Shaving: A Cautionary Tale 

All good cautionary tales have a strong moral, so be looking for it. 

I am one of the lucky few who’s hair cooperates approximately 84% of the time. All hair, the hair on my head channels Beyoncé’s I woke up like this and I have very fair hair on my legs and arms, so shaving is not something I deal with often. Thus this traumatic experience you’re about to hear. 

The last two times I shaved my legs, I lost so much blood I may or may not have needed a transfusion.  I didn’t, but I did leave two bloody towels in my wake. 

Murder Scene 1: Charlotte, North Carolina. I was there for a one night layover to meet my friend before we left for the Dominican Republic (great trip, everyone should go).  I figured I should probably shave my legs since I was going on a tropical vacation and it had been approximately 3 months since I pretended to care about the hair on my legs (read: chronically single) i come out of the bathroom with a towel tied around my leg because I cut my ankle shaving. Blood everywhere. I laughed it off, went to sleep with the towel around my leg and woke up. My friend laughed at me and told me I was a hazard to myself, which is fairly accurate. 

Murder Scene 2: Queens, New York. I am getting ready to go to a wedding, it’s three weeks after the first ankle murder and I DID IT AGAIN! To the OTHER ankle! This time I shaved about four inches of my leg off and I was trailing blood across my apartment! It took all my manuevoring skills not to bleed all over my ferrets! My roommate yelled at me for being an idiot, and I had to bandage up my ankle at the wedding so I also looked like an idiot.

For the record, both of these times I was using a brand new razor, so it was sharp and dangerous. I have been shaving my legs for a lot of years now, how did this happen two times in a row? My sister just broke her ankle and needdd surgery so maybe I wanted a sympathy scar? I don’t know, all I can tell you is that wearing my high top Vans really sucks, I don’t have socks high enough to protect my pathetic reminder that I might be a thirteen year old again. Cutting myself shaving – really?! 

Anyway, have you figured out the moral yet? No? Here it is: 

If you’re 28 and still can’t shave your legs without bleeding, you are exempt from this task forever. 

Also I included a picture of my bloody leg for all to enjoy. No ferrets were harmed in the taking of this picture.

Reasons I’m single

I am a fierce, strong, independent lady who don’t need no man!

But… it would be nice to have someone call besides my mother while I’m walking home from work. Not that I don’t love my mother, she’s my best friend in the whole world. But she’s a really important lady, being principal of a school and sometimes she’s like, “hey, Em, I have work to do, can I call you back?”  And then I’m left walking home talking to myself, or listening to an audiobook, or stopping to say hi to every dog that passes. See the problem?

I think I have figured out why it is that I’m single. I have too many rules. I’m going to list some for you.

  • He can’t be too short. Not because I’m shallow, but because I’m a giant at 5’8.
  • He can’t be too young, because I’m mildly immature and that would be too much.
  • He can’t be too religious, because religion is confusing for me.
  • He can’t be a vegetarian, because I’m a vegetarian and I don’t want to be part of an annoying vegetarian couple.
  • He can’t be too nice, because I’m a little mean and I need someone to verbally spar with.
  • He has to be educated, because I like to use big words.
  • He has to be creative, but not an artist, because I’m an artist and I hate competition.
  • He had to like animals, because I’m a crazy animal person who plans to overrun my home with pets. That thing about talking to dogs on my way home was not hyperbolic.
  • He should not be into winter sports, like skiing and snowboard, because snow makes me furious.
  • He might get points if he has blue eyes, because I have blue eyes and I’d like my babies to inherit that.
  • He needs to have endless patience, because I am kind of a lot to handle.

I could probably go on, but I should probably stop. Now, you would think that I am using this as a self assessment tool, but I’m not. I’m just going to finish this post and go back on Tinder where I’m going to look for boys to tell me how pretty I am.

My Great Aunt’s a Jehovah’s Witness

Yesterday was my great aunt Helen’s 90th birthday!  She’s my grandmother’s sister.  They had been living together for as long as I can remember in my grandmother’s apartment in Coney Island.  My favorite memory of my aunt was when she would be eating dinner with my grandma, my sister and I and she’d sing “I love you, a bushel and a peck” and my sister and I would smile and laugh because what on Earth is a peck?

Of the two of them, I’ve always thought of my grandmother as the eccentric one.  For example, one time she was meeting her proper, easily embarrassed, southern belle daughter-in-law in Manhattan and showed up in a leather vest and a giant leopard print pimp hat.  She also one time drowned my sister’s baby blanket in a blow up pool, that kind of crazy.

Recently, both of these awesome ladies have had some medical issues and now my aunt lives in a nursing home. Now you would think that since she was used to living with my grandmother, she would be okay sharing a room.  Wrong.  We got a call saying that she would be moving into a private room because her roommate was stealing from her.  When we talked to Aunt Helen, she told us that she was tired of her roommate talking to her so she lied to get rid of her.

She really brought on the crazy about a year later when we found out she had converted to Jehovah’s Witness.  We are a mostly non-practicing Jewish family, and she had never been particularly religious. The only time I remember her doing anything religious was attending my Bat Mitzvah and I’m pretty sure she only came for the reception part and not the temple part.  The next time we came to visit, we asked her about the conversion.  She responded with, “I’m tired of getting my blood taken everyday, so now they can’t… because it’s against my religion.”


Why are you here?

Funny you should ask, I’m here because I believe this is where the universe wanted me.  I would tell you that I read it in a fortune cookie on the same day that I finished reading a book by a blogger and then a friend texted me asking if I would read his blog while I was getting my future read by woman who saw the word blog in my palm, but only half of those things are true.  I might be a liar, but I will always tell you when I’m lying.  True story.

I believe there are really important life disclaimers you should know before getting involved with me, so here they are:

  • I am a summer specific boat captain… La Capitana if you will
  • I have two ferrets, Crash and Caesar, that bite my roommate and steal all my paper products (toilet paper, paper towels… Caesar is pulling a second roll of toilet paper up my stairs to hide in my dresser as I type this)
  • I am a teacher when I’m not a boat captain.  I teach high school English, which basically means I wrangle lunatics all day.
  • I am chronically single (this will appear in the next version of the DSM, I’m sure of it)
  • I have an anxiety disorder coupled with sporadic depression, a teeny bit of ADHD, and a mild eating disorder. I’m a little crazy, my mother had me tested.

Those are the facts that I feel are most prevalent, but since you already know that I have ADHD it’s possible that ten minutes after I publish this, I will remember something really important about myself that people should know.  Oh! How about the fact that I try not to exist without a trip planned in the near future.  I love to travel! Is that important?  Maybe not, but I would like you to expect stories of travel, past and future.

Well, good luck.  That was mostly to me, but also a little to you.