This Is Why I Can't Have Nice Things

Hi, my name is Emily and I am a klutz.

I drop things, I fall down, I walk into walls, and my appendages usually have at least one or two mysterious bruises. Granted, I seem to be at my klutzy-est between Thursday and Saturday, but that's really beside the point. I've done enough stupid things while sober.

This past Saturday I had some friends over to my place. There was food, wine, dancing, and some more wine. Later in the evening I decided to go meet some other friends in Cambridge. For reasons unknown I was standing beside a storm drain talking to someone while looking through my text messages. As I closed my flip phone, I dropped it. I do this a lot in part of said klutzy-ness and because my phone is an ancient, unwieldy beast. However, I watched in horror as my phone actually FELL THROUGH THE GRATES. There were several moments of silence as my companion and I both looked at the sewer grate and each other in disbelief.

"I can't believe that actually just happened," he finally said.

I got on my hands and knees and tried to lift the sewer grate, which of course didn't work. Then I yelled for a while. Then I tried to lift the sewer grate again, this time with some assistance. Still didn't work.

Funnily enough I had just been having a discussion with my father about whether or not I should get an iPhone. My argument against such a purpose was my propensity for dropping my phone.

"Yes, but if you had an iPhone, you'd be more careful," Dad reasoned.

Yeah, that's doubtful.

As annoying as it is to drop your phone into a sewer, it's mostly just inconvenient. If I dropped an iPhone into the sewer, I would be apoplectic right now.

The next morning, this story was related to a friend of mine. His response?

"Oh man. I'm not surprised."

Quite frankly, neither am I. But, what can I do about it? Well, not buy an iPhone for starters. I can only hope that my old, cumbersome cell phone is on a magical journey through Boston's sewer system--kind of like Finding Nemo, but with outdated technology.

In Which I Unknowingly Give Men The Worst Pick-Up Line Ever

I have a tattoo. It is on the inside of my upper arm and says "Thinking of You" in lovely, scrolling script. I got it as a memorial to a dear friend that passed away in January. It's not in a terribly visible place, and even when I wear something short-sleeved, people don't usually notice it--at least not right away. However, it's getting warm out. I'm going to bars. I'm wearing dresses--and dudes are seeing it. The standard exchange goes like this:

Dude: (Notices tattoo) Hey, you thinking of me? *wink*

Me: Uh. No.

Dude: (awkward laugh) I'm just kidding. Who you thinking of then?

Me: My dead friend.

~End Scene~

I get that it's hard to make conversation in a bar, but seriously? That's the best you can do? Who do you think I'm thinking of? Elmo? Tom Cruise? No, douchebag! Use your meat brain for 5 seconds. It should go like this:

"Hmm. It must be for someone special. Someone who probably isn't alive any more. Why would you need that for someone who was still around? I'll be polite."

I mentioned this to my aunt, who actually had a great response for me to give next time: "Not now, or ever." Ahmen.

When Life Gives You Liz Lemons...

So, yesterday I'm walking down the street on my way to school and some dudes in a car sprayed me with a water gun! In the face! Luckily, I was wearing a jacket and big sunglasses so the damage was minor. They drove off while I stood there yelling and shaking my fist. Then, I continued on my way. When I related this story to my friend Eliza her reaction was "Oh my God. You are so Liz Lemon!" Now, this is hardly the first time someone has compared me to Liz/Tina Fey. However, it was the second time in a week when someone made such an observation. Luckily, I love me some Liz Lemon and not-so-secretly want to be her. (Come on. The TV writing gig, the NYC apartment, the proximity to Judah Friedlander?) Although sometimes I feel like the 30 Rock writers are following me around based on some of the things she says and does...Now, if I can only meet a dude that looks like Jon Hamm and smells like frosting. Oh, and I'm totally into hooks.