot of sense for school necessarily, but I knew no one else would have my backpack. And, at the time, I thought it was pretty cool.

I could fit basically my whole locker in there, which I did. And it was really big. One day, near the end of my jr. high career, when I was walking down the hall to meet my ride with a very full homework load, my French teacher came up behind me. When he passed me, he looked over to see the poor bloke that had such a large load. When he realized it was me, he exclaimed, "Vincent! I didn't realize that was you. From behind, you just look like a backpack with legs."

That's when I realized I wasn't ever going to be cool.

4%. That's a pretty low rate.

A representation of all the places I've been. I've got to improve that. 4% is just not going to cut it for me. Places high on my list:

• Australia
• Argentina
• The Caribbean
• India
• Israel
• Netherlands

Of course, there are a million more, including Germany, Switzerland, Egypt, Kenya, Japan, Russia, Mexico. Pretty much anywhere. I heard a rumor that with 150,000 SkyMiles, you can fly around the world, as many flights as you want, as long as they all go the same direction each time. Always east or always west. Here's to gaining 150,000 miles. :)

When I was in Africa last year, I met all sorts of interesting people who were just travelling the world, for months on end. Quit their jobs, packed up their life, and went on the road. In some ways, I was a little envious. I loved talking to them about their lives and imagining doing something like that. I wonder when time runs out to do something like that? Can you still do that when you're 30? 40? For now, I'll just have to settle for a trip to St. George, for work, at the end of the month.

Conflict Management

This clip resonates well with me right now. Well, not really, but I do need some serious conflict management at work.

E-mo

It seems that people can never be content with just "E." There have been many iterations of my nickname, including Elizzy, E-ster, and Ebert. The latest? E-mo. It is gradually taking over my office. My friend Craig thinks its "cute" and "endearing" and has started to promulgate it to everyone.

It actually started as "Mo" -- short for "Moses" because of my ability to part the elevator doors. It was my fault that stuck, because I said it wouldn't. As soon as I said that, "Mo" became commonplace. Then, one day, Craig said, "See you later, E. Mo! Hey! E-mo!" And a new nickname was born. I guess the origination could be MUCH worse. And I like that people give me nicknames.

So, if you've been looking for one, here you have it. But, don't think that I'm going to start cutting my wrists, wearing tight jeans, listening to miserable punk music, or covering my face with dark hair; I'm not that kind of emo.

A new do for the new you, I mean, me

So, I went to get my hair "trimmed" today. But, after talking with Shawn about the things going on in my life (including my quarter-life crisis), he decided that I needed a new hair cut. He didn't tell me quite how new until the end -- when I saw this:

I think I like it. It's different, but he says I "wear it well." And "thank you so much for letting me do that." The best thing about going to Shawn is that I've gone to him for years and he knows what I like, don't like and the ins-and-outs of my hair. We have similar styles. So, although I'm kind of freaking out, I know I'll be happy. And, of course, I love the color. In fact, someone in Disneyland told me I had the "prettiest color of hair [she'd] ever seen."

In other semi-related news, it was a good thing that I was able to get my hair done, because Shawn left right after my cut to be with his wife while she delivers a baby! I swear, it's the best birth control out there to hear about those things. She's going to have it natural at a midwife clinic. Ugh. (Although I know more and more people doing the midwife thing. Interesting.)

Enough about me and frivilous things. I promise to write something more interesting soon. :)