The Return of Emmie Rolland

I'm bringing excerpts from "Emmie Rolland's Life as Told by the Nutcase Herself" back! Woohoo! Look for a new update in a couple of days.

Stringly the Long-Stringed Mitten

There once was a mitten named Stringly. He was navy blue and woolen and made with care, which is exactly everything a mitten strives to be.
However, there was something wrong with Stringly. Well, really there were two things wrong with Stringly, but the two problems were very closely related. Problem number one was that Stringly’s thumb had been made just a slight bit smaller than his match’s thumb. This led to problem number two, which was that Stringly;s creator had left a long string of wool attached to Stringly’s thumb in order to lengthen it later. However, days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months and soon over a year had passed and the long, blue, woolen string was still attached to the base of Stringly’s thumb. Everyday, Stringly prayed that his creator would come by, pick up his knitting needles, and finally lengthen Stringly’s thumb like he had promised long ago.
But that day never came. Instead, Stringly lay upon a heap of yarn in a whicker basket, catching dust while his creator made socks, took up needlepoint, and played racquetball. Stringly never lost hope, though. Even his match couldn’t take being so different from her partner and unraveled herself in a fit of stress.
One day, when Stringly had turned grey with dust, his creator came home from a game of racquetball. To cool down, he sat down in his reclining armchair and reached for his basket of knitting. When he did so, Stringly fell from his heap of yarn to the floor. His creator picked him up and brushed him off. He said,
“My, what an odd stringed mitten. I wonder where the other one’s gotten to.”
After searching for quite some time to find Stringly’s match, his creator was unable to find anything but a colony of dust bunnies living under his sofa. Eventually, the creator tied Stringly’s long string to his key chain where he kept him forever, having found himself quite attached to the little old mitten.

Hello, Good-Bye

Some of you will be sad to hear that Emma and Dean's Guide to Life is leaving The Ficus. Well, when I say some, I mean the handful of people that actually read this. But do not fear, this isn't good-bye! Emma and Dean's Guide to Life can now be read on its own blog, coincidentally titled "Emma and Dean's Guide to Life". Google it! Or you could just get the link from this post.

Emma and Dean's Guide to Life: http://deanandemma.blogspot.com/

Also, just as a side note, the e-mail address added at the end of each post is real, so e-mail it!

Emily's Horrific Geographic Experience

Emily was horrified when she found out she was going to fail her geography course. Of course, she wasn’t overly surprised as she hadn’t really put much work into the course. On the other hand, she also hadn’t submitted her assignments properly and would’ve failed even if she had done the work. In that sense, she was almost glad she hadn’t wasted her time. But on the other hand, she was going to fail now and there was no way around it. Emily was sickened with herself.
Emily had only failed two other things in her life. One was her grade eleven chemistry test and, to be frank, she hadn’t really been all that bothered by it. She had just been enraged with her teacher, who had put little sad faces all over her test. Emily had not been impressed. And the first time Emily had ever failed anything was when she was four and failed the test she got at the end of swimming lessons because she couldn’t float on her back. In her defense, she had little to no body fat and it’s nearly impossible to keep a little body full of organs, skin, and bones afloat. And in any case, neither of those instances seemed important now.
Now Emily was in her first year of university. Now it counted. Well, at least it seemed that way to her. Other people kept telling her that she was only in her first year of university and that it wouldn’t really matter in the long-run. Emily didn’t believe them. To her, this one black mark on her transcript seemed like it could end her academic career. She was ashamed, to say the least, that this had even happened to her. She felt unclean and stupid, like those people that never show up to lecture and decide to hand papers in a week late because they were too busy getting hammered. But Emily wasn’t like that. She always went to class and she always did her work. On time. She had failed to submit her assignments properly and now she was going to fail. Emily was mortified.
But there was part of her, deep on the inside, that was kind of proud that she was going to fail. She would never admit that she was somewhat pleased with herself, because it was a rather costly mistake on her part, but truthfully, she was kind of happy she could say that she had failed a university course. It didn’t seem to make sense and she didn’t feel like she should be proud of this in any way, but she was. The fact of the matter was that she never skipped class, she always handed things in on time, and she was always a relatively high achieving academic student. Now, however, she could say that she wasn’t a total prude. She could say that she had actually failed something. Something that mattered. Something that didn’t really matter, but did at the same time. Maybe it would never make sense to other people; Emily wasn’t even sure it would ever fully make sense to her. But she was kind of pleased that she’d experienced failure. Plus, her father failed more than a couple university courses in his day so it couldn’t have been all that bad.

Throwing Up on Cyclists #3

When it was time for the second round, Penelope unfortunately realized too late that the next man was the morbidly obese fellow Valentina had pointed out earlier. Surprisingly, he wasn’t that bad, especially because his job as a food critic was interesting, and he certainly wasn’t nearly as bad as the next man.
His name, first of all, was Oswald. Secondly, he was balding. Thirdly, one could clearly see that he was a shut-in as it looked as though he hadn’t seen the light of day in about twenty years. He was actually so pale he was practically transparent.
“Hi,” Penelope greeted the man, marveling at his Albino-like appearance.
“Hello,” the man replied in a slow, drawling voice and Penelope found herself so impatient that she wanted to kick him in the shin.
“I’m Penelope.”
“Oswald,” the man returned. “You look like Natalie Wood.”
Penelope, though flattered by Oswald’s comment, was so irritated by his slowness that she wanted to yell at him. She also wanted to tell him that he reminded her of Boo Radley from To Kill a Mocking Bird or a pedophile. Either way, the similarity was not nice.
“Thank you,” Penelope replied. “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I work from my home office as an accountant.”
“I’ll bet,” Penelope mumbled under her breath.
When the third date finally ended, and Penelope was able to leave Oswald behind, she moved on to the next table and was surprised by who was sitting in front of her.
“Jonathon? What are you doing here?” Penelope asked in shock. The she added, “Well, I know what you’re doing here, but why?”
“My company thought it would be nice if they sent a representative.”
“Really?”
“Well, no. Actually, they thought it would look good and I picked scissors instead of rock,” Jonathon explained. Penelope laughed.
“I see,” she said. “Isabel’s here.”
“I gathered. I doubt she’s enjoying herself, what with all the hermits and what not.”
“Yeah, she wasn’t pleased,” Penelope said. Sitting across from Jonathon, she felt like she wanted to talk about Isabel, but that she couldn’t without mentioning either Jimmy or Cole. She actually had the urge to ask who he thought was better for her, but odds were that he would’ve said himself.
“Have you met anyone interesting yet?” Jonathon inquired.
“Are you kidding?” Penelope snorted. “That last guy was so white he was barely visible.”
“Well he is a shut-in,” Jonathon pointed out drily.
“Yeah, probably because he’s Albino,” Penelope retorted. “I’ll bet he glows in the dark.”
“Perhaps,” Jonathon replied and Penelope could see why Isabel wasn’t all that into him. He was very attractive, there was no doubt about that, what with his wavy brown hair and light hazel eyes, but he was also slightly dull and rather pretentious. After spending only five or so minutes with him, she felt like she would’ve given a kidney to get away from him.
Eventually, when the bell rang, Penelope bolted from the table without really caring if she hurt his feelings. Fortunately, the next table was empty, so Penelope rushed to the refreshment table for wine or alcohol of any form.
At the same time, Valentina had just spent the worst twenty minutes of her life. The first man had turned out to be a shut-in because of him inability to control his emotions and ended up spending their entire “date” weeping. The second man ended up actually being a woman, the same woman with the mullet and the pantsuit. Needless to say, Valentina was not interested. The third was an elderly man who leered at her chest the entire time and pinched her butt as she stood up to leave at the end of the round. And the fourth was a tourist from Beijing who had gotten confused and thought he was at the bank.
After explaining to the tourist why the hall was not the bank in somewhat halted English to the best of her ability, Valentina moved to the next table with a sense of dread lurking in the back of her mind. The more time she spent in the room full of shut-ins, the less she wanted to dump Giorgio.

A New Thing

New project! Don't worry, I'll still post stuff from the other ones, but I think this one is going to be fun. Besides which, this is my blog, so I can do what I want (within reason).

Anyway, this is probably going to be a...I'm going to classify it as "short story", but it's not really. More of a guide of sorts. The two characters have a webpage in which they answer questions that people have asked them based on a specific topic. Should be interesting.

Throwing Up on Cyclists #2

The next morning, Isabel awoke with a sense of dread looming over her like a giant, all-encompassing shadow. This was because of the impending doom that was the charity event Katerina was putting on later that night. Katerina, who worked for an advertising company, had quickly made her way up the ranks and was currently the company’s main Public Relations representative. This meant that she was in charge of press conferences, making public statements for the company, and organizing events that made the ad company look good. This involved a lot of charity events, most of which Katerina’s friends had been forced to attend. This included a wide range of activities, such as “Waltz for a Cure”, a ball to raise money for cancer research, and “Rodeo Food Drive”, which involved an exceedingly large amount of horse manure, far too many fat people in chaps, and an incredibly inebriated clown who had spent the entire day hitting on Cora. Isabel, however, had a feeling that the upcoming event would be the worst by far, even more so than the “Rodeo Food Drive”.
“I don’t want to go,” Isabel told Penelope over the phone later that day. She was sitting behind her desk looking out at the late afternoon sky through her office window.
“Come on, it’s for a good cause,” Penelope replied. Like Isabel, she too was at work. She also didn’t particularly want to go to Katerina’s charity fundraiser, but one did not often say no to Katerina and survive to tell the tale.
“It’s an organized speed-dating night for shut-ins,” Isabel said in a flat voice.
“I know, but the proceeds go to ‘Habitat for Humanity’,” Penelope argued.
“Shut-ins, Penelope.”
“Yeah, but think of the good that will come from it,” Penelope pointed out, trying to sound positive, though she wasn’t thrilled with the idea of shut-ins either.
“They’re people who don’t leave their home. Why do you think they never leave? Because they’re ugly, is why. They probably have hideous deformities or mental issues,” Isabel began ranting. Penelope only laughed at her.
“Yeah, probably,” she agreed. “But think of the deformities we’ll have if we don’t go. Katerina will kill us. We already promised we’d go.”
“Yes, but that was before I knew I’d have to go speed-dating with shut-ins. Shut-ins, Penelope, they’re bloody hermits!”
“Whatever. You know you’re going to go, even if they are deformed hermits,” Penelope said, which pretty much ended the conversation because Isabel did in fact know that she’d have to go. Thus, she hung up the phone and buzzed for Margery, her secretary. She told the bitter, old, cat lady that she was leaving early and to take messages, figuring that if she was going to be forced to attend the horrid event, she might as well look good.
Isabel left her office on the top floor of the bank and took an elevator to the main floor. She walked through the lobby, black heels clacking on the waxed marble floor. Isabel saw heads turn in her direction and smiled to herself. She knew it was vain, but she didn’t care. She liked it when people told her she looked pretty or complimented her outfit. Isabel strove to make people either want her or want to be her, which is why she tried so hard to look her best at all times. And yet, she somehow managed to appear as if she barely put effort into her appearance at all. It was a skill.
“Isabel, I don’t know what to wear,” Cora told her friend over the phone later that evening. Isabel sighed.
“Cora, we’re going speed-dating with shut-ins. It doesn’t matter how good you look, they’re still going to be shut-ins,” Isabel pointed out, though she herself had spent over an hour on her hair.
“I know,” Cora replied. “But what does one usually wear to something like that? A dress? Sweats? Really dark sunglasses?”
“I don’t know,” Isabel answered. As she spoke, she was actually standing in front of her closet, half-dressed in a white tank top and a pair of tights.
“Well, what are you wearing?” Cora inquired.
“Not much at the moment,” Isabel answered.
“Then what are you going to wear?” Cora asked and Isabel groaned.
“Seriously, Cora, we have to stop this now or we’ll never get ready.”
“Okay,” Cora said. There was a short silence. “So, have you decided what to wear yet?”
They finally hung up their phones and each took a cab to the hall where the speed-dating extravaganza was taking place.
“Oh, you look nice,” Cora said to Isabel, who was waiting outside the hall. Cora had stepped from the taxi and was approaching her friend. Isabel’s long wavy brown hair was just right and her make-up had been expertly done. She was wearing a black shirt-dress, belted at the waist and worn over black patterned tights. On her feet, she was wearing turquoise pumps.
“Thank you,” Isabel said, but didn’t return the compliment, choosing not to lie. Opposite to Isabel’s advice, Cora had decided to wear skinny jeans and a billowing, low-cut cream-coloured shirt. She also had her shoulder-length blonde hair down, straightened and styled as though she was going to a night club and not speed-dating with shut-ins.
“Isabel! Get in here!” Katerina called from the doorway of the hall, either not noticing Cora or choosing to ignore her.
“Coming!” Isabel called back, hurrying to the hallway, Cora following closely behind. The other four women were already there including Naomi, who had apparently remembered to show up this time. There were also a lot of other people gathered already. Some had broken limbs, thus had trouble getting around, but most just looked odd, either physically or like they were slightly unhinged mentally. There was also an abundance of elderly people in attendance.
“I draw the line at old people,” Isabel said, looking around the room with a look of utter disdain on her face.
“I draw the line at him,” Valentina retorted, tipping her head to an astonishingly obese man, triple chins jiggling.
“Him? Take a gander at that fellow,” Penelope replied, nodding her head to a woman in a pant suit that she could’ve only bought in the eighties. In fact, the shoulder pads were so large she looked like a linebacker in the NFL. Also, the mullet didn’t help.

Throwing Up on Cyclists: A Life of Mishaps and Hilarity with the Occasional Psychotic Pet

“May I interest you ladies in some broccoli soup?”
“I don’t know. What’s in it?” Cora asked, genuinely wanting to know. All of her friends looked at her.
“You’re an idiot,” was all Katerina said in response. Cora turned to her, visibly puzzled.
“What?” She asked the four other women.
“You honestly don’t know?” Isabel asked her, laughing.
“Well, it’s a valid question,” Cora defended herself. She turned back to the waiter, looking for the rather obvious answer to her question.
“Uh, broccoli,” the waiter replied. “I’m sure there’s more…I can ask—”
“No, that’s okay,” Cora said quickly, realizing the stupidity of her inquiry, face flushing. “I’ll just have the salad, thanks.”
The waiter nodded and walked away, leaving the five women alone at their booth. As the four other women ridiculed Cora, bringing up other stupid things she’d said in the past, Cora thought about something else. This was partly because she didn’t enjoy conversations like these, for obvious reasons, but also because something much larger than idiotic remarks about broccoli soup was happening in her life. Basically, she was dating someone new which, in itself, was not overly unusual, but it was different from all the other relationships she’d had in the past, if you could call them that. Cora had a new man pretty much every week. Occasionally, if she really liked the guy, it would last about a month. Cora’s best friends had met so many men that they couldn’t remember faces or names and, more often than not, confused a blend of four or five men for another. This caused so many awkward situations in which one of the men recognized one of the women, but they didn’t recognize him, or worse yet, confused him as one of Cora’s other ex-boyfriends. Some of the men they hadn’t even met, which they suspected was because they were less than presentable. Several of the men they did meet were rather dim and often left the women wondering where Cora had found them. Katerina maintained that she must hang out on barges.
The worst by far had been Dylan, Cora’s on-again-off-again guy of two years, who was not exactly her boyfriend, but more of a reoccurring horrendous mistake. His only redeeming quality, according to Isabel, was that he was attractive. Other than that, he almost never called her, except if she was happy with another man, he was mean to her friends, and he certainly wasn’t all that bright.
However, this new guy was very different from the other men Cora dated. For one thing, he wasn’t Dylan, which is an improvement in anybody’s books. Also, the man was sophisticated, with a high-paying job and an expensive car. He was handsome and intelligent and charming. There were really only two things wrong with him. Firstly, he was older than Cora. In fact, he was much older than Cora, by almost thirty years, being fifty-six to Cora’s twenty-eight. The second problem was that he was her boss.
“So, I have to tell you about the new guy I’m seeing,” Cora said to her friends, interrupting their roast.
“Right,” Katerina said, bracing herself for a long-winded explanation from Cora on why this one was so much better than the last, though Katerina was half-expecting him to be the last one’s older brother.
“His name is Ralph,” Cora started sheepishly. No one could figure out why she looked so nervous so soon in the conversation until Isabel recalled a disastrous conversation she’d had with someone at one of Cora’s incredibly dull Christmas work parties.
“Wait, isn’t Ralph your boss’s name?” She asked slowly and suspiciously, afraid of the answer. Cora nodded in response, a guilty look on her face.
“Are you kidding me? What, did you run out of men?” Katerina demanded rather meanly. Cora ignored her and turned to her other friends, hoping their response would be better.
“You’re dating Ralph DeLauren?” Penelope said, a note of amazement in her voice. “Wow.”
“Thank you for being so supportive, Penelope,” Cora said, glaring at Katerina meaningfully.
“No, I mean he’s really old,” Penelope clarified. “Like what? Fifty-something?”
“Fifty-six,” Cora replied under her breath.
“See? That’s the problem! He’s practically a senior citizen!” Katerina protested, pressing her point. “Well, that and he’s your boss!”
The five women sat in silence for a couple of minutes as the waiter returned to give them their food. Katerina stared at Cora the entire time, trying to enforce her argument in the heavy silence, but Cora ignored her gaze, picking at her salad with a fork.
“I can’t believe you’re dating your boss,” Katerina said, picking the argument back up as soon as the waiter had left their table.
“I don’t really see the problem,” Cora replied, lying through her teeth. She did, of course, see the many complications of dating her employer, but refused to give in to Katerina.

Well, it has been a while, hasn't it?

So, maybe you've noticed (likely you haven't), but I have not updated this thing in quite some time. Yeah...knew that was going to happen. I was kind of busy with school and work and what not, and also with watching The Office. Mainly, I am just lazy. Anyway, I am starting it back up again! You may not be excited, but I sure am. I will now be posting (on a semi-regular basis) excerpts from a novel I'm writing (no big deal) titled "Throwing up on Cyclists" (you may not think that's funny, but I sure do).