I'm Blog Famous!

You can check out my blog post at Sarah's blog today, - I'm her guest blogger today!

It's the story of why I hate Detroit!

Things Normal Adults Do

I have been compiling a list, and this list is a little weird. It's a list of things that normal adults can somehow manage to do that I cannot still master. Things like the following:

-Apply Eyeliner without looking goth or emo

-Return things that people lend to me (bye bye every book on my bookshelf!)

-Actually empty the dishwasher (not just use all the clean dishes one by one until the dishwasher is empty, which is what we do now.)

-Send birthday cards to people I know

-Hold down a job (ok, technically I have done this already, but I would very much like to do this again.)

-Acquire and wear glasses (next time my birthday/Christmas rolls around, and people want to know what I want for my birthday/Christmas - I want the following - AN EYE EXAM. I cannot see anything. I do not know why the DMV did not give me an eye test, but if they did, I would have FAILED. I have contacts, but they are old and no longer that effective, plus I have no idea how to put them in myself, which means that Eric has to do it. He usually gets pretty frustrated with me because I wiggle uncontrollably and giggle.)

-Take care of my nails (they are jagged ridges of ugly right now)

-Make more than 17 dishes, most of which I know from George's mother (the woman can cook, don't get me wrong, but I am frantically looking up food blogs and borrowing recipe books from the library because seriously everything I cook is either meatloaf or has cheese in it. Plus Eric's mother and aunt have now officially gifted me with a full set of pots and pans, so I have no excuse.)

-Keep my bedroom clean (I clean it about once a month, and it stays clean for about 10 seconds, and that is because of the next point on this list)

-Keep up with my laundry (my favorite hoodie has baby spit up from a kid I held about six weeks ago, and that is just messed up. Not as messed up as the fact that I have worn it since.)

-Give blood (Every time a blood drive comes around, I think to myself "This is the time Enna, you can do it this time!" And the blood drive people are always really nice, and get all excited when they find out my blood type, but then I freak out and tell them that I had a blood transfusion in Johannesburg, South Africa in 1989 and they then recoil in horror. I need to get over the idea that my blood is not my blood, and that they will not allow me to bring the bag home when I am done. I know, it's weird.)

-Babysit an infant (this one is hard for me. The first baby I actually held-held is Logan. Possibly George's Nephew, but I held him wrong and he cried so that doesn't count. I am DEATHLY afraid of infants. I am afraid of accidentally dropping them. I need to get over this fear in the next five to seven years before Eric and I have a child.)

-Actually have money in my savings account (I need a job to achieve this one.)

-Plan my wedding (Yeah, I am working on this, I swear. But my guest list just went up again, and this is getting difficult.)

-Eat meat once a day (I am pretty much a vegetarian now, and it isn't intentional.)

-Own a fire extinguisher (I started a grease fire in my kitchen the other day, and this would have been useful.)

Does anyone else have anything to add to this list? Maybe something about knowing how many pills to take at a time or not pick up stray cats? Suggestions are always appreciated.

Don't Think Twice, It's Alright

I do not take medication for the most part. I mean, if I had an infection, I would take antibiotics for it, but I am not the type of person who runs to the doctor and demands the best pills possible when I have the sniffles. That being said, I have half a dozen benadryls in me right now.  This post might be all over the place, because allergy pills tend to have a weird acid-trip-like effect on me.

Why am I on so many pills? Well, sit back with a glass of tea, or in my case Kool-Aid, and I will tell you a tale of much stupidity.

My friend Heff lost his cat, and seeing as I had nothing better going on, I agreed to help him try and find it. I am pretty adept at helping people find things, and cats seem to gravitate towards me (I think they can sense the fact that I am highly allergic to them, and cats are full of evil and want to exploit that allergy.  I think they are somehow exacting their revenge on me. These are all just theories of my drug-addled brain. Ignore me.)

Anyway, I am waiting for the slowest train ever in my car, and it is pouring rain outside. I happen to see a cat that looks an awful lot like my friend Heff's cat walking in the road. I put the car in park, and run out in the rain and grab this soaking wet cat, thinking that this is the cat that is missing. (For the record, I had not starting taking pills yet, I have NO IDEA what I was thinking. Was I thinking? Who the heck knows.)

So I take the cat in the car, and people in the cars around me are giving me that "Awwww what a good person" look. They think I just ran out and picked up a stray out of the rain. In the car is when I realize that THIS IS NOT HEFF'S CAT. I am stuck waiting for a train with what I have instantly named DEMON CAT FROM HELL. Demon cat DID NOT want to be rescued from the rain, and demon cat did not like me. I would go so far as to say I am Demon Cat's mortal enemy. Because that, my dear readers, is how Demon Cat acted towards me. And one of my readers will be happy to know that this cat has not be declawed, which made for a rather blood-splattered ride. Not Demon Cat's blood - MY BLOOD.

The train moves, and I drive over to Heff's house, and I find HIS cat too (what can I say, I have a knack for finding things thast want to claw my eyes out.) And then I decide to drive home, and on the way, stop off at an animal shelter that does not euthanize and THROW THE CAT at them. They ask me if I want to make a donation, and it took my all not to spit at them. I then drive home, where Eric meets me at the door. "What the heck happened to you?" He asks. I respond "I got in a fight with Heff's cat, and I found a cat, and my arms and hands are swelling up and I need to take some pills because I think Demon Cat I Found managed to scratch behind my eye balls and I need pills now before they swell shut."

Eric then has to play the "bad guy" and does what he usually does when it looks like I went nine rounds with a badger - he makes me be an adult and sprays bactine on my wounds after washing them out. This is so unpleasant I literally whine and complain the whole time, right up until the time he is applying Hello Kitty bandaids to my wounds. I will not lie, I hold a doll when he is spraying bactine. YOU WOULD TOO IF YOU FOUGHT THE DEMON CAT FROM HELL.

He knew that the pills were taking effect when I started quoting song lyrics when replying to him:

Eric: "This will sting a little."

Enna: "Don't think twice babe, it's alright. Yeah, I just quoted the free-wheelin' Bob Dylan, whatcha gonna do about it?"

Eric: "Ohhhh those benadryl are taking effect, now aren't they?"

And they were. And they are. And now I am going to bed, and I will probably dream about Edie Sedgwick. Unless I happen to find her in the rain in my dream, because in that case I AM GOING TO KEEP DRIVING AND PRETEND I DO NOT SEE HER.

Parenting Tips By Blair

I need a t-shirt that says "I am totally blogging this" because of how often I have said that phrase in the past week.

This past weekend, I went to my friend George's birthday part (not the George with the car the texture of a shotgun, though he was also there. I know too many Georges.)  George's family has the best parties. They follow this simple formula: everyone gets together in their backyard and drinks (and possibly blows off fireworks), George's mom makes the best food in the world, then we all hang out in the backyard eating and drinking. Really, you cannot go wrong with that formula.

George's nephew was there, and Blair and I were playing with him. Without further Ado, here's some tips or advice Blair gave to George's nephew, which I am sure George's sister will be thankful her son now knows:

"Oh little buddy, you hands are dirty? Just wipe them on your shirt!"

"Enna, just distract him. Divert his attention! He'll stop being upset if you divert his attention!"

"Enna loves it when you run her down with your power wheels! I'll bet your mom loves it too!"

"Just wipe your nose on your shirt! I do it all the time!"

"When you kick the ball, aim for the other guy's FACE."

"Here's some scissors! Go ahead and run around with them!"

Ok so I totally made up that last one. But let's call a spade a spade, I wouldn't be all that surprised. And it's not that Blair hates kids or anything, it's more like you shouldn't leave your kids alone with him unless you want them returned covered in snot and mud and about to run you down in a power wheels.

Seriously though, George's nephew gave me a hug and a kiss when I left, which made me all wubly and fuzzy inside. Which made me go home and yell at Eric "BABY NOW BABY NOW BABY NOW" which made Eric google vasectomies. All around, I have to say it was a great weekend!

Mr. Sedaris, You're a Bit of a Charmer, Aren't You?

My cell phone is kind of wonky. See, whenever someone calls me, and I have it on silent, it decides to have a mind of its own and just vibrate for ten straight minutes.  If someone calls me more than once in a row, the vibration lasts until you either answer the phone when they call again, or make a call yourself. I am only telling you these delightful little facts about my phone because otherwise you would think my friend Josh was stalking me and just calling me non-stop for 30 minutes. He wasn't, he called a whole of three times in a row.

We, and by we I mean friends of mine and myself, went to see David Sedaris read live. I love David Sedaris, partly because of his writing style, partly because of public speaking style, partly because of his work on NPR, and partly because he does not judge me for my gross misuse of the word "partly."

So, when Josh starts calling me, over and over, I am reluctant to get up. After all, Mr. Sedaris lives in France, when is the next time he will be in Aurora, Illinois? I mean, have you been to Aurora? It's...uh...quaint.

But then he keeps calling, and my phone is in my back pocket, and I think to myself  "What's the worst thing he could be calling about?"

And then the bad part of my mind takes over, and I am picturing Baby Peas and/or Baby Carrots has been hurt, and he needs to go to the hospital. Perhaps Baby Carrots has found the neighbor's hidden smack collection and needs his stomach pumped and a stint in rehab? (The possibilities only get worse from there, and far more graphic and improbable, so I will spare you them.) My weird train of thought about horrible possibilities goes on and on for roughly half an hour.

So, I resolve to get up, go to the bathroom, and see what he needs. If nothing else, I need my phone to stop vibrating because at this point my left asscheek is falling asleep from all the vibration.

The problem is I loathegetting up in theaters. I always feel like I am rubbing my ass on people excessively. Like, I am trying to scooch out of the row, and if I turn around my ass will rub against the next row of people's heads. But if I try to get out the normal way, my ass will be in everyone in my row's faces. It's an asstastick predicament, let me tell you.

So I get up, rub my ass on the people's heads in front of me, and head to the bathroom to make the call. Nothing was wrong, he was just checking in. I promised to make him perogies, and he wanted to make sure I remembered. (I totally didn't)

All-in-all though, it was a fantastic night! We accidentally drove to DeKalb, Illinois (for those of you not in this state - We drove to Nowhere, USA.)

But it was nice to hear someone speak who over-thinks things as much as I do, and reads too much into how much people notice things. Things like the fact that I accidentally rubbed my ass on roughly 13 people in one night.

Street Rich

I was recently helping one of my friends clean out her grandmother's house after she died. I am unemployed, and cannot get enough of the smells of cabbage, bleach, and mothballs, so this was right up my alley. Plus I figured my friend would appreciate someone being there with her, especially when she got to her grandmother's undergarments. No one wants to handle their own grandmother's undergarments. Not that I was exactly looking forward to that part, but I digress.

My friend never knew this, but her grandmother was a hoarder. You know what I mean, some people never throw away a newspaper, other's it's clothes, other people it's pets, etc. For my friend's grandmother, it was a different collection for each room.

In the spare room, her grandfather's old study, it was Elvis and Clowns. EVERYWHERE. I wasn't afraid of clowns before, but I am NOW. She even had an Elvis Clown, which I am pretty sure my friend is busily looking up on Ebay to see how much it is worth, because neither of us had seen such an abortion of a figurine in our entire lives. And therefore it must be worth money.

In every purse we found sugar packets and cookies that date back to 1979. This woman had close to 50 purses too. One of which I was allowed to take home, because my friend thought it was a dead animal. Like you could resist a purple and green shag purse? Don't act like you could.

And then there were the hair clips. My friends grandmother had something close to 500 hair clips. My friend was like "I have never, in 30 years of my life, ever seen this woman wear a hair clip. Not in pictures. NOTHING. NEVER!"

But nothing - NOTHING I TELL YOU - prepared us for the drugs. The woman had a bathtub full of pills. Not that we found them in the tub, we just used to tub to store them as we found them. They were stored by pill type in those large freezer-sized ziplock bags. She had antidepressants, she had MORPHINE, she had percocet, she had vicodin, she had pills I HAVE NEVER HEARD OF, she had unmarked pills that we were afraid to touch. There was everything from synthetic estrogen to birth control pills to what I am pretty sure is ecstasy (do any other pills have happy faces on them? NONE THAT I AM AWARE OF.)

We spent half the day googling different pill types. And being more and more horrified.

My friend and I were surveying the bathtub o' pharmaceuticals, and my friend started laughing. I asked her what was up, and her response was priceless:

"Dude, we are totally street rich! How much do you know about the black market?"

She was kidding of course, but still, what do you do with all those pills? I considered flushing them, but then I remembered all the drugs that are in the water and how that is not a good thing, plus the toilet was from 1920...

So, we did what normal women do when they do not know what to do:

We called her mother.

Her mother called a cop-friend of his, and then the police showed up and hauled off our monty pile of street riches. We had to give our names, and the police officer was checking in the pills and asking us "any idea what these are? No? Me neither."

So now my name is associated with what can only be described as the largest "drug bust" in that suburb's history. We weren't arrested or anything, it was just the oddest thing ever.

PS The cop was TOTALLY weirded out by the clown room. He was like "Oh! Uhhhh how about we just close this door then?"

Something Went Wonky

Ok, my theme went all over the place and suddenly became a two-column hot mess, so I am posting again to try to force everything to go back into place. I know I should just try and FIX the coding, and that posting again on top of bad coding is kind of like throwing money onto a tire fire and hoping that it snuffs it out. But by golly this is MY tire fire. If you would like to see today's "official" post, scroll down, or, you know, click here. In the meantime, so give this post some substantial content, here's a picture of my niece and nephew, aka the cutest children ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET.



They're twins, and daaaaaarling. And they regularly hold hands, which I find too darned cute for words.

And for those of you wondering, I was a little iffy on announcing their arrival because a) they're not my kids, and b) I am uncomfortable with exposing children on the internet. I've seen naked pictures of people's kids, and I am like yeeeeeeah I know they're babies, but that still makes me a little weirded out. So, now that they are seven months old, doing great, and all around adorable, allow me to introduce you to Baby Peas and Baby Carrots. Baby peas is the girl on the left, Baby carrots is the boy on the right in the above picture.



BABY FIGHT! Put your money on Baby Peas, she's got that look in her eyes!

Edit: Ehhh I just broke down and fixed the coding. And then I applied a NEW THEME! HOORAY!

The Greatest ECards Ever

I stumbled upon an ecard site, wrongcards.com, and seriously, it is the greatest ecard site on the internet. Not only does it not CHARGE you, it has some of the greatest cards around. For serious.

Here's a selected bunch for your delightful hump day enjoyment:

[caption id="attachment_908" align="aligncenter" width="425" caption="This is the greatest Ecard of all time, since I kinda hate Pooh"][/caption]

[caption id="attachment_899" align="aligncenter" width="425" caption="Tee hee heeThis one is perfect for me"][/caption]

Things I Have Done in the Line of Duty

I was very recently asked on a phone interview to describe an instance in any of my previous jobs where I went above and beyond the call of duty. These following instances are what I thought of, none of which are what I said (because I am not stupid):

I once had to identify an employee of my company after she refused to give her identity to the police. For those of you wondering what she did, she threw a hot drink in a pregnant woman's face. CLASSY DAME THAT ONE.

I once had to stop a grease trap from overflowing.  I was literally shoveling grease into garbage bags while standing knee-deep in molding grease. It smelled far worse than you are imagining. FAR WORSE.

I once fell waist-deep into a deep fryer. It was off, but I did not know that at the time. Then, I had to empty the grease out and clean the thing because I INSTANTLY PEED when I fell in. (For those of you wondering, I was scraping grease off the ceiling at the time, and yes, this was a fast food job in high school.)

I once had federal marshals bust open the door to my place of employment looking for someone who listed the business's address as their last place of residence. Apparently he was wanted for armed robbery. I got to go home right after that, and yes, it was because I instantly peed. I tend to pee when I get really frightened. Please do not ever pop out and scare me.

I once had to check in someones old uniforms when we fired her. She graciously filled the bag with thongs. I didn't realize it until I was arm-deep into the bag. And yes, they were dirty. And yes, I burned all my arm hair off with chemical cleansers after that.

I was once slightly electrocuted because wires were crossed on the bay doors of our shipping area. I went back inside and called a repairman before I went home for the day.

Instead of saying any one of these things to the woman interviewing me, I mumbled something about being a team player and staying late when needed. I think I need to start being more honest in interviews. "When have I faced adversity in the workplace? Does having a federal marshal point a gun 5 inches from your face and scream at you to get down and tell him which one of us was Tyrone count? No? Huh. I guess then never."

Teabagging in the Western Suburbs

(Fair Warning: This blog post is political in nature.)

Over the past week, I have been invited to join the Republican party. Twice.

The first instance was when someone invited me to join a Facebook group that demands that welfare recipients are subjected to Drug Tests if they want to continue to receive welfare. It's being spearheaded by a republican congressman in another state. While I agree that drugs are bad, and do not personally do them myself, I cannot quite commit to this one. Why? Because as of yet there is no clause (and there might be one in the works by the time this blog is published, so forgive me) that says what will happen to the children of those who test positive. Will there be state-sponsored secular rehab? (i.e. NOT THE TWELVE STEPS. Do not get me started on that bullshit.) Would their children be taken away? Are there enough foster parents available/resources available to take care of these children while their parents get their acts together and get off of whatever they are addicted to? If no - then we are essentially cutting off their food supply. Would we only suspend monetary compensation - what about government housing? Would they be out on the street? I mean, no one wants to pay into a system that is being abused, but there are just too many "what ifs" surrounding those people in the care of the supposed drug addicts for my comfort.

Mayor Richard J. Daley of Chicago once asked the people who criticized his public housing works if they remembered what it USED to be like in Chicago? There were shanty towns in parks all over Chicago. Yes, currently public housing in Chicago is less than ideal, what with small living quarters and high crime. But they were safer. They had indoor plumbing, and heat. They now lived in high rises where the police WOULD go. Versus the shanty towns, which had their own governing laws, and police feared to tread.



Essentially what I am saying is this - yes, requiring drug tests for welfare recipients would be a GREAT idea, assuming there were social works in place for when they fail the test. Specifically, for their children. Because if we just cut off all welfare, and give no further help to people we deem don't need it due to addiction, we'll see a resurgence in shanty towns all over America.

Well, that was heavy, wasn't it? And yes, feel free to call me a socialist. I don't care anymore. (For the record, I consider myself more of a libratarian with a socialist bent, but that's just me.)(And for the record I am not too fond of the Daley's.)

The second instance of someone asking me to join the Republican party was this past week - I got invited to a Tea Party. The lady on the phone identified herself as a republican, and spouted off about liberal agendas and whatnot. I am usually polite to these people. Unless, however, they happen to make the same mistake this woman made:

Woman: ...and then we will be teabagging, and...

Me: Uh, so let me get this straight, you're against specific taxes?

Woman: Exactly! And...

Me: I was not aware that there was a tax against licking balls!

Woman: EXCUSE ME?

Me: You know that's what teabagging is right? BALL LICKIN'.

Woman: I'm sorry? I don't think I understand...

Me: No, I do. And I seriously think that someone, someone very funny, I might add, has pulled one over on you. Big time. Google teabagging. I will wait.

Woman: [click-click-click] OH MY GOODNESS! WHY WOULD YOU HAVE ME GOOGLE THAT?!

Me: Exactly. [hangs up phone]

I didn't want to be a prick to this woman. I really didn't. But she just would not take NO for an answer. Yes, protest away, that's fine by me, but it's not exactly something I agree with. And no means no, lady!

Seriously though, it took MY ALL not to construct a giant testicles costume and show up screaming "I'm ready to be licked bitches!"

(I am so going to hell for this post.)

Saturday Comic Fun!

This is a comic for Thomas, who says I do not post nearly enough comics anymore.



 

Oh, and here's some YouTubery, for those of you who came here for the YouTube Saturday Fun, I am addicted to this song this week:

(Anyone else recognize TI walking through the drainage channel from GTA San Andreas? Anyone? Bueller?)

Don't Order the Fish

Back in my college days, I decided to Rush a sorority. Why? Why the hell not! Who doesn't like an instant group of friends they can hang out with!

Anyway, one of the last tests I had to undergo went like this:

Enna walks into the room, all the sorority sisters are sitting on the other side like it's a security briefing.

On Enna's side of the room, there  is a desk with a handkerchief covering a glass.

I ask what it is I am supposed to do, and they say to remove the handkerchief and I would know what to do.

So, I do. And under the handkerchief, there is a glass with a fish in it.

So, thinking there are no other options, I grab the fish, throw it in my mouth, and swallow it.

The sorority sisters are HORRIFIED. They said it was an excercise in trust, and that normal people usually hem and haw and then finally agree to it. At that point they usually stop them and give them a diatribe about trust blahblahblah. But, I just ATE THE FISH. I didn't give them a chance to stop me. At all. I was the third person to go into the room, and there were easily ten girls behind me who still had to undergo this trust test.

One of the sisters was pissed, because now they had to think of something to do to the REST of the rushies. The rest of them were like "THAT'S IT! YOU'RE IN!" Because really, if I was willing to eat a live (albeit small) fish for them, there really wasn't anything else they could test me with that would trump what I just did.

And really?  I eat sushi all the time, like eating a small fish was going to bother me all that much.

Ironically though, when they took us out to dinner to celebrate those of us who made the cut, there was a whole lot of fish on the menu. I was like "to be honest, I really don't like fish all that much. I think I'll just have the burger." Which made everyone pretty much laugh until they peed.

Happy Friday everyone! Don't order the fish!

Texty-La-Roo!

The problem with being unemployed is you never leave the house. Hence, I tend to send a lot of texts to friends, and they tend to text me a lot, as they are bored at work/school/home.  Here are a random snippets of conversations I have had sent to me over the last month:

My co-worker keeps farting, and it keep smelling like strawberries.

Maybe we should start a company that cleans up corpses after crimes. You like the smell of rotting flesh, don't you?

What the hell just happened?! WAS IT SUPERMAN?!

They took more blood. I asked them to look for the bitch gene, because if they took any more blood, I can guarantee I would develop the bitch gene, and no one wants that.

Can we make s'mores at your wedding? ALL THE COOL KIDS HAVE S'MORES AT THEIR WEDDINGS.

I obviously care WAY TOO MUCH about what may come out of your vagina. Please do not put that on your blog.

Yeah yeah, I know. It's what you, my grandma, and Tupac all have in common.

I got you a chocolate Jesus for Easter. But then I remembered you don't like chocolate. Or Jesus.

If society collapses, I am eating your parent's dogs. Even if there is still food available.

It smells like Kentucky in here.

Sorry, I had to go away for a second, I had to pull string out of my son's butt. It was four feet long.  Well, that certainly wasn't something I ever thought I would write over AIM.

I had a dream last night that I went shopping for shampoo, and there was nothing but jars of cow urine for sale in place of shampoo. At every store. And people kept looking at me like I was too uppity because I wouldn't run cow urine through my hair.

Did you see someone else hopped into a polar bear's area of a zoo in Germany? The bear is mauling her and she has this look on her face like "Let's just hug it out man! HUG IT OUT!"

Dude, no way, I hate hanging out with her! Every time we all get together I find out some new, horrific sex act that I never before knew existed. And then, without fail, some dude will ASK ME to perform that very sex act within a week. She's like the little girl from The Ring of terribly weird sex acts!

Your man's part is spectacular! I always secretly tell my hair "do that! be like that!" whenever I am around him!

Dude, if you ever need something to blog about, I will give you a list of what I have pulled out of men's asses. IN THE LAST WEEK. It's a four page single-spaced list. The list will start with today's: 14 Lego Men. LEGO MEN!

Happy Thursday folks! I hope everyone has a great almost-Friday!

Making Me Laugh

It takes very little to amuse me, as seen by this photo, which has been cracking me up all day:

Bless Me Father For I Have Sinned

(Disclaimer: if you are Catholic, you might find this post a little ...insulting.)

The last time I went to Confession I was in fifth grade. I was all of 11 years old, so my confession was a delightful mix of "I lied to my mother" and "I took a cookie when I should not have" and my favorite "my father is a protestant."

That last one? HOLY MERCY that garnered me a lot of Hail Mary's. "Have you tried to convert your father?" "No Father, I thought that went against the fourth commandment?" "No, and you will both burn in hell for these sins. Your father for being a protestant, you for not showing him the errors of his ways."

So yeah, I always knew that going into confession was going to be an uphill battle, no matter what I did. The last confession I did, however, was the worst. Which should pretty much explain why I never went back.

Me: Bless me father for I have sinned, it has been 6 months since my last confession.

Priest: So you only go when the nuns force you to, huh?

Me: Yes sir.

Priest: YES WHAT?

Me: ...yes Father?

Priest: That's right. Anyone can be a sir, it takes a special person to be a Priest.

Me: Sorry sir. I mean Father.

Priest: Tell me, what are your sins?

Me: I stole cookies, I lied to my teachers, I lied to my parents, and my father is a protestant.

Priest: Tell me something - have you gone to a protestant church at all? What religion is your father?

Me: Yes, and he's a Lutheran.

Priest: Do you know what would happen if you died in a car crash on the way to church today?

Me: No sir, I do not. I mean No Father, I do not.

Priest (yelling): YOU WOULD GO TO HELL. Catholicism is the only religion you should be recognizing. Your father is going to hell. Your mother is going to hell for marrying a protestant instead of insisting he become a Catholic. Tell me - will you go to a protestant church again, knowing what you know now?!

Me (trying not the cry): ...yes sir.

Priest (again yelling): YES FATHER. WHY WOULD YOU GO BACK TO A PROTESTANT CHURCH AFTER I HAVE TOLD YOU NOT TO AND THAT YOU WILL GO TO HELL BECAUSE OF IT!

Me (crying): Because my parents will make me.

Priest: Well, you won't be up for sainthood any time soon, now will you? The Pope in Rome will never declare you a Defender of the Faith.

Me: No sir. What is my penance?

Priest: You are not absolved. You will just sin the same ways again. *slams shut the screen*

I was SHELLSHOCKED. The nuns didn't prepare me for that kind of reaction, I tell you what. I walked out, and went right up to my teacher. I was confused - I mean - Did I have to go back in there? Should I try again? My teacher asked EXACTLY what happened, and I relayed it to her. Then some of the other kids came up crying, and she asked them what happened. And then, in some righteous indignation I have never seen before or again, the teacher walked right up to the confessional, ripped a kid named Anthony out of the booth, and went right on it. We didn't hear a lot of what was said, because she was trying to keep her voice low, but randomly she would start screaming at him "they're children YOU MONSTER!"

She then went storming out of the confessional, went back into the sacristy, and got another priest, who was obviously not prepared for a large schoolteacher full of righteous indignation. He came out and absolved us all of our sins while we were sitting in the pews. One giant group absolution - we all felt quite literally saved.

After that though, I learned that maybe Priests weren't actually the voice of God when they put on that fancy robe and went into that cubbie.

The best thing the nuns ever taught me, however, was that the priests couldn't tell what you told them. Therefore, whenever I was forced to go into confession, I would just sit there, and tell the Priest that I was being forced to do this, and I did not want to. And that usually did seem to fly with them.

I guess what I am trying to say with this post is that even back in the day, maybe I was disillusioned enough that perhaps I should have converted to protestantism a little sooner.

So - I Guess Now I Have a Cat?

I was talking to a friend last night, and let's just call her Andrea. I was retelling the story of the whole exploding-bird-on-my-balcony experience, and she was like OH OH OH HAVE I GOT A STORY FOR YOU!

Andrea left her patio door open, and she lives on the first floor of a three floor apartment complex. She opens her patio door to air out the house, hops into the shower, gets out of the shower, and closes the patio door. She then heads out for a night on the town.

When she comes home in the wee hours of the morning - she discovers that all her toilet paper has been shredded and her couch looks like someone put the bottom half through a paper shredder.

So, she does what every woman who thinks there is a badger in her house does - she puts a metal colander on her head and grabs a broom. She also laments that she does not have a boyfriend at this moment because "merciful crap are boys useful in these kinds of situations." And she sets about trying to find the badger or mountain lion or whatever that did this damage to her house.

She also laments to herself that she is not as cool as me and does not have a weapons wall like I do. Yeah, I have a weapons wall. As in this kind of thing. Yes, I am aware that mounting weapons on a wall in my house makes me pretty much every 13-year-old-boy's perfect woman. BUT IT IS ALSO USEFUL WHEN WILD ANIMALS GET INTO YOUR HOUSE.

So Andrea is hunting some wild animal, and when she gets into her bedroom, she discovers a cat curled up on her bed. Which pretty much made me recoil in horror over the phone. I mean - WHERE HAS THAT THING BEEN? IT HAS GERMS!

But Andrea, being responsible and not having my penchant for cruelty, decides to keep the cat, obviously have it declawed, and give it the proper shots. You know, versus me, who would have a VERY hard time not just throwing it off an eighth floor balcony for destroying my couch. But that's just me.

I hope everyone had a wonderful Easter!

Sunday PostSecret Fun

Every time I see this secret, I feel the need to scream at this person LIFE IS SO MUCH MORE FUN IF YOU JUST PLAY WITH THE LEGOS!

For serious folks, always play with the Legos.

YouTube Saturday!

I got this via DaddyLikey's Tublr. Did you know Mrs. Doubtfire was supposed to be a horror movie? I didn't...



And the video that has made me laugh my butt off for a better part of this week:



Silly Canadians!

Friday Recap

Here's a few things I have been reading on the internet this week:

Seriously Texas? I mean, I live in Illinois - a land of rediculous politicians, but even this is too much for me.

This kind of makes me sad. But then I laugh. I am sure the Germans have a word for that, but darned if I know what it is.

If I had all the money in the world, then I would buy every single thing this person posts. Specifically this.

Does anyone know why these lambs have cigarettes in their mouths? I NEED TO KNOW. It's my new white whale.

This makes me laugh my butt off. I just keep going back to it over and over again!

I know it's in German, but it's a website dedicated entirely to robots!Hellllllo reason to learn German!

I know, I know, this next site is run by The Snot, but I cannot help myself - I really like it. It's probably why I also really like this site as well.

I fricken love it when a foodie website tells you how to make something and gives you full color photos to boot.

Have I told you about my psychotic obsession with space? No? Well, let me trip over my many telescopes to come tell you about it. I LOVE OUTER SPACE. And that is why I love this site.

Happy Good Friday/Passover everyone! Hope you all have a wonderful weekend!

It's a Bird, It's a Plane, No Wait, It's a Bird, And It's Dead

Yesterday I was happily applying to jobs online (did I say happily? I mean applying and sarcastically saying "Yeah - I'm sure you're real thankful I am applying, jackasses") and I hear a loud BAM right next to me. I look up and see my patio doors covered in blood.

My reaction? To fall out of my chair and try to figure out if the blood was mine while writhing around on the floor. I will not lie - my first thought was Drive By. I had temporarily forgotten that I was living on the top floor of a large building in the far west suburbs of Chicago. You can take the girl out of the southside...

Anyhow, it turns out that a seagull, or possibly a very large pigeon, smashed into my patio door and literally splattered everywhere. There is blood and chunks of bird everywhere.

I fill a bucket full of water, and start to wash the bits over the side, and a little something occurs to me: I am directly above the main walkway for my building, and there are people down there. I am essentially pulling a "Carrie" on the people below. So, I calmly walk back inside, since I do not want to look over the edge and therefore give away that I was the one dumping the blood over the side on them.

For the record, I really feel bad about that. I didn't think before I acted. It's like I am still four years old.

So, I wait about an hour, and try and think of how I can clean this mess of bird remains up off my balcony, without having the chance of bloody water falling over the side onto the walkway below.

Eric has tyvek suits he wears for work. For instance, if he is working on something for a Kosher company, he has a specific box for Dairy and a specific box for meat, and then a general box for everything else. Oh, and a nut box, since that's another thing that cannot be mixed with other stuff.  So, I try and figure out which ones are the "general use" ones.

I think I figure it out, and I get suited up. You know that scene in E.T. where the government comes for E.T. and they are wearing those weird suits? That's essentially what I was wearing, only, you know, without a respirator attached on the back. I get my Swiffer Wet Jet pads, and get to work. It takes me roughly an hour, but I get all the chunks and blood sopped up. Then I take it in a bag to the garbage shoot. The garbage shoot in my building is in a closet, so I enter the closet, dump it down, and walk out.

Right in front of me is a 4 year old (I think - I am not good at guess kid's ages, to be honest.) And I am wearing a full white tyvek suit, face mask and all, and I have smears of blood all over me, as well as blood covering both my hands up to my elbows. (Did you know Seagulls have a lot of blood in them? I didn't - but I do NOW.) And the kid is momentary SHOCKED. And then the screaming starts and the kid runs down the hallway.  I rush back into my condo, and I watch out the peephole as the mother freaks out and runs into the garbage shoot room and looks around for what I can only imagine the child described as a Murderous Bad Man wandering the hallways.

I get back into the kitchen, take off the suit, bag it up, wash the floor, and patiently wait for the police because I was SURE the mother was going to call them. But no. She didn't. And thank God for small favors. I mean, otherwise I would be waiting in a jail cell right now while the police waited for the CSI people tested the blood to make sure it wasn't human. And really, I had already had WAY TOO MUCH excitement for one day anyhow.

Carson Pirie Scott has Daddy Issues

Ok, help me out here, is it just me, or does the girl look all of 13 and the man look all of 40 (with his salt'n'pepper hair)?



Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.  This reminds me of why I deleted my MySpace.

Actually, I have tried REPEATEDLY to delete my MySpace, but MySpace is having none of that. I have easily done their stupid steps of deletion like 10 times. Face it MySpace, I have moved onto Facebook, and couldn't be happier. MySpace isn't taking no for an answer, apparently, its still standing outside my window with a boombox over its head ala Say Anything.

I digress, when wandering around MySpace, I would inevitably end up on some teenyboppers page (henceforth known as prosta-tots) and under the "Who I would like to meet" section, invariably they would list George Clooney. And that's just weird. I mean, the man is old enough to be their grandfather. If I were a shrink, I would specialize in Daddy Issues, and lordy would I make a killing off of MySpace.

Now excuse me, I have to go try and delete my MySpace account once again. Or, you know, get a restraining order against it, that stupid boombox is annoying the neighbors.

But It Has A Face!

I have a vegetarian friend (actually, I have a LOT of vegetarian friends, but that's besides the point) and I went over to her house. I use her bathroom, and as I am washing my hands, I notice a very large pack of toilet paper in her bathroom.

Then I am struck with what can only be described as mischief inspiration. I take out every roll of toilet paper. I unroll them to different lengths. And then? I draw little cute animal faces on different sheets of each roll. All the animals look shocked. I then roll them back up, and put them back into the toilet paper roll pack.

And then I go home and wait.

About 3 days pass, and I get a phone call -

Me: Hello?

Veggie Friend: Did you draw a bunny's face on my toilet paper?

Me: Yes, yes I did.

Veggie Friend: Why?

Me: No reason. General fun and mischief.

Veggie Friend: Okkkkkay

Then she hangs up. Two days later I get another phone call -

Me: Hello?

Veggie Friend: Dude, what the hell?

Me: What's up?

Veggie Friend: A bear face? WHO EVEN DOES THAT?

Me: You go through a lot of toilet paper, you know that, right?

Veggie Friend: You draw a lot of &%$#@ up faces on my toilet paper, you know that, right?!

Me: True. You got me there.

Veggie Friend: It's just disturbing. I don't eat anything with a face, this is just throwing my ethics all over the place.

Me: You'd think you'd be disturbed that I touched all your toilet paper.

Veggie Friend: *gasps*

Two rolls down, 10 more to go. This is going to be a fun two weeks!

Sunday Secrets!

Are you the last person on earth? The reason I ask is because I am wondering if you know about PostSecret? You can read all about how PostSecret came into being here. Either way, I love love love me some PostSecret. So...I got an idea. Since I have decided to go back to posting seven days a week (did I neglect to mention that? I did? Oh, well, I post 7 days a week now! Ha) I figured I could post on Sundays a little thing call Sunday Secrets. I will post secrets that I agree with (like today's), or secrets that seriously piss me off (and there have been MANY), or just wacky secrets where I think to myself "I wish I knew that person in real life!"

I am not so terrified of dying alone, in fact, I might prefer it. I am terrified of being burned alive by jet fuel though. But seriously, now I am going to declare someone my "death buddy" forever more.

 

PS - I don't really think that I am posting 7 days a week. I mean, I created something called YouTube Saturday, and Secret Sunday. The work is done for me, technically. I just need to make topical and pop culture references about it. And really that's pretty sweet.

YouTube Saturday!

Is anyone else completely obsessed with this song, or is it just me?

How's Life, Enna?

What's been going on with me, you ask? SO MANY THINGS, is my answer.  Last night Eric and I went to a wake for his quasi-great-uncle (it's weird, I know.) There was a windmill in the parking lot of the funeral parlor.

And I know this is going to sound weird, but it took all my self-restraint (and a little bit of Eric's) for me not to take a golf club out of the trunk of the car and go attack the thing ala Don Quixote.  But seriously, attacking that thing has made my list of things to do before I die, aka my bucket list. Only I started making my list before that terrible movie came out, so mine just says "Things to do Before I die."

Everyone who has even seen me pop open my truck inquires about the golf clubs back there. Part of it is that I like the idea that at any given moment a spontaneous round of golf could happen. AND WHEN IT DOES I WILL BE PREPARED.

Another part is for self defense. If I see some random person in a parking garage looking funny, I just pop the trunk and give them a look that says "The state of Illinois would not give me a conceal-and-carry licence for my gun, but in a pinch this will do. And let's be honest, this will probably be more fun for me than just shooting you." (I am not a particularly violent person, I swear.) (And yes, most people are surprised that a hippy-dippy liberal mama like myself owns a gun. I know, it surprises me too.)

And another part is golf clubs do not judge you for not being good at fractions, and this little point has been added for those of you saying to yourself "Part means half, there cannot be three parts Enna!"

In other news, I paid off my library fines, and my, does Downers Grove have a wonderful library. Because of my lack of fines, I have now officially read every single book on the subjects of Modern Art and Six Sigma. SOMEONE STOP ME. Actually, stop me from reading books where the main subjects kill themselves or involve complex flow charts all together.

And finally, someone sent me this delightful comic, because they said it just screamed me, and it DOES.

Dammit Tim Dennis, I Loved You So Hard

So back back back back in my LiveJournal Days I used to read a comic by Tim Dennis called With Gusto.(Yes, I had a LiveJournal, no, I have never cut myself.)

Seriously, the guy was a genuis. Without further ado, here are some select comics by Tim Dennis:

First Up - Camera Trouble. Every picture I took prior to having a digital camera looked like this:



Since I already mention Fight Club ENTIRELY too much for a girl:



Being Dyslexic myself, I find this one HILARIOUS:



As if the Kool Aid Man was not creepy enough:



If you are feeling lazy, you can just throw something at the poor bastard:



Since I have a big ole noggin myself, this is a secret fear of mine...



Someday, I will accidentally do this...



Next up - SPACE INDIANS!



Useful half indeed! The top half can do your dishes! (Kidding women, kidding):



I would just settle for one that can fit a bagel into it:



And the one that I identify the most with:

Lack of Posts

Sorry for the lack of posts. I had severe food poisoning, then the power went out for a day because a transformer on our property exploded. Soooo yeah, regular posting will resume tomorrow. Assuming, you know, a spaceship doesn't drop out of the sky onto my head or something. In the meantime, enjoy the new header!