Into It, Vol. 3

Hello, Internet fiends! Hey, have you ever been looking down at your phone so intensely for such an elongated period of time that you find your neck and head actually stuck in that position and immediately hate yourself so much for letting it get to this point? That happens to me at least once a day, and I wanted to lament about it to you guys to let you know we’re all fucked in this digital age. You’re not alone.

ANYWAY, I haven’t done a solid “Into It” post in a while so I wanted to share with you guys what I am currently about. I’ve been called an “influencer” a few times in my life, so I like writing these posts in an effort to capitalize on that and hopefully influence the fuck out of y’all.

INTO IT: Any burgundy or eggplant colored sweater in existence.

I’m no fashion blogger, but if I had to put money on what the hot color of fall is, I’d bank what I could (which is not much) on burgundy, eggplant, or any color within the vicinity of that family. Not only because I personally look fantastic in it (I have brown hair and darker skin, what do you want from me?), but also because it’s a gorgeous, rich, delicious color on its own. Pair it with an annoyingly perfect matching lip color, and you’ve got yourself a one-way ticket to YAS QUEEN town. Here are two recent purchases I’ve made that I love very deeply and will wear the shit out of IF IT EVER ACTUALLY GETS COLD OUTSIDE.





INTO IT: Glossier Lipstick

I’m almost never not wearing lipstick. Any time I’ve tried not to, I feel like a washed out, hideous monster unworthy of love (not really, but kinda). I can’t really remember when it became such a staple in my beauty routine, but there’s no denying it’s basically a part of me now. That said, I get boners over new lipstick lines. MAC is my ride or die with NARS following close behind it, sort of like that one friend who may not be your BEST friend but who you always have the greatest time with any time y’all hang out. My coworker came into work last week wearing a fantastic color upon her lips, which prompted me to be all “WTF is that?” and she was all “This,” handing me a skinny white tube. I guess Glossier started as a skincare line and, within the past few years, has started dipping its toe in the makeup waters (just its toe though since they don’t offer waterproof products right now). Their lipstick is a mix of ‘stick and stain and, although the tube I ordered is en route to me and I have yet to actually try it, it looked fantastic on my friend, and I just know it’s gonna be my new favorite go-to. I got “Crush,” but you can get whichever color you want. I guess.


INTO IT: Halo Top Ice Cream

If you follow me on any one of the thousands of social media platforms (P.S. icantemma on Snapchat) I litter, you would’ve had to go really out of your way yesterday to not see me post about Halo Top. This shit, y’all. THIS. SHIT. Look, as a general rule of thumb, I am not one for diet substitutes. If I’m gonna eat ice cream, I eat ice cream. If I’m have some peanut butter, I do the damn thing. But when you’re truly addicted to a certain type of food that’s not awesome for you, finding a legitimate sub that actually doesn’t taste like diet dog shit is what I imagine Leprechauns feel when they find that pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. People wonder what makes Halo Top “healthier” than regular ice cream, so I did some googling and figured it out. As found on Healthy Eater: “Halo Top uses just a little real sugar and then increases sweetness by using erythritol and stevia, which are both almost zero-calorie but natural sweeteners…(it) also enhances the nutrition of their ice cream by adding prebiotic fiber into every batch as well as boosts the protein content by adding concentrated milk protein.” And the best part? IT TASTES FUCKING AMAZING. It’s not everyone’s bag, and I get that. But it’s mine, and I’m obsessed. Just the other week, they rolled out 10 NEW FLAVORS, and you better believe I ran my ass over to the one store in town I knew to have the new flavors and LOADED THE FUCK UP. I tried Oatmeal Cookie last night and literally wept tiny tears of joy. One down, five more to go. Say a prayer for me.


INTO IT: Leaving town FOR Halloween

I hate Halloween. Yeah, you read that right. Rub your eyes and read it again if need be, but it’s real. Halloween went downhill for me the moment I experienced it in college. Once I realized the truth behind the Mean Girls quote about the holiday, I was done. “Halloween is the one night a year when girls can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.” But guess what? I’m saying stuff about it because it ruined my favorite holiday once I was old enough to experience the WHOREer. It’s weird ’cause I’m a tough cookie who cusses, gets crass, burps, farts, and can be inappropriate AF with the rest of ’em. But there is something about the blatant objectivity of girls on Halloween that murders my soul. I can’t handle it. Girls using the holiday as an excuse to wear literal lingerie and let their tits and ass hang out as they do rocks me to my core. Call it feminism, insecurity, or what have you, but it makes me irrationally upset. That’s why I am so into the fact that I am leaving town for Halloween this year. Sure, there will be still be sluts running amuck in Chicago, but they won’t be my Dallas sluts. I’ll be a few degrees removed from their boob and butt displays and surrounded by cold weather, my sister, dogs, and my costume idea I’ve been mulling over months (you’ll have to wait and see…).

INTO IT: Little sneakers

No, not like sneakers for infants or toddlers (although, admittedly, those are adorable). I’m talking about the resurgence of “throw on” sneakers. The little, casual lace-ups you throw on to run an errand or when you’re having a dress-down but still dress cute kind of day. Actual athletic shoes are always tight, but don’t exactly translate super well into the everyday. You can’t really go too wrong with casual sneaks. Adidas, Vans, and Keds all offer the most adorable of the adorable. Here are some images to marinate over (biased images since I own each of these kicks):

Stan Smith adidas originals


Old Skool Vans


Double Up Keds


INTO IT: My almost-every-morning shake

I don’t do just protein powder+water(or almond milk) shakes. Like, fok that. If I’m gonna do a shake for breakfast in the morning, that shit’s gotta be involved and tasty. Sometimes finding the perfect combo of flavors for you can be trying, so I wanted to share the shake I make post-gym-mornings because IT’S SO GOOD DOE. Here’s what it entails:

3/4 cup unsweetened almond milk

1 medium banana

1 scoop of vanilla pea protein powder (because whey is foul and tears up my stomach like I tear up dance floors)

2 TBSP of PB2 (because it’s delicious and about 1/3 the calories of regular PB)

1 TBSP ground flaxseed (because fiber AF)

I throw in about six ice cubes and blend that ish UP. If you like peanut butter and banana, you will love this. And if you don’t, that’s on you. 

So, what are you into this week? Share with the class (in the comments).



I Can’t, Vol. 46

Happy Monday (is there such a thing?)! (That’s my opening line for any email I send on Mondays. It’s so corny, and I love it). Speaking of corn…

I can’t…

with candy corn. It’s truly the devil’s candy. Don’t get me wrong; I’ll eat it. But I won’t seek it out. I’ll fucks with it for about three or four pieces, then remember how it does nothing for me and be pissed I wasted my time putting it in my mouth. This entire collection of thoughts was riddled with that’s what he/she said opportunities, but I’ll let you figure them out for yourself.

I can’t…

understand why Oreos wouldn’t package their Pumpkin Spice flavor the same as they package all their other flavors. I probably just got the one package like this, but mine has no resealing option. You just crack it open like just another bag of cookies and struggle to find a way to keep them fresh once you’re done eating your personally allotted amount. Why is this? Why. Is Oreos trying to make me eat more in fear of them all going stale? Are you all secretly laughing in your cozy corner offices as I attempt to close the package of crack with scotch tape? Was this a conscious decision they made in hopes of encouraging the consumer to eat SLEEVES at a time in order to keep them coming back for more and more packages? Because if so, it’s working.


I can’t…

figure out where the blade for my blender went, and if you follow me on Snapchat, you more than likely heard me rant about this just last night (unless you haven’t gotten around to watching it yet or did but without sound because you’re like that or you “follow” me but sometimes choose to not watch my story for the day. I get it. I do the same). Last week, I made a delicious dinner on Monday night involving pork loin, roasted sweet potatoes, and cauliflower mash. I used my trusty, amazing Ninja Master Prep to blend up the cauli, butter, garlic, and seasonings, enjoyed my dinner, and thoroughly cleaned my kitchen afterwards because my OCD tendencies don’t allow for kitchen messes to sit for more than 45 minutes to an hour. Ever since, I haven’t been able to find THE GD BLADE FOR MY NINJA. HOW? Literally HOW does one misplace a larger, sharp AF piece in one’s own home? I have searched high, low, in the dishwasher, in random cabinets, under the sink. I asked my friend who ate with me that night if she hid it to fuck with me. It’s gone. The only viable answer to this mystery is that, in my cleaning frenzy that night, I threw it away on accident. Like just did a broad sweep of my entire kitchen counter and dumped everything into the trashcan. Who knows. It was debate night and I had been drinking wine, so anything’s possible. However, this conundrum will very likely be the cause of my insomnia going forward.

I can’t…

believe how hard this video bombed on Instagram last night. Six likes in two hours? COME ON, GUYS. When that kinda shit happens, I don’t know if people truly don’t like it or are just being passive, lazy lurkers who can’t be bothered to turn the volume on to hear the hilarity. But regardless, my mom’s reaction at the very end was gold so here it is again. LISTEN:

I can’t…

with AT&T Internet. I just can’t. It’s the literal fucking worst, and the fact that they “own” the area in which I live and I have no choice but to use them for my Internet needs makes me IRATE. I feel like a GD prisoner, trapped in their shitty, rundown, smelly jail. I live in an average-size 1/1, have ONE computer, ONE TV, and ONE phone yet you get past my kitchen, and you enter the dead zone. Laying in bed and refreshing my social media feeds like an empty zombie is obsolete unless you switch to LTE. WHY THE FUCK AM I HAVING TO SWITCH OFF WIFI IN MY OWN GD MF HOUSE? Why am I forced to switch to LTE to aimlessly scroll through all the memes ever made? Why did I just have to drop $30 on an extended router to resuscitate my dead zone back to life? It’s utter bullshit. You’re the worst, AT&T and no one likes you.

I can’t…

make you understand how incredible almond milk creamer is for your coffee. You just have to trust me and buy some. I didn’t mean for this to happen, truly. It was an innocent trip to Target (no such thing) to grab a few groceries. I was looking for regular, ole almond milk when I saw it: hazelnut flavored almond milk creamer by Silk. I audibly gasped, confusing the Target employees surrounding the area. Something in my gut told me this creamer was what I’ve been looking for my entire life, so when I got home, I made a 3pm pot of coffee to test it out and BOY WAS I RIGHT. I saw God, fam. It’s like what I’ve always wanted coffee to taste like my entire life, but was settling for less because I didn’t know any better. If you like almond milk and hazelnut and coffee, please just do this. For me. 


I can’t…

imagine having a family to clean up after because it’s already so difficult with just myself, and this is how I know I may be ready to meet my person, but I’m sure as hell not ready to pop a person out of my body to take care of. No matter how much of my laundry I do, it’s never done. There’s always something in the dryer or hanging to dry or needing to be put away. There are always clothes randomly strewn about my bedroom that need placement. The kitchen stays clean for maybe half a day and even then, something is usually needing to be cleaned in the sink or just out of place in general. The trash always needs to be taken out (literally, how much shit can one girl have to throw away? Apparently enough to fill up two trash bags a week). Something always needs to vacuuming. My mail is never truly sorted. My bathroom mirror stays un-splashed for 12 hours a day, no more no less. I just. IT’S SO MUCH. HOW DO PEOPLE WITH A SIGNIFICANT OTHER AND KIDS DO IT? I CAN’T.

I can’t…

with this throwback to falls in Connecticut (we lived there until I was 10, you didn’t know?). So northeast right now.


Have a solid week. Make it count. Don’t give up. Keep your head in the game. Stay strong. Don’t be dumb. Be smart. Attempt to make solid choices. Forgive yourself if you don’t. Eat a burger. Pick your nose.



The Art Of Not Settling

I’m 29 and, in a mere 6 months, I’ll be 30. For the past (almost) six years, I’ve dated A LOT. I’ve had a few legitimate boyfriends, countless almost-boyfriends, and enough werecasualbutwhatthefuckwaitwhatarewethough situations to last me a lifetime. Seriously, if I never find myself in another one of those situations, I will know I’ve made it and am going to be okay.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been through and seen a lot. The stories I’ve accumulated over the past six years are some of my best because they create a personal archive of some of my cringe-worthy, unbelievable, WTF-inducing worst. Day after day, month after month, year after year, I’ve done what I could to keep my head up, as they say. But some days, my head is way harder to keep afloat than others. Some days, it weighs 100 pounds and all I want to do is feel pathetically sorry for myself. To curl up in my bed in a robe in the fetal position for the entire day and let the onslaught of new couple/engaged/married/pregnancy announcements fill my newsfeed and fragile, vulnerable head with depressing thoughts and weep. Not cry. Weep (weeping’s more Scarlett O’Hara). Weep about how shitty past guys were, how shitty future ones will be, how shitty present ones are, why I keep running into these situations, why I haven’t found IT yet, why everyone else seems to have what I want, why I attract all the wrong dudes, why something that feels so close to what I want turns out not to be, why why why why why WHY. Ultimately, during those really down days, I question myself and my worth as a partner until I wear myself down, close my eyes, and pass out (much like a toddler after having a tantrum). 

And all this is hard to admit because I want to uphold my label as the quirky, outspoken, funny girl who can make any nightmare of a dating story something to laugh about with a light heart. I want to be strong; an independent, I-don’t-need-no-man, “I’m amazing and perfectly content on my own” representative for all single womenkind. I don’t want to let it all get to me like it can. It makes me feel weak and vulnerable. But I’m only human — a human with a pretty big heart full of affection that wants to dump that affection into someone’s deserving lap for keeps and, when that enthusiastic affection backfires, I get sad.

This has been the pattern for the past six years — these let downs followed by short-lived pits of despair out of which I can’t find my way and, finally rising like a Phoenix from the ashes (dramatic) and doing it all over again. And you know why?

Because I refuse to settle.

That’s the thing. When I sit back and really think about all the men (more appropriate term would be boys/children) that have come and gone (pun intended?), I realize how many of them I could still be dating if I was willing to settle for less than what I know I want. I mean, it’s not always them calling things off. In fact, most of the time it’s me. Because I see something about them or about us that doesn’t sit right, and my gut sends up about 52 flares and some Russian submarine captain frantically screams “ABORT! ABORT!” in my head until I can no longer ignore him. 

The fact of the matter is that not settling is actually the harder road to travel.

I don’t want to keep calling things off. I don’t want to continue to sit back and wait for the inevitable red flags to show their faces. It’s awful. I hate it. It sucks. I want to settle — really, I do. I want to be able to say “You know what? This is good enough and he’s fine enough and we’ll have a good enough life and I love him enough and we’ve been together long enough and sex is good enough and he’s nice enough and this’ll do.” I want to just decide on someone, make the call, and be done with it. I want to look past the crimson-colored flags, sweep them aggressively under a rug, and lie to myself about them until I actually believe the lies. I want to make excuses for shitty behavior and get past it. I want to not care so much and overthink and overanalyze. I want to tell myself I can put up with something I know I can’t. 

I want to be able to say “I don’t need a guy who fully gets my humor or I his. I don’t need to be made to feel special and unique. I don’t need to be treated like a prize; I’m fine feeling like any girl to this guy. I don’t need to be made a priority; I’m fine being an option. I don’t need to be courted; “hanging out” is the new dating and I’m okay with that. I don’t need real dates that are planned at least a few days in advance; last minute requests that showcase a total disregard for my time and lack any sense of urgency are just fine. I don’t need to have an understanding between the two of us, a mutual respect. I don’t need to be fully sexually satisfied or exceptionally intimate; it’s not that important and him getting off is way more vital anyway. I don’t need to be cherished. I don’t need to be someone thoughtful. I don’t need to be in love in a way I’ve never been; that’s not even real anyway. I don’t need flowers or thoughtful cards or any of the cutesy things females pretend not to care about but live by. I don’t need doors opened for me or to be treated like a lady; I can get my own doors. I don’t need to feel a crazy connection; just liking him enough will suffice.”

But I can’t. I literally cannot bring myself to do or say any of that because, at this point, I will be damned if I settle. I haven’t gone through what I’ve gone through just to settle; I haven’t called guys on the carpet for their less-than-stellar behavior or treatment of me to ultimately roll over like a dog and say “Ya know what? Nevermind. It’s fine. I’ll shut up now and take whoever and deal with whatever.” HELL NO. But because I refuse to settle, it makes this entire process harder, longer, more strenuous, and often unbearable. Because I’m a girl with expectations and standards in a generation that has enabled ghosting, fuckboys, and the refusal to commit to anything more than a boozy Sunday brunch, I’m having a really hard time out here.

And please do not take me for a girl with unrealistic standards, because I can assure you I am very much not that. I know probably more than anyone how imperfect people are. In fact, even after all the ugly situations I’ve experienced, my natural inclination is to still give people the benefit of the doubt until proven otherwise. I am well aware that I am nowhere close to flawless (although, admittedly, Queen B can make me feel like I am most days). I am willingly willing to put up with a long list of a lot as long as the most important things (what I like to refer to as the “non-negotiables”) are undeniably met and everything feels “right.” And because it’s theoretically only supposed to be “right” with ONE person, I will not settle for wrong after wrong after wrong. 

So I’ll continue to keep a small guard up, pay attention for warning signs, question questionable behavior, and trust my gut when it’s frantically trying to tell me something. That’s the one thing the past six years has gifted me with — a credible gut and the ability to actually listen to it. Like any good young 20something, I used to be an expert in ignoring it, but the wait time has steadily decreased over the years. Slowly but surely I started to chip away at the amount of time I would consciously discount my gut — it’s gone from literal years, to several months, to only a few months, to mere weeks and I’m proud of that. The goal is to get it down to one week, then five days, then three days, then, hopefully never because, finally, all it’s telling me is, “I’m good. You good? Good.”

Here’s to holding out.



A Breakdown of Text Message Laughter

I’m not saying the following goes for everyone; I’m not that small-minded. I know that LOLs and HAHAs are a very personal, calculated, and stylized thing. No two HAHAHAs are alike. Every laugh means something different. Every “HA!” “ha” “lol” and “hahahaha” hold hours upon hours of deep analyzation. This is just my take on it all; my own, personal, text-laughing lexicon if you will. And you will. 

I’m not sure why or how I started thinking about all the different text laughs I send, but I did and felt compelled to sit down and try my damnedest to decipher what’s more than likely going on behind the scenes based on what kind of laugh I choose to send. 

Emma’s V In-Depth and Personal BREAKDOWN of Text Laughs


If you receive a single ha from me, set your phone down and walk away. I am literally in the worst mood known to mankind. Like, on God. This is completely out of character for me to send, ever. So you need to know something is terribly wrong or I hate you more than you’ll ever know and stop while you’re ahead. Seriously stop because it’s only gonna get worse.


I’m definitely not laughing at all, but whatever you just said to me and however I’m about to respond to it would be really awkward and come off as combative or bitchy or wrong if I didn’t throw a half-ass laugh in there. So that’s why I did it. But, just to be super clear, I’m not laughing.


Another circumstance in which I am definitely not laughing but felt the pressure to send a laugh. In fact, I’m probably really annoyed with you or whatever you said and don’t think it’s funny at all. That could be because of my mood at the moment or just because it’s truly not funny to me, but maybe I know I’m being difficult and it’s probably funny to the majority of people and my humor is above you so imma let you have this. 


All right, you got me. I’m laughing or at least smiling pretty big and appreciate the effort. Not the funniest thing I’ve ever read and didn’t draw attention with a loud “HA!” but funny nonetheless.

“hahahahaha” or more

Legit laughing, for real. Like, hard. Out loud even. 


This is a big, loud, abrasive laugh that sounds more like a “HA!” than anything and more than likely just got me looks in public. Stink eyes and eye rolls. But IDGAF because whatever you just said was THAT funny. 


Typically in response to a meme and legitimate laughter has occurred.


This response is the ultimate. Not only am I really laughing, but LOUDLY and obnoxiously. Starting to die a little. Maybe even silent laughing or cry-laughing. Regardless, LAUGHING OUT LOUD FOR REAL FOR REAL. Pictured below.

So how do you breakdown your lexicon of laughter?