So

I think I used to have a blog here, but I might have given up on it at one point in time. So I think I'll introduce myself to myself. I'm Emma. Some people call me Emme, but very few are allowed. Mainly because my father started that particular nickname and I loathe him beyond measure. I have an older brother. He is an asshole and is currently refusing to talk to me simply because I told him to stop being obdurate and stupid. I have a younger sister who, in my opinion, needs a healthy dose of the real world. She currently lives in a land of fairy tales and happy endings. She is fifteen and a half. My mother just plain bothers me. We manage to get along most of the time, but living in an apartment that houses three females, a cat, and no males whatsoever, who are constantly in attendance is a bit stressful. My father lives in a small house intended only for vacationing that is about three minutes drive away from our apartment, in which I lived for roughly 10 years. For the first three and a half years of my life, we lived in an old, dying Victorian style house. Not a mansion by any means, but it held it's own beauty. It was a hideous yellow with white trim, and the paint was peeling all over the place. The most beautiful part was the attic. I only ever went up there twice; once was a brief look because my parents were absorbed in filling the moving truck (it took us about five or six years to finish moving out and get the house sold) and the second was about two days later to try and sketch the attic window. It was a beautiful piece of worked glass; not stained glass, but cut in patterns much like colored glass would be. Most of the plumbing was out of commission. It was a beautiful place, though. I miss it. I had three cats, which happened to all be males and from the same litter. They were entirely black except for a few whiskers. Trevor was the best behaved. He died when I was really little, though. Bear was next best behaved, but he was afraid of everything. Especially energetic children. He died when I was about 8. Nappy (Napoleon) lived longest and had the worst behavior. He could be quite amiable, but usually only after you'd given him most of your dinner. He was a huge cat, and he died on a sunny afternoon when I was fourteen. My dog, a beagle named Dusty, died the following morning. About four months after their deaths, we took in a cat who had originally belonged to the people living in the apartment downstairs and across the hall from us. They put her outside and she then began to follow us home routinely. We had to keep her. She is still here, and will probably live for a very long time.

My mother is big on the cycling scene. Her name is Heidi Mingesz, and she has been involved with Superweek (International Cycling Classic) since she was about 13. Otto Wenz is like a funny old grandpa to me and my sister. I've been going to Superweek since before I was born. Now I work at Superweek as a paid official. At our local races, almost all part of the WCA Cup series, I usually work. If I'm not working as a paid official I volunteer my services as a little results secretary. My father offers a photofinish service that is supplied to each of the local races by the WCA. I work every week at each of the local velodromes (Washington Park in Kenosha, WI, and the Ed Rudolph Meadowhill Velodrome in Northbrook, IL). Racing is every Tuesday night in Kenosha and every Thursday in Northbrook. I am one of the youngest officials in the country, thanks to the revocation of a USAC/USCF rule requiring us to be over the age of 18. Two and a half weeks from now, I will be working at the "Second Annual Elk Grove Village" race that has one of the biggest (and most top-heavy) paylists in the midwest. Maybe even in the country; I don't know. The week after that will be the Downer's Grove National Criterium Championships. I'll be walking around with a large bag carrying a camera and everything else I could possibly need should the world come to an abrupt end. Inside joke. I like taking pictures, but I rarely take them to be developed, so I really don't know if they're any good at all.

I think I've typed enough. I'm feeling sleepy, and I'm still recovering from seventeen days of sleep deprivation, so it's time to quit.