I Really Hate Those Family Circus Brats

This is from the Perry Bible Fellowship. Go there now!

Open Letters

Ala Letters From the End Consumer, I am writing open letters to people/things I have been thinking about lately. so enjoy, and if you make the list, kudos to you.

Dear Everyone in the Northwest and Western Suburbs of Chicago -

It was Wednesday at 6:30 p.m. Rush hour should have been over with, and yes, I-355 was packed. As was Rte 83. As was LaGrange road. WHERE ARE YOU ALL GOING TO? Was there a biological attack on the land of the ritzy white folks? Should I have brought Eric down to the South Side with me? I must know.

Dear Rhianna -

Remember that Family Guy where Chris writes on the wall, "That's enough John Mayer."



Consider this your writing on the wall - YOUR SONGS ANNOY ME. THEY LACK CONTENT. They are repetative for no reason. YOU ARE THE SOULJA BOY OF POP R&B. That's enough, Rhianna.

Dear Bee-Gee's Lady I was stuck next to in Traffic -

WHY BLAST THE BEE-GEES? SERIOUSLY? While we are stuck in traffic? DO YOU HATE EVERYONE AROUND YOU? I want you to know that because of you I felt the need to blast Swing by Savage. A SMALL WHITE GIRL IN A FOREIGN SEDAN CANNOT HANDLE THE BEEGEES FOR THAT LONG BEFORE SHE TURNS TO RAP. What is wrong with you, honestly? (For those of you wondering, it's the song from the dancing scene in Knocked Up. )

Dear Eric -

Hi honey. I need an IPhone. I know you just bought me a ring we cannot afford, but the IPhone has a Wordpress app that allows me to post directly from my phone. HOW COOL IS THAT?

Dear Readers -

Do you know the quickest way to make traffic move? Take out your Moleskin and start jotting down ideas for your blog and start writing open letters. It makes traffic magically clear up.

Dear Muti -

I do not want to go to this wake on Friday. The word wake makes me think of boating. DO NOT RUIN BOATING FOR ME.

Dear HR Guy -

I hear you found my blog, eh? Before you put on your litigation pants and your suing-suspenders, remember, I know where YOUR blog is too. And no, I am not threatening you, I find your blog charming, even though you do not update ever. But you can obviously tell I change enough dates/names/places/facts that it would be hard to trace. So rest easy, I will not get either of us fired.

Dear Everyone in a 6 block Radius of where I live (aka almost all of Downers Grove North) -

Way to buy that '08 Range Rover JUST IN TIME. What a smart, $4-a-gallon decision you have made.

Dear Mr. Train Conductor -

Thank you for telling me that you do not punch attractive women's tickets on the train, because they should ride for free. And then not punching my ticket. YOU MADE MY DAY!

Dear Enna's Stomach -

When I stand up, you are almost flat. When I sit down, I look like I am related to Jabba the Hut, only I got the bad genes. Decide already, would you?

Dear Muti -

Your keyboard sucks. No offense. Lava you!

Dear Julie -

Will you come to Sweden with me to avoid a draft? We can vacation in Tel Aviv. Think of the falafel.

Sincerely to all -

Enna

Enough of a Review to Last a Lifetime

I was talking to one of my friends on the phone today, and we were reminiscing about our ex-boss, Sandie. Sandie was a character. Sandie was the only person I would reserve open and unashamed use of the C-Word for. Even now, when I use the C-Word, people know I mean business, because essentially I am calling someone Sandie, which is a far, far, far worse insult than the actual C-Word.

Anyway, C-Word Sandie called me in for a review once. And she started out the review with the following statement:

"Enna, I see you like flare pants. See, the problem is you have very thin legs, which makes the pants just look like bell bottoms. I do not like this look on you."

She went on from there. BUT HOW DO YOU PAY ATTENTION AFTER THAT?  The review just got worse. All I could think about was, "With a face like THAT, with that uneven poodle haircut of yours, YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO CRITICIZE ME? NAW BITCH. I AM NOT HAVING THAT."

So was a horrible boss. She used to downright ridicule me in public, criticize my outfits, call me stupid, etc. When I found out she was outsourcing my whole department and I was being laid off, I went ahead and jumped the gun and decided to quit.  (I did not know how unemployment worked back then. If I did, I would have just been laid off!)

Either way, I got out a piece of paper, wrote the word 'Cunt' on it in really large letters, folded it up, and went in to go talk to Sandie. I sat down, told her I was quitting because I know she was going to outsource my department. I then handed her the folded-up piece of paper, told her I quit, and this is my resignation. I tapped on the paper on her desk, and told her, "Oh, and I put a little something in here about you." Then I promptly got up and (very swiftly) walked out.

I never looked back.

I did Google her once, and I found her, and found out that she died in the world trade center attacks. I was...(as sick as this sounds) relieved. So relieved, in fact, that I called some of my friends who worked with her and told them.  Then I remember that I worked with her in 2002, so there was no chance that it was her who died in the attacks. It just happened that there were two Sandie's who worked for the same company.

Then I felt really really guilty. So guilty I went out and donated to the Fireman's Fund.

Fruit & Cheese Go Together Well!

Who knew!

What did you just say? The French? What?

I have been addicted to Apples and Extra sharp cheddar cheese slices.  Also, I ate a fig recently. I know, like, how does that even happen, right?  I bought it off a street vendor. I didn't want to buy anything I couldn't readily identify the full ingredients of, otherwise I was afraid to go Round 2 with BBQ Cat.

So I ate a fig instead. From a man who DID NOT BLINK. He looked like he was either really shocked to see me, or trying desperately to see my soul.  I am always hoping for the shocked to see me, mostly because I am kind of full of myself, and I assume everyone is always happy and shocked to see me.  This would allow me to keep up that allusion.

Either way, fig newtons taste NOTHING like figs. Also, figs? They taste awesome smothered in blue cheese. But really, what doesn't?

Well, I suppose Newton's wouldn't.

What is it You are Searching for, My Son?

Someone knows me, knows me very well.

Crawfish Cakes

I had crawfish cakes for the first time the other day. WHERE HAVE THEY BEEN ALL MY LIFE. No, for real.

In other news, I joined fatsecret.com. I am going to keep track of everything I eat from now on. So, you know, those days that I can't go to lunch because I do not have time and then I eat two bags of skittles and 400 certs? Yeah, that's all going to go into my little file now.  Especially come Wednesday, when I go buy myself about 4 pounds of crawfish, that needs to go in there as well.



BUT SERIOUSLY - GO EAT THESE RIGHT NOW.

Writing a Book

I had a very very vivid dream the other day, and when I woke up, it took me 2 full hours to process it. What's 'process' you ask? Usually, when I wake up, I go chronologically through the dream and think about it.

And I must say, it could be made into a movie. No for real, the feel good movie of the year and all.

The really weird part of the dream was where I would sleep in the dream, and dream OTHER dreams, and those dreams? THEY WERE WHAT HAPPEN TO ME THROUGHOUT MY LIFE. Like, riding the carousel in Disney World, eating  steak at a restaurant with Eric's family, etc. So, if nothing else, this weekend I am DEFINITELY making an outline of the dream, and trying to fill in the gray areas. This is the single best (story-wise) dream I have had in two years.

The last time I had a dream like this, I told it to Eric on the way to a wedding. We completely missed our exit and he drove down the expressway for another hour because he was so captivated. I made a vow to make SURE SURE SURE the next time I have an epic story dream to WRITE IT DOWN before my memory starts to get fuzzy.

In OTHER news, my cousin Thomas has commissioned me to paint a painting for a book cover for his poetry book. The way this works is he submits his poetry, and if it wins, his book get published. Either way, I am going ahead and painting the painting. If nothing else, he can keep it as a "sorry your book didn't get published" consolation prize.

OH WAIT, HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN MY ETSY SHOP?

There is one painting up there, mostly because I need someone to help me take photos with a non-bunk digital camera. Out of 400 pictures, those are the only ones that turned out. But what can I say, I love me some 50's Era robots.

So, everyone say your prayers that Thomas gets his book deal, and that my cover art is SPECTACULAR.

And with that, everyone have a great weekend!

Do You Want To Know What It's Like To Be Me?

Mike Birbiglia has a sleep disorder that is far, far worse than mine, but scarily similar.  But if you want to know what I will someday do in a La Quinta Inn in Walla Walla Washington, then go here: This American Life with Mike Birbiglia. The roach one that comes after it is TOTALLY gross, just a fair warning.

Buttwipe

Jason Buckaroo came into work today, and he was pretty darned sweaty. The only reason I noticed this is because he tried to wipe himself off on me.

Now, it's no secret that I take public transportation everywhere, and if I can't get there on public trans, then I walk there. So, I get pretty sweaty in the Chicago summers. Because of this, I carry around wet wipes with me every where I go. They are always in my purse.

CVS recently had a sale on wipes, and I stocked up. They were 79 cents for one of those resealable packs, and I bought 6 of them! I do not care about the brand, only that they are portable, and that they are cheap.

So, I hand Jason Buckaroo a pack of wet wipes to cool himself down, and he looks at me with a puzzled look.

"What now, princess?!" I say.

"What the heck is this?" He replies, all freaked out.

"It's a wet nap, for you to cool off with. You wipe yourself down with it." I reply, but he still looks at me like I handed him a human head.

He stares at me with further disbelief, and says "It's a feminine wash wipe. WHO HANDS THESE OUT TO PEOPLE?! It says right on the package, 'Perfect for delicate parts, such as your bottom.' YOU HANDED ME A BUTTWIPE. ARE YOU CALLING ME A BUTTWIPE?"

I am a little shocked, mostly because I hand them out on the train all the time and that certainly explains why people on the train look at me like I am a freak. But I pull myself together, manager to not pee myself, and say, "Look at it this way, your face will be so fresh...you could go horseback riding!"

He was not amused. But he was quite fresh, he smelled almost like...a summer's eve.

I Am Very Good at Sitting Still

I went to a church Meet'n'Greet over the weekend. Did you know Parsonage means Pastor's House? I DID NOT. I walked around the church and tried every door. Normal people do not notice this, I am sure of it, but CHURCHES HAVE A LOT OF DOORS.

I notice this. I always notice if there is a back door. I am EXTREMELY uncomfortable in rooms that only have one entrance and exit, and if that exit is to my back. So is Eric, which would partially explain why we are together. The other reasons revolve around him being so darned pretty. Plus he can sing every part in Jesus Christ Superstar. STOP LAUGHING, THESE THINGS ARE IMPORTANT TO ME.

Anyway, everyone is given ten minutes to talk about themselves. I can talk to a group. I can tell you about facts and figures and how you are losing/gaining money. I DESPISE talking about myself.  It wasn't like the church ladies took out a stopwatch, pointed at me, and screamed "GO!" More like everyone ELSE talked about themselves for ten minutes. So, I started on my list in my head, 'Where did you grow up? Where did you go to grammar school? High School? College? Where do you work? FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING MENTION ERIC! Otherwise they might try to set you up with one of the eligible pervert sons!' That sort of thing.

I am a socially awkward person, which makes sense, since I am a physically awkward person. Whenever I am in a social situation, especially one when I am someone's living room, and there is only one entrance and exit, and of course it is to my back - I make jokes. So, without further ado or setup, here is what I said about myself:

"Well, I grew up on the south side of Chicago, and I spent roughly 12 years in Catholic school, which means I am very good at being silent and sitting still for long periods of time. I have a Master's degree in Seen And Not Heard. I also have the first five pages of the Catechism of the Catholic Church memorized from passing notes in 6th grade. I went to Lourdes High School, which has since merged with De La Salle High School, which none of you will probably have ever heard of, seeing as it is in the ghetto, and (me being the last person to talk) all of you grew up in the Western Burbs.  I know the Hail Mary in Latin, but not English. I know more Gaelic than Latin, specifically how to call someone a Bastard Asshole (at this point, in the back of my head, somewhere there is a little Enna screaming STOP NOW YOU'VE GONE TOO FAR OH NO STOP YOU FOOL HE'S A MAN OF GOD HE'S A MAN OF GOD HE'S A MAN OF GOD! so then I skip to college, and eventually to what I do for a living.)

Oh! I have a fiance, he's very nice. He's a chemist, and Irish Catholic, so you know, I'm going to hell. He went to Saint John Fisher, which, if any of you grew up outside the burbs, in the City, that's how we identify who you hang out with and what neighborhood you come from.  I don't know what to say out here in Downers Grove.  My mother is about a semester or two away from her Bachelor's. My sister is a year away from her Bachelor's, my brother already has his, and my father is getting his Master's this fall. I am the only person I know the same age as me who I hung out with high school who doesn't have children."

So yeah, they were rolling in the aisles, so to speak. If Conan ever retires after Jay Leno, someone sign me up. I was invited to a prayer group too. ONE STEP AT A TIME PEOPLE. Well, how about this, I'll show up if you have it in a house that has a back door, that I can see, that is not to my back? Deal? DEAL!

Anger, Resentment, With a Little Theft Thrown In

*Disclaimer* I would never slip a cop LSD or ACID or ANYTHING.

Eric and I both had pretty shitty days today. I am going to start with Eric's day, mostly because his is just sad, and mine is more humorous because I clumsily discover theft.

Eric took Thursday and Friday off of work so he could have dental surgery. He was given a rush order on Monday to be shipped on Friday. So he made it Wednesday, and put it in for shipping. Thursday, there were changes to the order. No one did them. Friday, it did not ship, and no one was notified. Monday (today) Eric came into work and got written up for it not going out. I know you're thinking "huh?" right about now. So are we. He said that he refused to sign it, which was good. Then he said, "I know it's easy for people to not like me. I am an unlikeable person." Which pretty much tore my heart out. How do you make someone feel better after that? Is it even possible? Here's hoping the answer is meatloaf, because that is all I can think of right about now. Either way, plans are changing, he is leaving this company, sooner rather than later.

Now, for my day. I came into work around 5 a.m. and the phone was already ringing. I answer it, and promptly get told off by some minimum wage employee because my fax wasn't receiving. Normally when this happens I tell them they are faxing to our phone number and that the fax ends in a seven. Then I do not say goodbye, I just let them think I hung up and listen to them call me a cunt before hanging up. I guess this morning ritual would compare to other people's morning coffee.

Anyway, I happen to glance over at the fax/copier...and it's not there. I was like, "Uh, it's down, let me...bring it back up?" I even ended the sentence higher like it was a question, all Ron Burgundy style. I assume the IT guy came through and took the fax/copier in for repair, so I go into the back and grab the old, crappy fax machine that needs to be babysat for it to work because of frequent paper jams. I hook it up, and as I am sitting back down, I notice Ericka's computer is missing. And my computer isn't connecting to the server...

This is about the time I realize that we've had a break-in. I open the server room to see...NOTHING. The plus side? They didn't get out the door with the server, just a LARGE fax/copier, 5 computers, and 4 cell phones/CB Radios. I call HR Guy, who tells me to call Lumberg, so I do. And typically, he does not answer.  I often wonder what kind of sexual torture dungeon was he kept in as a six year old that made his this cold to all of us that he never answers his phone.

I digress, the police are called, the evidence tech comes and fingerprints everything, she will be coming back to fingerprint us all to eliminate us. I made the joke that when she runs my fingerprints, please remember that I no longer hang out with people who do copious amounts of acid. She did not laugh. She did not smirk. She just said "I will keep that in mind." To which Jason Buckaroo turns and mouths the words "THE LADY COP THINKS YOU'RE A DOUCHE!"

Then, seeing as I work in a donut factory, I say the following:

Me: "Ma'am?"

Lady Cop Who Thinks I am a Douche: "Yes?"

Me: "I am not trying to be smart here, but would you all like some donuts?"

Lady Cop Who Thinks I am a Douche: "I will radio the station and ask."

I made her up a basket of donuts anyhow. Seeing as how she thinks I am a douche, I figured it could only score me some points.

After she left, Jason Buckaroo started laughing. We all look at him strange, and he says (in his infinite wisdom) "You know Lady Cop totally threw away those donuts. She probably thought the Acid Queen over here tampered with them and tried to slip them some LSD or something."

DAMMIT I AM A DOUCHE.

Conversations in Walgreen's

Eric just had some dental surgery, and because of this, he hasn't been very hungry. Today his appetite came back with a thunder, so we went to get pizza from Papa John's, as it is the mildest of all pizzas. In Chicago, choosing Papa John's pizza over all other pizza places is like going to Baskin Robins and ordering vanilla. Freezer burned vanilla.

Anyway, so while we are waiting for our pizza, we decide to take a walk to Walgreen's to get him some yogurt and ice cream and other soft stuff for him to eat. We come upon the Cookies/Chips aisle, and he gets dismayed.

Eric: "There's nothing for me to eat here. Man, I love all this stuff, but I can't eat any of it!"

Me: "You should try the Oreo Cakesters! Those are soft! Although, they're possibly the most disgusting thing I have ever put in my mouth."

Eric: "Well thanks, I am so looking forward to eating the most disgusting thing you have ever put in your mouth. Great suggestion Enna, really. Thanks so much."

This made me laugh. And when I say laugh, I mean I brayed like a donkey.

I was just talking with my mother that I am possibly the most unlucky, clumsy child ever to walk the face of the world. Eric, however, is built like a steel bullet train. He bumps into the wall, he doesn't even bruise. A small breeze blows into the window, I will somehow end up falling on my collar bone. And then stabbing myself accidentally when I get back up. Now, I have decided to never write about stupid things people have said in my friends/family unless a)I have their permission, or b)it doesn't make them look dumb, just humorous (see: assworms, lies my parents have told me as a child, etc). This doesn't exactly extend to myself, however.

For whatever reason, Eric's reply made me laugh. Really hard, if you get what I am saying. I am snorting, and peeing. All in the middle of a drugstore.

Eric can't help but laugh because I am laughing. I finally get ahold of myself, and I ask him is he can see a wet spot on my pants. He laughs harder. No, he can't see the wet spot, but I was laughing so hard, and was so out of breath, that when I asked if he could see it, I pretty much yelled it across the Walgreen's. Thus, it didn't matter if anyone could SEE the wet spot, as I had just announced to the whole store that I had pissed myself.

Sometimes I have so much class I surprise myself.

Thursday Wrap-Up

Eric went to the dentist and got a tooth pulled. This, for whatever reason, wore me out, what with all the driving and filling of prescriptions, etc etc etc. So, I am going to get something to eat, and then possibly go to bed. It's an exciting life I lead, let me tell you.

Wednesday Night Cookies Got Interrupted

Time to go make cookies...

A List of Useless Crap Courtesy of the Internet

I like to troll the internet for things I can buy for one dollar, it's a sick little fascination of mine. Now, there's a whole lot of crap you can buy for a dollar, especially if you're into downloads (itunes, amazon, etc), but occasionally I have to up the amount I am willing to spend in order to get some truly useless crap. So, without further ado, a list of useless crap:

First up is Men's Balls Stress Reliever -



I am mostly disturbed that it is recommended for ages 5+. I mean, yes, it is safe for children 5 and up, but damn, would you put this in your kids Christmas stocking?

Second is penis squirt guns -



(Elegantly displayed, no?) I like that the main complain of this product in the reviews is that the "balls" are not big enough, and you can "only get two good squirts."

Third, Poop on a Novelty Flying Disk -



Why? Just why? I mean, like your friend isn't going to notice that you switched out your Frisbee with ...this? (On second thought, every person I have ever known who used a Frisbee really liked Phish, if you get what I am saying *wink wink puff puff* so they may not notice after all.)

Fourth, is what everyone in my company is getting for Xmas from me (instead of a Fleshlight):



It's not fun unless it glows under a blacklight people.

Fifth, we have almost-lawn-dart stress relivers -



What, like a little missile tittie doesn't de-stress YOU?

Sixth, we have a more conventional stress reliever -



For those of you who don't like Lawn-Dart-Shaped-Titties, we have Round Tittie Stress Reliever.

Seventh, we have something for you health nuts -



It's a Dole Lighter! It's a reminder to drink a glass of OJ with your morning Pall Mall.

Eighth we have something that confused me for a full ten minutes -



I thought that there was water artfully arching and flowing out of this man's ass. In actuality, it's a pen holder. And HE GROANS to boot. WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE?

And finally, the shittiest of all gifts -



SEA MONKIES! (The spelling suggestion for Monkies from Wordpress is Honkies. Awesome.) And I will be honest, every time I see someone with sea monkies in a jar I have the UNSPEAKABLE urge to just run up and chug down the whole jar. No kidding.

All these FABULOUS gifts can be bought for mere dollars at DealsExtreme. And they have free shipping so you have no reason NOT to get a Lawn-Dart-Stress-Relieving-Tittie.

Prostitutes Add a Little Je Ne Sais Quoi to the Neighborhood

I work in a not-so-nice part of Chicago. There are projects all around where I work, and I no longer even answer the door if I am the only person there.

Ericka and I have noticed that there is a prostitute that works our block. We think she might actually work one block over, and just gets dropped off on our block. We have never seen her get in a car, only get out of one. And when I say one, I mean roughly 23 cars in the last 4 days.

Anyway, I am getting off track here. The other day, I have to go check the trucks for something I sent out on the truck that never made it to it's destination. I know what you're thinking - "This is the most thrilling blog post I have ever read. God I hope this goes on for 6 more pages!"

So I am walking to our secure lot (see above neighborhood description for reasons for the secure lot) and I see our friendly neighborhood prostitute. She is getting out of another anonymous rusty sedan, and I think to myself, "Oh friendly neighborhood prostitute, you add such character to this neighborhood! I'll politely pretend I didn't see you and you'll politely pretend like you didn't see me."

I go check the trucks, and it's not there, for the record. And I come back out, and Friendly Neighborhood Prostitute is gargling scope. And I think to myself, "Oh good for you! Look at you lowering your chances for AIDS! Good for you! You add such..." AND THAT IS AS FAR AS I GOT BEFORE SHE DID SOMETHING THAT IS POSSIBLE THE MOST VILE THING I HAVE EVER SEEN.

(Stop reading now if you are eating, or don't want to hear about lady-problems-related-grossness)

She reaches up her skirt, pulls out a very used tampon, and flips it over her shoulder into the street.

I. AM. SHOCKED. My mouth is open. My eyes are VERY WIDE. There is no amount of polite in me to pretend like I didn't see what I just saw. I believe I even made an "Auhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh" noise because she looked at me like "What bitch?"

And then, and I am not even ashamed to say this, I ran back to my office. RAN. I get inside, and Jason Buckaroo asked "Hey, what's wrong. Did you see a drive-by or something?"

Me: "I think I just got AIDS of the eyes. I can never unlearn what I just saw." GRASPS HEAD "My eyes sockets have been violated!"

Tiny Wonder: "I once saw that online. Man, that shit is freaky."

*SILENCE IN ENTIRE OFFICE*

Tiny Wonder: "I mean..."

Ericka (cutting off Tiny Wonder): "NO MAN. THERE IS NO COMING BACK FROM WHAT YOU JUST SAID."

I often wonder what it is like to work in a normal company...

Taking Some Time Out for Me

Normally, I refrain from writing directly about my life, save the little tidbits that are actually humorous. I usually assume that no one wants to hear about how I got the loss numbers into the system in record time. I don't even want to hear about that. But, I figured I would give you a recap of my life:

I am no longer snacking at work. That constitutes a new diet, right?

I bought some products from E.L.F. that are pretty good, especially considering it was only a dollar each, and I got free shipping. Everything is pretty good, but I would avoid their lip plumping gloss if I were you, unless you like mint flavor mixed with kids cough syrup flavor. The oil absorbing sheets are pretty sweet though, and their nail polish is awesome. I currently have black toes (in a good, hipster kind of way.)

An excerpt from a conversation at work today:

Me: Dude, I don't know why every keeps calling Cindy McCain fug.

Ericka: *blinks*

Me: I mean, she looks good for 80! I just don't get it!

Ericka: She's 54.

Me: *silent shock*

Me: On second though, it kind of looks like a veliceraptor got it on with the Crypt Keeper and she was the by-product.

Ericka: *rolls eyes*

(Side note: When I put veliceraptor into wordpress, the spelling suggestion came up with triceratops. Wordpress was like, "Hey Enna, why not try a whole different dinosaur! Mix it up a bit!" Also, this is in no way a political comment, I still like McCain. I just think his wife looks freaky.)

In other news, Anderson Cooper, aka the Silver Fox, is saying what is on everyone's minds, and is now my personal hero. He is not not apologizing afterwards either, he is sticking to his guns.

Apparently I am now a Jets fan, as Brett Farve got traded.

I figured out what I am getting everyone in my office for Christmas and/or for my last day I work there: Fleshlights! I am sure that credit card statement will give Eric a heart attack, Eric: "Enna! Why did you buy 15 fleshlights?!" Me: "...wedding shower gifts?"

But seriously, what better way to tell someone 'Merry Xmas', or alternately, 'Go fuck yourself, I quit' - than your very own fleshlight! (Special thanks to the Random Button on Wikipedia! You haven't failed me once!)

I am no longer participating in my Dirty Hippy Experiment. I washed my hair with shampoo the other day. And MERCY is it shiny. Someone, my mother is still crying tears of joy. I learned the following from my Dirty Hippy Experiment:

1. Baking Soda cleans EVERYTHING. No, really. It does.


2. If your drain gets clogged, and say, you're not spending money on anything so you refuse to go out an buy Drain-O, pour some baking soda down the drain and then pour a cup of vinegar and CAP IT UP QUICK. That stuff POWERS through your drains. Then follow it up with some hot water.


3. No one notices when I dye my hair versus when I do not. The baking soda and vinegar rinses took a lot of hair dye out of my hair, so much so that I am getting pretty "Silver Fox" myself around my temples. No one has noticed yet. I am going to keep waiting and resist the urge to dye, even though I can spend money on frivolous shit again.


4. I am now addicted to tea. Eventually, I will start to drink it warm, like it is meant to be drunk. Until then, ice for me!


5. I am now appreciating eating out more. Tomorrow, I eat out for lunch for the first time in a long time. I am going to savor that food!


6. I lack a natural smell. If I didn't wear deodorant, you could never smell a scent on me. It was odd.

Tomorrow is sandwich day. Are you all into 30 Rock as much as I am? Either way, there is a running joke in my office that I am Liz Lemon, especially when it comes to my sandwiches. In fact, you should watch that specific 30 Rock episode. (Note to my mother: You can go to Hulu and watch whatever you want, I swear it will not infect your computer. I listen to something from this site easily 4 times a day, and I have NO anti-virus on my computer at work, and never had any negative effects. To the rest of you: I have no idea why they will not spring for anti-virus software. NO IDEA.)

Anyway, I am getting off topic here. Where we get our sandwiches is a place called Bari Foods in Chicago. I get a fresh mozzarella and prosciutto sandwich with oil and spices on a foccacia bread with pickled mild jalapeños on the side. I also get three times the amount of prosciutto on it, and occasionally, when I am feeling adventurous, artichoke hearts. It's a $14 sandwich. We had sandwich day last week. I missed it, but it wasn't my fault I missed it. My boss bought everyone in my office sandwiches. Everyone but me. He never even mentioned it to me, or asked me. That hurt, but then I remembered I hate him, and that I introduced everyone to Bari Foods, and that I have two legs. And then I wasn't sad anymore. I AM MAKING FRIDAY MY SANDWICH DAY.

And, if, for some reason, the guys from Bari Foods on Grand Avenue in Chicago happen to Google their name, Hi! My name is Enna, but I place orders under the name Amy because the old bent over Italian lady at the front counter never understood what I was saying when I would call in an order when I told her my name. Once she told me she was from Naples, not Enna, which made me laugh hysterically and she called me an asshole in Italian and hung up. I usually fax in my order now, in bold, black marker. I bring you donuts occasionally. Can I have the above-mentioned sandwich free next time I come in? Pretty please? Or you could throw in a free tiramisu or cannoli from D'Amato's next door. I am not picky.

Anyone, enough about sandwiches and me being all Liz Lemony and talking about myself. I am going to go make some home made Mac'n'Cheese.

Reply All? What is this Reply All?

There is someone in my office who is not so familiar with Outlook, or any Microsoft products, really.  I am trying to slowly integrate little lessons throughout the day. Let's just call this person Tiny Wonder.

So, Tiny Wonder is on AIM with a girl, and he is flirting with her. And Tiny Wonder is not good at typing, so he is typing/flirting away, all unaware that a new email has come in, and he has an alert saying he has a new email message. He somehow enters the proper sequence of buttons and opens the message. Again, he is not looking at the screen, as he cannot type. So he opens the message.

He then somehow clicks the proper sequence of buttons, and replies to all, "baby, we should totally hook up."

To everyone in our office.

So, in the next five minutes you hear many people clicking, gasping, and then clicking again, to, of course, forward to everyone we know. His boss calls in, and tells him, "Sorry, you are just not my type." He is confused, befuddled, and completely unaware of what he has done.

So, Ericka and I take a "cigarette break" (also known as I need to get out of here before I die laughing/kill someone) and we discuss whether it is better to NOT tell him what he has done, or to tell him, in order to avoid this in the future.

In the end, we tell him. Which is how I found out HOW he did that in the first place. See, we thought he was just flirting with his (married) male boss at first. But then we found out about the AIM, and it was comic gold people. COMIC GOLD.

You're Welcome

Sorry about the lack of posts last night. Weather and all...

Why My Parents Don't Allow Me to Dye Eggs Anymore

I am highly allergic to eggs. And, quite unlike every other human being on the face of the planet, my allergy is getting worse over the years. Which, for those of you who follow my blog regularly, would explain why that sandwich knocked me down so much the other day.

Interestingly, one of my favorite things to do is dye eggs. When someone busts out some food dye and vinegar, I am like a moth to the flame.

Once, when I was 11, I figured out how to tie dye an egg. Someone got one of those fancy-pants kits, and I went nuts on some hard-boiled eggs.

So, seeing my creation, I decided to put one of the best eggs in my pocket to show my family. And promptly forgot about the egg in my pocket. For one year.

One year later, I am skipping at recess, and I run up to my friends. While we are standing around talking, I stick my hands in my pockets. Remembering my egg, I tell my friends, "Hey! I found my egg!" And promptly accidentally crack it.

Now, I can't really describe the smell unless you accidentally fell face first into a year old cadaver. If not, well, it's worse than anything you have smelled. Ever.

So, I go in from recess, cracked egg still in my pocket, and put my coat in the cloak room, to smell up the other children's belongings, because that's what Jesus would do - He would share.

After school, my friend Sam tells me that I need to get rid of the egg, because the smell is making her gag. I don't want to tell my mother, as I think she will kill me/ground me  (it's one in the same when you're twelve years old.)

So, Sam gets brave, and we sneak into my parent's house, grab my mother's medical long tweezers (they were a foot long), and pulls the egg out of my pocket.  And promptly throws up right after.

Then, after playing for the rest of the day, I go home, and throw my coat into the dirty clothes pile that is about to go into the washing machine.

My mother then goes downstairs, and starts up another load of laundry, and from upstairs we hear, "OH GOOD GOD." And then the THUMP THUMP THUMP of her running up the stairs as fast and furious as she can.

"WHAT DID YOU GET INTO ENNA?"

Me: "...eggs..."

Mom: "Where did you gets eggs?"

Me: "Grandma Diane's house."

Mom: "You haven't been there in a year!"

Me: "That's about right..."

Mom: [pause] "OH GOD THAT IS DISGUSTING."

Mom: "It was diving face first into an old woman's crotch. An old woman who doesn't wash herself! [shudders]"