Somebody found my blog via Bing today. 


You tease.

Also, I made the perfect omlette for 9pm food. No scrambled eggs for this lady, no sir. What a day of firsts. 


MC sketch

MC sketch

Pencil and ink (black fine-tip ballpoint). Things are getting out of hand. (apologies for the awful quality, my phone camera was all I had). Michelle, I hope you don’t mind me drawing you, your face is just too sketchable to resist.

hands and hands

hands cover hands, cover skin
smooth my heartbeat
more rises and falls than each key
for each lock and piano
in every woman’s living room.

whisper innumerable words
wait for me
whistling wanting nighttime wanderlust
I am a raven black.

Cover me with hands and hands
and fingers sliding slipping sideways
down the silent curves behind my lungs
lowered lashes linger,
fingertips like feathers.

know my skin like a lover
let sleep drape each flame with shadows.

three things about michelle chamuel that i’m having difficulty processing

She speaks French. She has a band called Ella Riot (Ella Fitzgerald everybody man I’m good they’re good this is good). I have a crush the size of those really fun rainbow balloon blanket things, you know, the ones you ran under and then sat on the edge of when you were a kid so it was like a big tent? Like that.

Things are getting dangerous. I swear. It’s like going through high school crushes all over again, except with more social media (is my blog dumb? Will she see all my dumb stuff? Clean this shit up. Twitter? Too late, I was never cool on that thing anyways. MUST BE COOL. Keep cool keep cool keep cool)

Ahh, nostalgia. Someone get me on a stage again already. The best dance sequence in Broadway history, right there.



On Haircuts, Lingerie, and Michelle Chamuel

So I got a haircut. Those who know me know how unbelievably excited I get about haircuts. It’s the impermanent creative outlet that I love; tattoos are there for life, piercings leave scars, but hair? Hair grows. Also the scalp massages.

On scalp massages for a minute: there was a new girl, and lord did she know her way around a scalp massage. Starting at the edge of the hairline, working her way along the temples, towards the base of the scalp, and down the knotted-elastic-band-like neck muscles. I know massage. And this girl, she was good. It was one of those minutes where you think things like “my body is literally going to melt into puddles on the floor”. 

So the cut. I finally manned  up and got the left side (from the side part down) of my head shaved until just behind the ear. Probably a 2mm guard on the razor. Then she cut the back into a short, pixie-esque bob tumbling into raucous curls just past my chin on the right side. I love it. I had to tidy it up a bit when I got home (thank the lawd for hairskills), but the overall cut was probably worth the exorbitant amount of money that I spent on it. I haven’t tallied up the happiness vs. income points yet, but I think I’m breaking even.

You’re probably thinking something along the lines of “that’s great, Emily, I wanted so much to hear about your follicles’ escapades, but what about the lingerie? And what exactly about/who for Pete’s sake is Michelle Chamuel?


I’ll tell you.

I have three guilty pleasures in life. One is spending exorbitant amounts of money on haircuts, one is spending exorbitant amounts of money (for a student) on lingerie, and the other is eating sweetened condensed milk straight out of the can.

As for Michelle Chamuel, well, she doesn’t need context.

I saw her on the Voice last night for the first time (courtesy of my Grandma’s frustration with summer television), and while I’m not a huge fan of most of her song choices on TV (though rock them she did), there were feels.

There were many feels, mostly to do with the fact that she wasn’t the usual reality television show fodder. Skinny, sure, but short, blunt, shoulder-length dark hair and huge black glasses. Strong, captivating features, and this funny, down-to-earth way of going about things. So chill. It was like seeing someone I would want to be friends with, and actually could be, maybe one day. You know what I mean? Original. Fascinating. Also, her mom looked like the only interesting contestant parent there. Clearly, it’s genetic (that, or country stars have really boring “let’s Botox everything and then go play football” parents).

Also, yes, she was the only one with decent style. Not that I have a death wish against country music, but I do have to be in precisely the right mood for it and even then, even then I would hands-down take a voice and vocal style that Chamuel has to offer over some twangy guitar shit. I want modulation. I want me some growly. I want musicians to play the full range of what they’re given, and she does just that. While rocking out. Hardcore. Like the incredible performer she is. Even saw a some Ani Difranco in the vocal quality/style, and a smidgen of, dare I say it, Ella Fitzgerald (rest in peace, you goddess of jazz).

And my god, she’s gorgeous.


The girl has sock puppets. You need no other reason to fall head-over-heels.

As I was typing this, it occurred to me to look up the results for season 4 of the Voice. Oh, America. You do disappoint me. Michelle took second place, but most likely because there’s just too damn many vote-happy country-pop fans in the great U.S.A. that couldn’t choose a solid performing artist over a blonde blue-eyed all-American girl. That sounded bitter. Insincere apologies.

Still, second place is nothing to sneeze at. Second place deserves good beer and hugs and a dance party, because with that much original talent, awesome personality, and sweet style–what else are you possibly going to do? Keep performing. Keep singing. And for the sake of all things holy, come to Vancouver. I’ll buy you a drink.