I have been growing my leg hair out. (Bear with me here people, but you might want to put down what you are eating.) When I say "growing my leg hair out" I mean it's been a week and a half. I wanted to try waxing my legs again.The last time I tried it I was 20 and not drunk enough. But I had a brand new bottle of vodka calling me, and I thought, what the hell! I'm a glutton for punishment!
I waited until How I Met Your Mother was over, and out the door I went. On the way to the drug store, the "get gas you idiot" light comes on in the dashboard, so I think to myself "I will just get gas after I get my 'anti-yeti' wax."
I get in line at the drug store, gallon of wax in hand (I am not even kidding), and go to pay. I just got my new debit card 2 days ago in the mail. I activate it the next morning. I do not use it. That is, until last night,when trying to buy leg wax.
It gets denied.
This is puzzling to me, as I am pretty darned sure I have money. I mean, there's a possibility that I do not. That's always a possibility! But I am almost 100% sure I have at least $200 in my checking account.
And I am pretty sure my tub-o-wax is only $9. So...yeah, the math is not computing. My leg hair is literally quivering with joy at the thought that they will be allowed to grow free...free and blowing in the wind! Imagine my French-heritage leg hair laughing "huh heh heh! You're not fully French unless you can braid it!"
Let me tell you - I am days away from that point.
So, I do the only thing I can think to do - I bust out my check book. I write a check for $9 leg wax. I can see the cashier's thought bubble above her head. It says "BOOOOOOOING!" Because she thinks it will bounce.
I can also see the thoughts of the guy who is standing behind me in line "Bitch sure does need that wax, doesn't she?"
Do you write checks? I have written a lot of them in the last couple of weeks - because someone stole my debit card number awhile ago. It feels like eternity while you are writing them. The people in line behind you all have these looks on their faces that say "You look like you're 17! Why are you writing a check?! 80 year olds write checks! WHY DO YOU NOT HAVE A DEBIT CARD?"
Apparently, I will be writing checks again soon.
See, I thought that the drug store was a fluke. Maybe I put my new pin in wrong. Maybe I did something wrong.
I pull into the gas station. I try my debit card at the pump. It gets denied. I go into the gas station. I try it at the checkout. It gets denied.
I pay for gas with $4 worth of laundry quarters I have on me.
Do you know how embarrassing it is to pay for gas with quarters?
ALMOST as embarrassing as asking a gas station attendant if I can pay with a check and being laughed at and told no. Almost.
I get home. I check my account. Someone stole my debit card. I am not even kidding.
And if that didn't SUCK enough, I sliced my finger open when cutting a lemon. And the lemon got into the cut.
So, I guess the point of this is - when life hands you lemons - try not to get the juice into the gash in your finger.
And now, to continue with my little list:
25. Apparently I am getting a tattoo. Thanks Lori and Nina!
26. I still have very long leg hair. I figured that I punished myself enough for one night.
27. I wax my arms and have for easily a decade now. I don't know what color my arm hair even IS anymore.
28. My hair is growing in with white patches. However, my bangs are growing in straight up RED. Like Ginger Kid red. I may not cover the grey as quickly as I should, but I will straight up sharpie my bangs to cover the red.
29. I kind of want to play hockey. I think that would be an awesome sport to play.
30. I have an obsession with backyard cocktail parties in the summer. If you invite me to one, I will close it out, guaranteed.
31. I look absolutely terrible in sportcoats. It has to do with the fact that I have very broad shoulders for a girl.
32. I loathe getting dressed up. I am a t-shirt and jeans kind of gal.
33. I do not understand darts. I don't get the appeal of it. Why would I want to throw a dart when I can just SHOOT the target with my gun?
34. I would sleep with the fan on and the windows open if I could. But the sleepwalking kind of hinders that.
35. If someone ever hosts another Woodstock, I am going to it. No question.
36. I feel that I have more faith now than I have ever had in my entire life. Combined. And it wasn't the bad stuff that made me find faith.
37. All the furniture in my house is even there because other people insisted upon it. I would literally have a pillow in the middle of the floor and nothing else in the room. I am big on minimalism.
38. I shed. A LOT. I lose so much hair my doctor once asked me how I am not bald.
39. Fall is my favorite season. It smells like possibilities to me.
40. I hate buying dresses. I go in knowing I will buy a black dress, and I leave with a black dress. Why do I need more than one? Why can't I just wear ripped jeans to this black tie event, Eric?
41. I have driven a race car around a track. I was so nervous I almost peed myself.
42. I have owned 5 pairs of Crocs in my lifetime. FEEL FREE TO SCORN ME!
43. For the first time in my life, last week, I bought an umbrella. I think this officially makes me an adult.
44. I sew an awful lot of quilts. If you want a quilt, call me. No, for real.
45. I have trouble handling ping pong balls. I can't get my hands around them easily. They annoy me.
46. I start piano lessons in February.
47. I drink easily 12 ounces of iced tea a day. It has officially risen to addiction status.
48. I do not drink coffee - I drink a can of coke in the morning to wake up.
49. I have a think for elephants. Eric has a thing for buying me elephants.
50. I am addicted to religious history shows. Anything on the History Channel, really.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Redesign and All That Jazz
Obviously I redesigned the site. I also redesigned my Twitter. I also forgot to turn off the comments on my last post, and therefore didn't reply to any comments on it - sorry about that!
(Side note: Oh snap! James Bond is on the USA Channel! Yesss best Sunday night ever!)
And now, I am going to try something a little different. Each day this week, I am going to post 20+ facts about myself, in additional to my weird little anecdotes about what I am doing/weird stories about how I am a clumsy idiot. I implore you to do the same, maybe we'll all learn something about each other. Or maybe you need something to write about and this is the perfect thing. WHO KNOWS?!
1. I do not find blonds attractive. I have never dated one (not knowingly, anyhow, who knew men dyed their hair also?) however, I would be all over Daniel Craig if he let me call him James Bond.
2. I sleep in a bra.
3. My dream car is an grey Aston Martin. Can you see this James Bond theme I have going here? I need to not watch this movie when I update my blog.
4. I met a woman over the weekend at my niece and nephew's 1st birthday party. It occurred to me that I need business cards for this blog. I am making them as soon as possible - and they are HILARIOUS! They have the Eric seal of approval.
5. I have a blister that covers the top half of my foot right now. It disturbingly doesn't hurt. That little factoid right there makes me want to go get tested for diabetes.
6. I am really into Star Trek as of late. But I don't go out of my way to watch it, but I will watch it if it comes on.
7. Camping to me means I am sleeping in a cabin. If it doesn't have indoor plumbing I want nothing to do with it.
8. The more time that goes on, the more I think I have a touch of the OCD. I am obsessed with security - my door is always locked and I need to know where Eric is at all times. If I wake up and he isn't around and there is no note, I FREAK OUT. I pick up things on the floor - hangers, shoes, etc - in the event someone else might come along and trip on them. I am one of those people that will give their 4 year old a cell phone.
9. I am starting one helluva marketing campaign for this blog. You would be shocked at what I am about to do. And it's only costing me a case of beer, which is one of my more favorite currencies.
10. I freaking LOVE Chinese operas. And Kabuki theater. I could listen to high-pitched Chinese women singing all day long. And sometimes I have.
11. I want to buy a small sailboat. Nothing makes me happier than sailing. Well, I guess some things do, but sailing relaxes me. It's not like that's something that I get to do every single weekend either.
12. My lucky charm is my captain's band from soccer. It's not really lucky per se, it's more of a reminder that working hard can get you anything, and only fools rely on luck.
13. I cannot find my MP3 player. I am not going to tell Eric this otherwise he will go out and buy me a new one, and I want to see if I can find it somewhere in the house. He's the sweetest man in the world, but he is also very impulsive when it comes to purchases.
14. I love love love golfing. What can I say? Between golfing and sailing - I was meant to be a rich, white, middle-aged man.
15. I keep going back and forth on wanting to get a tattoo. I have never seen an attractive woman (with the exception of Angelina Jolie) with a tattoo. I know that's a stupid reason, but hey, it's a reason all the same. But if I did get one, I know what I would get.
16. I own my short game. I cannot tee off properly, but I make up for it with my irons.
17. I like the idea of living in a loft. I think I would greatly enjoy it. Something about not having any walls really appeals to me.
18. When the teacher asks who wants to give their presentation first, I always raise my hand. I have absolutely no fear of public speaking.
19. I am psychotic about Polaroids. I love them. I think they are so candid. I wish they were still being produced.
20. I have something like 20 undeveloped rolls of film. I will get to it eventually.
21. I wore Cookie Monster slippers to my best friend's wedding. AND she still talks to me. BOOYAH.
22. I still want to get my tongue pierced.
23. I use my left hand for writing. That's about it. I cannot use left-handed scissors. I paint mostly right-handed. I switch my fork hand depending on what I am eating.
24. I loathe filing. I would rather neuter pitbulls without sedation than file. (Is that even a career? If so - forward me the info on that one!)
Happy Monday folks!
(Side note: Oh snap! James Bond is on the USA Channel! Yesss best Sunday night ever!)
And now, I am going to try something a little different. Each day this week, I am going to post 20+ facts about myself, in additional to my weird little anecdotes about what I am doing/weird stories about how I am a clumsy idiot. I implore you to do the same, maybe we'll all learn something about each other. Or maybe you need something to write about and this is the perfect thing. WHO KNOWS?!
1. I do not find blonds attractive. I have never dated one (not knowingly, anyhow, who knew men dyed their hair also?) however, I would be all over Daniel Craig if he let me call him James Bond.
2. I sleep in a bra.
3. My dream car is an grey Aston Martin. Can you see this James Bond theme I have going here? I need to not watch this movie when I update my blog.
4. I met a woman over the weekend at my niece and nephew's 1st birthday party. It occurred to me that I need business cards for this blog. I am making them as soon as possible - and they are HILARIOUS! They have the Eric seal of approval.
5. I have a blister that covers the top half of my foot right now. It disturbingly doesn't hurt. That little factoid right there makes me want to go get tested for diabetes.
6. I am really into Star Trek as of late. But I don't go out of my way to watch it, but I will watch it if it comes on.
7. Camping to me means I am sleeping in a cabin. If it doesn't have indoor plumbing I want nothing to do with it.
8. The more time that goes on, the more I think I have a touch of the OCD. I am obsessed with security - my door is always locked and I need to know where Eric is at all times. If I wake up and he isn't around and there is no note, I FREAK OUT. I pick up things on the floor - hangers, shoes, etc - in the event someone else might come along and trip on them. I am one of those people that will give their 4 year old a cell phone.
9. I am starting one helluva marketing campaign for this blog. You would be shocked at what I am about to do. And it's only costing me a case of beer, which is one of my more favorite currencies.
10. I freaking LOVE Chinese operas. And Kabuki theater. I could listen to high-pitched Chinese women singing all day long. And sometimes I have.
11. I want to buy a small sailboat. Nothing makes me happier than sailing. Well, I guess some things do, but sailing relaxes me. It's not like that's something that I get to do every single weekend either.
12. My lucky charm is my captain's band from soccer. It's not really lucky per se, it's more of a reminder that working hard can get you anything, and only fools rely on luck.
13. I cannot find my MP3 player. I am not going to tell Eric this otherwise he will go out and buy me a new one, and I want to see if I can find it somewhere in the house. He's the sweetest man in the world, but he is also very impulsive when it comes to purchases.
14. I love love love golfing. What can I say? Between golfing and sailing - I was meant to be a rich, white, middle-aged man.
15. I keep going back and forth on wanting to get a tattoo. I have never seen an attractive woman (with the exception of Angelina Jolie) with a tattoo. I know that's a stupid reason, but hey, it's a reason all the same. But if I did get one, I know what I would get.
16. I own my short game. I cannot tee off properly, but I make up for it with my irons.
17. I like the idea of living in a loft. I think I would greatly enjoy it. Something about not having any walls really appeals to me.
18. When the teacher asks who wants to give their presentation first, I always raise my hand. I have absolutely no fear of public speaking.
19. I am psychotic about Polaroids. I love them. I think they are so candid. I wish they were still being produced.
20. I have something like 20 undeveloped rolls of film. I will get to it eventually.
21. I wore Cookie Monster slippers to my best friend's wedding. AND she still talks to me. BOOYAH.
22. I still want to get my tongue pierced.
23. I use my left hand for writing. That's about it. I cannot use left-handed scissors. I paint mostly right-handed. I switch my fork hand depending on what I am eating.
24. I loathe filing. I would rather neuter pitbulls without sedation than file. (Is that even a career? If so - forward me the info on that one!)
Happy Monday folks!
Friday, August 28, 2009
For No One Else But Me
First, press play on this song:
Dear Eric,
This little post is for me and me alone. I know there's slight chance of you ever reading this, because you say reading my blog is like reading my diaries and it seems weird and intrusive for you to hover over my every thought. Plus I read my posts aloud to you every night so I know that my point gets across to the end reader clearly, because, even 12 years later, I still think I cannot write for shit. Then you bust in on my little writing-pity-party and remind me that I can, in fact, write - that I can actually articulate my thoughts into words.
There's these weird little things that I love about you. Like when you started writing me notes on post-its because it was the only thing available for you to write on at work. I have all these three and four page post-it letters of thought that you, in the spur of the moment, in the middle of working, you just jotted down. Thank you for not sticking them on my forehead while I slept, because when you started doing this post-it project, I thought, if I had originally though of this idea, I would have stuck them on your head while you slept.
You started this art project in me. These weird little quirks, like your epic post-it notes, make me think of art projects. It's why our bedroom wall is quickly filling up with small, square notes written to each other. God help us if we ever move.
And who else can I be a jelly with? We hop around the living room wiggling mid-air screaming at each other "You're a jelly? I'm a jelly too!" We look insane to the outside world, and only we understand why being a jelly is important.
When I said I had nothing to paint, you told me to paint something I would have never considered painting before. You said to give it my best, and then leave it alone. So I painted you an Action Comics comic book cover. Then I painted some more comics, and then some more. And through that, I found my style. I was going about it all wrong. I was trying to copy the Masters, concentrating on learning their ways and putting off finding my own until I mastered theirs. You flipped my whole view by suggesting that I paint outside my comfort zone. You also changed why I paint. Now I master a series of paintings, antique comic books, then robots, and now the Lennon/McCartney series, I give it my best, and then I leave it alone. I move onto my next series.
Sorry I never just take your suggestions. I'm a dreamer, and you're a black-and-white person. You say "tomato" and I say "James and the Giant Peach!" To me, those two things are related, to you, I am just screaming out random shit in response to your suggestions. The prime example would be this blog. I ask you what I should write about because I am out of ideas. You suggest I write about how you had to almost saws-all my arm out of a hollow-core door that one time I got angry and put my fist right through it and it got stuck, and instead I write about how I always guess Narnia when you ask me where I think you are located presently. To you, those things aren't remotely related, but to me, they are intimately related.
You laugh and accept me after I answer your question of "what do you want to do Saturday?" and I respond "Finally learn to play the piano." I know you were really just looking for an answer like dinner and a movie, but then you say "By God Anne, you can do anything. Look up where you can take lessons!"
You talk. And I don't. And I know everyone you have ever met has hated the fact that you talk so much, with the grand exception of me. You know I just like to sit and listen to everyone around me. That right there is entertainment to me. You're the only person I have ever met who didn't ask me every 15 seconds if I was ok because I wasn't joining the conversation. You know that I am ok. You know that I will tell you if I am not ok. You know how to read my "not ok" looks. You know if I hold your stare for a second, then look at someone else, and then look back at you and tip my head down, it's my signal for "this guy is a motherfucking dick can we leave?" and you make an excuse and we make good our exit.
You take over for me when it comes to reading things I cannot read - like compasses and scrolling marquees. If we pass one on the street you read it out loud. You also don't tell people why you are doing that - you do not advertise my dyslexia to those around us. For that I am eternally grateful.
You order me top-shelf Vodka and navigate to the bar through throngs of people so I don't have to. You change the vacuum cleaner bag so I don't have to. You bought me a plant to keep me company while I was unemployed and you were at work. You pose the dolls so when I come home from work I laugh. You bought me a chocobo bank because I thought it was the cutest thing ever. You go out with me for sushi even though you hate it. You hold my hair back when I puke. You squeeze my hand right before the plane starts the landing descent because you know that's when I am the most scared. You remember that my favorite flower is the carnation, and you buy them even though the ladies at the flower shop always look at you like you're cheap for buying carnations. You still buy me roses too just because they're roses and for no reason other than you thought I would like them. You remind me when my library books are due and to return them. You let me take drunken pictures of you drinking a beer and holding a potato, and thus making fun of your heritage. You never make fun of my heritage. You have never read my diary. You make me think, and you make me re-think. You care too much what people think of you, which makes up for the fact that I do not care at all what people think of me. You know I secretly do wish people liked me more.
But more than all this, you love me. And I love all these things about you.
Love,
Your Annabelle
Dear Eric,
This little post is for me and me alone. I know there's slight chance of you ever reading this, because you say reading my blog is like reading my diaries and it seems weird and intrusive for you to hover over my every thought. Plus I read my posts aloud to you every night so I know that my point gets across to the end reader clearly, because, even 12 years later, I still think I cannot write for shit. Then you bust in on my little writing-pity-party and remind me that I can, in fact, write - that I can actually articulate my thoughts into words.
There's these weird little things that I love about you. Like when you started writing me notes on post-its because it was the only thing available for you to write on at work. I have all these three and four page post-it letters of thought that you, in the spur of the moment, in the middle of working, you just jotted down. Thank you for not sticking them on my forehead while I slept, because when you started doing this post-it project, I thought, if I had originally though of this idea, I would have stuck them on your head while you slept.
You started this art project in me. These weird little quirks, like your epic post-it notes, make me think of art projects. It's why our bedroom wall is quickly filling up with small, square notes written to each other. God help us if we ever move.
And who else can I be a jelly with? We hop around the living room wiggling mid-air screaming at each other "You're a jelly? I'm a jelly too!" We look insane to the outside world, and only we understand why being a jelly is important.
When I said I had nothing to paint, you told me to paint something I would have never considered painting before. You said to give it my best, and then leave it alone. So I painted you an Action Comics comic book cover. Then I painted some more comics, and then some more. And through that, I found my style. I was going about it all wrong. I was trying to copy the Masters, concentrating on learning their ways and putting off finding my own until I mastered theirs. You flipped my whole view by suggesting that I paint outside my comfort zone. You also changed why I paint. Now I master a series of paintings, antique comic books, then robots, and now the Lennon/McCartney series, I give it my best, and then I leave it alone. I move onto my next series.
Sorry I never just take your suggestions. I'm a dreamer, and you're a black-and-white person. You say "tomato" and I say "James and the Giant Peach!" To me, those two things are related, to you, I am just screaming out random shit in response to your suggestions. The prime example would be this blog. I ask you what I should write about because I am out of ideas. You suggest I write about how you had to almost saws-all my arm out of a hollow-core door that one time I got angry and put my fist right through it and it got stuck, and instead I write about how I always guess Narnia when you ask me where I think you are located presently. To you, those things aren't remotely related, but to me, they are intimately related.
You laugh and accept me after I answer your question of "what do you want to do Saturday?" and I respond "Finally learn to play the piano." I know you were really just looking for an answer like dinner and a movie, but then you say "By God Anne, you can do anything. Look up where you can take lessons!"
You talk. And I don't. And I know everyone you have ever met has hated the fact that you talk so much, with the grand exception of me. You know I just like to sit and listen to everyone around me. That right there is entertainment to me. You're the only person I have ever met who didn't ask me every 15 seconds if I was ok because I wasn't joining the conversation. You know that I am ok. You know that I will tell you if I am not ok. You know how to read my "not ok" looks. You know if I hold your stare for a second, then look at someone else, and then look back at you and tip my head down, it's my signal for "this guy is a motherfucking dick can we leave?" and you make an excuse and we make good our exit.
You take over for me when it comes to reading things I cannot read - like compasses and scrolling marquees. If we pass one on the street you read it out loud. You also don't tell people why you are doing that - you do not advertise my dyslexia to those around us. For that I am eternally grateful.
You order me top-shelf Vodka and navigate to the bar through throngs of people so I don't have to. You change the vacuum cleaner bag so I don't have to. You bought me a plant to keep me company while I was unemployed and you were at work. You pose the dolls so when I come home from work I laugh. You bought me a chocobo bank because I thought it was the cutest thing ever. You go out with me for sushi even though you hate it. You hold my hair back when I puke. You squeeze my hand right before the plane starts the landing descent because you know that's when I am the most scared. You remember that my favorite flower is the carnation, and you buy them even though the ladies at the flower shop always look at you like you're cheap for buying carnations. You still buy me roses too just because they're roses and for no reason other than you thought I would like them. You remind me when my library books are due and to return them. You let me take drunken pictures of you drinking a beer and holding a potato, and thus making fun of your heritage. You never make fun of my heritage. You have never read my diary. You make me think, and you make me re-think. You care too much what people think of you, which makes up for the fact that I do not care at all what people think of me. You know I secretly do wish people liked me more.
But more than all this, you love me. And I love all these things about you.
Love,
Your Annabelle
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Things I Have Been Thinking About Lately
Eric: Guess what I found on Ebay?!
Me: Narnia?
Eric: Yes! For once - I found Narnia! They made Narnia playsets!
Me: OH WOW! I wish we didn't have somewhere to go Saturday! I would totally play the humans and school your Narnia Fairytale asses!
Eric: Wow, you get just a little bit of power and you go evil.
In other news, I agonized over what I would buy for my niece and nephew's birthday presents. They turn one on the 29th, and I finally found something based off of a suggestion from my father:
It's a domokun!
The best part is it's pose-able - which means after the kids get over stimulated and fall asleep, and we adults are left to our own devices (cough cough booze cough cough) we can pose them in weird positions and laugh until the cows come home. Or until we wake the kids.
Me: Narnia?
Eric: Yes! For once - I found Narnia! They made Narnia playsets!
Me: OH WOW! I wish we didn't have somewhere to go Saturday! I would totally play the humans and school your Narnia Fairytale asses!
Eric: Wow, you get just a little bit of power and you go evil.
In other news, I agonized over what I would buy for my niece and nephew's birthday presents. They turn one on the 29th, and I finally found something based off of a suggestion from my father:
It's a domokun!
The best part is it's pose-able - which means after the kids get over stimulated and fall asleep, and we adults are left to our own devices (cough cough booze cough cough) we can pose them in weird positions and laugh until the cows come home. Or until we wake the kids.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
I Need an Explaination
Ok, someone please explain to me why I find this image so damned funny:
Every time I see this, it makes me laugh my ass off. It's been five times now today that I was like..."Hmmm I wonder what the evil murder duck is up to" and then I click on it again and OH how the laughter begins.
We got some bad news yesterday, and I was like..."Oh that's bad." Then CLICK and "Oh...that is GOOD."
And now, for something completely different (and not Murder Duck related):
These are my thoughts that I wrote down while waiting in line at a Subway:
"Why am I even in here? I hate Subway!"
"No, feel free to keep arguing in the back while customers queue up in the lobby. It's cool. I'll just draw a dick going into the mouth of this life-sized cardboard cutout of Jared the Sandwich Dork."
"No, Mom, don't worry, no one cares that your kid is having a hissy fit. No, let him throw his drink - he's just expressing himself!"
"Yes, all I want is a chicken wrap with banana peppers, chicken, cucumbers, and chipotle sauce. Stop looking at me like that. Do not judge my sandwich choices! I came here for a shitty overpriced sandwich, not judgement!"
"No, I do not want chips. No I do not want a drink. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Stop judging me!"
"You are the smallest white boy I have ever seen with the biggest dreads. I am a pretty accepting lady when it comes to appearance, but shit dude, no. Just. NO. Still, if you were my kid, I would probably allow it."
"Thank you Rasta-Boy, for mentioning that I look like Punky Brewster. I am pretty sure that show went off the air before you were born. But it's always nice to hear from my fans."
Happy Hump Day People!
Every time I see this, it makes me laugh my ass off. It's been five times now today that I was like..."Hmmm I wonder what the evil murder duck is up to" and then I click on it again and OH how the laughter begins.
We got some bad news yesterday, and I was like..."Oh that's bad." Then CLICK and "Oh...that is GOOD."
And now, for something completely different (and not Murder Duck related):
These are my thoughts that I wrote down while waiting in line at a Subway:
"Why am I even in here? I hate Subway!"
"No, feel free to keep arguing in the back while customers queue up in the lobby. It's cool. I'll just draw a dick going into the mouth of this life-sized cardboard cutout of Jared the Sandwich Dork."
"No, Mom, don't worry, no one cares that your kid is having a hissy fit. No, let him throw his drink - he's just expressing himself!"
"Yes, all I want is a chicken wrap with banana peppers, chicken, cucumbers, and chipotle sauce. Stop looking at me like that. Do not judge my sandwich choices! I came here for a shitty overpriced sandwich, not judgement!"
"No, I do not want chips. No I do not want a drink. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT! Stop judging me!"
"You are the smallest white boy I have ever seen with the biggest dreads. I am a pretty accepting lady when it comes to appearance, but shit dude, no. Just. NO. Still, if you were my kid, I would probably allow it."
"Thank you Rasta-Boy, for mentioning that I look like Punky Brewster. I am pretty sure that show went off the air before you were born. But it's always nice to hear from my fans."
Happy Hump Day People!
Monday, August 24, 2009
Best Twitter Ever
If you have a twitter, then go to Justin's and follow him, it's the funniest thing I have ever read.
He writes the Twitter Shit My Dad Says, and here are some selected updates:
I mean...greatest updates I have ever read. THIS is what Twitter is made for!
He writes the Twitter Shit My Dad Says, and here are some selected updates:
"Your mother made a batch of meatballs last night. Some are for you, some are for me, but more are for me. Remember that. More. Me."
"Your brother brought his baby over this morning. He told me it could stand. It couldn't stand for shit. Just sat there. Big let down."
"Jesus it's hot in here? Right? No? It's fucking hot, you people looking at me like i'm crazy. You're crazy."
I mean...greatest updates I have ever read. THIS is what Twitter is made for!
Sunday, August 23, 2009
That Scared the...Well...Yeah...Outta Me
Recently, I was at a friend's house, and I was hit with a bout of diarrhea (I swear, this little over-share has a point! I am not telling you about my bowels for no reason whatsoever.)
So, I am on the toilet, clutching my stomach, while my friend searches for some Imodium or Pepto or even sidewalk chalk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something large and colorful moving. Less than a foot from my head is the largest spider I have ever seen. And it's colorful - like colors that you would not normally find the in midwest. It was a large black spider with orange spot-like markings on it's back.
"Hey, uh, do you remember what black widow's look like?" I ask my friend through the door, voice all shaky, because I cannot stop my bowels but I am beyond scared of what is right next to me - probably looking at me thinking to itself "I would eat that girl, but she smells terrible."
"I am pretty sure they are black and red, and they have some sort of pattern on their backs." She replied.
"Ok, can you come in here?" I ask, knowing full well the answer is no because I have yet to be able to control my bowels.
"I know we're like sisters and all, but no, I haven't seen my brother pee." She replies, just outside the door, which really, to me is like watching me poop ANYHOW but I digress.
"Can you send your husband in here with a really big shoe?" I was thinking, hey, why the heck not. This cannot get anymore embarrassing, right?
"Dude, no. Just...no. Don't ruin women for him. He doesn't know we use the bathroom." She said in an almost whisper.
Then I notice the spider is sticking it's front legs out forward, towards me, like it is feeling how far away I am. That was it for me - I decided to hold it and hightail it out of there. Her husband came in and smooshed it with a shoe, which was nice, but he did get a one-liner in on me:
"Damn Enna, I think that poor spider was already dead from the smell."
Moral of the story: Check the bathroom if you can before having a serious bout of diarrhea, otherwise you will be ribbed for your fear of spiders until the end of time.
So, I am on the toilet, clutching my stomach, while my friend searches for some Imodium or Pepto or even sidewalk chalk.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something large and colorful moving. Less than a foot from my head is the largest spider I have ever seen. And it's colorful - like colors that you would not normally find the in midwest. It was a large black spider with orange spot-like markings on it's back.
"Hey, uh, do you remember what black widow's look like?" I ask my friend through the door, voice all shaky, because I cannot stop my bowels but I am beyond scared of what is right next to me - probably looking at me thinking to itself "I would eat that girl, but she smells terrible."
"I am pretty sure they are black and red, and they have some sort of pattern on their backs." She replied.
"Ok, can you come in here?" I ask, knowing full well the answer is no because I have yet to be able to control my bowels.
"I know we're like sisters and all, but no, I haven't seen my brother pee." She replies, just outside the door, which really, to me is like watching me poop ANYHOW but I digress.
"Can you send your husband in here with a really big shoe?" I was thinking, hey, why the heck not. This cannot get anymore embarrassing, right?
"Dude, no. Just...no. Don't ruin women for him. He doesn't know we use the bathroom." She said in an almost whisper.
Then I notice the spider is sticking it's front legs out forward, towards me, like it is feeling how far away I am. That was it for me - I decided to hold it and hightail it out of there. Her husband came in and smooshed it with a shoe, which was nice, but he did get a one-liner in on me:
"Damn Enna, I think that poor spider was already dead from the smell."
Moral of the story: Check the bathroom if you can before having a serious bout of diarrhea, otherwise you will be ribbed for your fear of spiders until the end of time.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
24 Hours
Ok so...wow. Hello outpouring of support! I am completely amazed here. I like to think that I am just the embodiment of everyone's walking, talking Id.
I mean, I act without thinking, I get myself into strange situations, and I am downright quirky. I always thought that I am like everyone else - only a little weirder, and little more passive-aggressive, a little more neurotic. I don't even know really what I am trying to say here. I also feel like I am a 12 year old boy deep down inside (I have a serious thing for body fluids jokes. Have you noticed that? I pee way too much.)
I guess what I am trying to say is...thanks for accepting me. People came out and were like "Yes! You are awesome!" And I was like "You know...I am pretty swell!" Because in my head I still talk to myself like it's the 1940s.
So, onward to the important stuff, you can buy my book in paperback form here.
I was talking to Eric about the book, and I was getting down on myself about self-publishing. And Eric said "Dammit woman, I do not know what is wrong with you. You did something most people can't. You wrote a book and then you put it up for sale. You talked to some publishers, they were shitty, so you did it yourself. BE PROUD OF YOURSELF." And so, yeah, I am. I am actually still in shock.
And just so you know - yes, this book has a compilation of my blog posts, but also some new stories that I never posted here.
I am working on getting the book into audio format so I can sell it on ITunes.
If someone had told me the day I lost my job - hey Anne, all this shit is going to rain down on you for roughly 7 months, and then, you'll start selling paintings, you'll write a book, people will link to your blog like gangbusters, people will be interested in what you have to say and what you can do - I would have thought you were insane.
But here we are, and here I am.
Also, to my friends, I dedicated the book to your children:
Peter, Paul, Logan, Kira, Christian, Catie, Billy, and Riley.
Matt was the first to discover this - and it occurred to me I never mentioned it. Yeah, I didn't know who to dedicate the book to, so I thought, heck, why not dedicate it to the littest people I love the dearest.
I mean, I act without thinking, I get myself into strange situations, and I am downright quirky. I always thought that I am like everyone else - only a little weirder, and little more passive-aggressive, a little more neurotic. I don't even know really what I am trying to say here. I also feel like I am a 12 year old boy deep down inside (I have a serious thing for body fluids jokes. Have you noticed that? I pee way too much.)
I guess what I am trying to say is...thanks for accepting me. People came out and were like "Yes! You are awesome!" And I was like "You know...I am pretty swell!" Because in my head I still talk to myself like it's the 1940s.
So, onward to the important stuff, you can buy my book in paperback form here.
I was talking to Eric about the book, and I was getting down on myself about self-publishing. And Eric said "Dammit woman, I do not know what is wrong with you. You did something most people can't. You wrote a book and then you put it up for sale. You talked to some publishers, they were shitty, so you did it yourself. BE PROUD OF YOURSELF." And so, yeah, I am. I am actually still in shock.
And just so you know - yes, this book has a compilation of my blog posts, but also some new stories that I never posted here.
I am working on getting the book into audio format so I can sell it on ITunes.
If someone had told me the day I lost my job - hey Anne, all this shit is going to rain down on you for roughly 7 months, and then, you'll start selling paintings, you'll write a book, people will link to your blog like gangbusters, people will be interested in what you have to say and what you can do - I would have thought you were insane.
But here we are, and here I am.
Also, to my friends, I dedicated the book to your children:
Peter, Paul, Logan, Kira, Christian, Catie, Billy, and Riley.
Matt was the first to discover this - and it occurred to me I never mentioned it. Yeah, I didn't know who to dedicate the book to, so I thought, heck, why not dedicate it to the littest people I love the dearest.
TWO FOR ONE POST DAY!
Ok, I am posting twice today, not because I like you people OH SO MUCH (ok, I do actually like you people that much. Sue me.)
But because Emi at Letters From the End Consumer is plugging the heck out of my book on her blog.
The gist is: My book is available for download on Kindle and IPhone right now, but not in hard copy yet. Apparently book printing takes time. But I will let you know when that is available. If anyone is interested in just downloading it (on to their Blackberry or even computer) I have it in digital format. Otherwise I will just let you all know when it's printed.
So, yeah, Emi made me cry today (in a good way) to the point that I crawled into my little work hidey hole and cried my little eyes out that someone is plugging my book. Just imagine if I ever have a kid - I will be a snotty tear-streaked mess.
But because Emi at Letters From the End Consumer is plugging the heck out of my book on her blog.
The gist is: My book is available for download on Kindle and IPhone right now, but not in hard copy yet. Apparently book printing takes time. But I will let you know when that is available. If anyone is interested in just downloading it (on to their Blackberry or even computer) I have it in digital format. Otherwise I will just let you all know when it's printed.
So, yeah, Emi made me cry today (in a good way) to the point that I crawled into my little work hidey hole and cried my little eyes out that someone is plugging my book. Just imagine if I ever have a kid - I will be a snotty tear-streaked mess.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Uggghhh
The thing about going back to work is now my house is freaking dirty again. I walked in today, and it smelled like a sock in here.
A very, very dirty sock.
Honestly, if I found a body underneath all our dirty laundry in the bedroom I would only be mildly surprised.
My plan for Saturday morning is to clean the every living crap out of this place.
I plan on starting on this cleaning spree on Thursday night by throwing away everything that is not nailed down. No, seriously. That is how I clean. I throw away EVERYTHING. Have I touched this in the last three months? No? INTO THE TRASH IT GOES. Then I scrub the crap out of what is nailed down, or what Eric has salvaged out of my trash bags.
"This is a picture of my grandmother!"
"Oh, sorry about that! Do you want me to Pine Sol it?"
"Nooooo!"
Then I am going to steam clean my carpets with some Gain.
No, trust me, laundry detergent works far better than carpet cleaner ever will. Plus it smells better.
Afterwards I am going down to the south side of Chicago to go with my mother to eat at the place she found to host my wedding shower. I am going to get my fill of baked mostacholli or linguine with clam sauce (*little fists of joy* I CANNOT DECIDE!) and then I am going to roll myself into my clean bed and sleep the rest of the weekend away. Yeah. Great plans, no?
I don't know about you, but I am ready for the weekend.
(Ok, side note, I will totally admit to the fact that I watch TV while writing blog posts, and can I just say - OMG KILL BILL IS ON! YESSSSS! BEST WEDNESDAY EVER! Excuse me while I get a can of Coke and watch Uma Thurman get shot in the head!)
Also - my great plan is to finalize painting/decorating in the next coming weekends, and then take pictures and post them on this blog. Yeah. I know. This is not a decorating blog. And I am not a decorator. So let's just say it will probably be a humorous experiment for those of you who have any taste whatsoever.
A very, very dirty sock.
Honestly, if I found a body underneath all our dirty laundry in the bedroom I would only be mildly surprised.
My plan for Saturday morning is to clean the every living crap out of this place.
I plan on starting on this cleaning spree on Thursday night by throwing away everything that is not nailed down. No, seriously. That is how I clean. I throw away EVERYTHING. Have I touched this in the last three months? No? INTO THE TRASH IT GOES. Then I scrub the crap out of what is nailed down, or what Eric has salvaged out of my trash bags.
"This is a picture of my grandmother!"
"Oh, sorry about that! Do you want me to Pine Sol it?"
"Nooooo!"
Then I am going to steam clean my carpets with some Gain.
No, trust me, laundry detergent works far better than carpet cleaner ever will. Plus it smells better.
Afterwards I am going down to the south side of Chicago to go with my mother to eat at the place she found to host my wedding shower. I am going to get my fill of baked mostacholli or linguine with clam sauce (*little fists of joy* I CANNOT DECIDE!) and then I am going to roll myself into my clean bed and sleep the rest of the weekend away. Yeah. Great plans, no?
I don't know about you, but I am ready for the weekend.
(Ok, side note, I will totally admit to the fact that I watch TV while writing blog posts, and can I just say - OMG KILL BILL IS ON! YESSSSS! BEST WEDNESDAY EVER! Excuse me while I get a can of Coke and watch Uma Thurman get shot in the head!)
Also - my great plan is to finalize painting/decorating in the next coming weekends, and then take pictures and post them on this blog. Yeah. I know. This is not a decorating blog. And I am not a decorator. So let's just say it will probably be a humorous experiment for those of you who have any taste whatsoever.
One of the BEST Comics of all Time
I am just going to link to it, because I do not have the time or patience to just post it here, as it would make my formatting go all screwy.
Greatest comic of all time courtesy of the non-defunct Perry Bible Fellowship.
Greatest comic of all time courtesy of the non-defunct Perry Bible Fellowship.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
You're Dressed So Poorly
First, I would like to explain something - my company is pretty casual when it comes to clothes. Not overly casual, but pretty casual. No one wears a suit.
The other day, this old woman (70 or so) stops by where I was sitting and says "Where is your team? Are they here?" I respond without looking up "No but they will all be in late. Everyone worked late last night." And the elderly co-worker responds with "Well that's good. They can't see how poorly you've dressed."
For the record, I am wearing khakis and a black button down shirt (from Banana Republic, no less) and I am like "Whaaa?" Because really, I had no idea what she was talking about.
One of my co-workers happened to be walking by and did a literal spit-take with what she was drinking. Then, for the rest of the day, she would come up to me and say "Enna, you're dressed so poorly!" And I would shoot back with things like:
The sad part is, I am not even insulted. I am just AMUSED. And my friends at work like to tell other people this story, just to watch their reactions (their reactions usually involve the eyes-wide-hand-over-mouth laughter response.)
Now excuse me, I have to get on my pastel purple polyester pants/shirt combo, get my hair in a beehive, and head on out the door to work. Some of us have old ladies who can't mind their own to impress!
The other day, this old woman (70 or so) stops by where I was sitting and says "Where is your team? Are they here?" I respond without looking up "No but they will all be in late. Everyone worked late last night." And the elderly co-worker responds with "Well that's good. They can't see how poorly you've dressed."
For the record, I am wearing khakis and a black button down shirt (from Banana Republic, no less) and I am like "Whaaa?" Because really, I had no idea what she was talking about.
One of my co-workers happened to be walking by and did a literal spit-take with what she was drinking. Then, for the rest of the day, she would come up to me and say "Enna, you're dressed so poorly!" And I would shoot back with things like:
- Oh, I am sorry, it's just so hard to keep up with fashions from 1962!
- Oh, I am sorry, I didn't realize EVERYONE had to wear camel-toe-showing tapered polyester pants to work, I thought that was just YOU.
- Shut it bitch, before I break your hip.
The sad part is, I am not even insulted. I am just AMUSED. And my friends at work like to tell other people this story, just to watch their reactions (their reactions usually involve the eyes-wide-hand-over-mouth laughter response.)
Now excuse me, I have to get on my pastel purple polyester pants/shirt combo, get my hair in a beehive, and head on out the door to work. Some of us have old ladies who can't mind their own to impress!
Monday, August 17, 2009
A Message From My Friend Who Works at an ER
One of my friends works in an ER in a city that is not Chicago, and she has a special open letter I would like to share:
Dear Forces of the Universe:
I am so so so glad that I am up to my neck in student loans so I could have a wonderful job as an ER Nurse. Especially when people come in and avert their eyes when they try to tell me what is wrong with them. Whenever someone comes in and does this, the nurses at triage watch to see if they will sit down. If not, they invariably have something stuck in their ass that shouldn't be there. And I will invariably have to dig it out of there before my shift is over. The Ass Brigade never comes in at the end of my shift, always at the beginning. Yes, I am sure you "accidentally" sat on that and it got wedged in there.
Actually, let me defend one guy. He came in, all freaked out, with a GI Joe or some action figure of some sort sticking halfway out of his ass. He slipped on one his kid's toys and fell getting out of the shower. He didn't know if he could pull it out safely, and was genuinely freaked out. That guy had the one in a million shot and seriously didn't know what to do. THAT GUY was telling the truth. The rest of you are just freaky-deaky.
And then there's the people who, I swear, don't even put any effort into their lies. I am so sure you got syphallis from the shower at the gym. Wait, was "Shower" her name? And don't worry, I won't be calling your wife. That's the health department's job!
And then there's the woman who came into the ER and acted like a bitch to me because I was not a doctor. Guess what sweetie? You don't GET to see a doctor. Your doctor would not help you, so you came here. Let me break down why no one will help you: YOU ARE INSANE. No, there is no way your husband could have somehow switched his sperm with another man's. I realize twins do not run in your family, but guess what? You're pregnant with them, so I guess it runs in your family now! But thank you for bringing your husband's hairbrush and asking me to get a doctor to check your fetuses for a DNA match. County hospitals do not have DNA facilities on premises. Shit, PRIVATE hospitals don't either. But let's get one thing straight: Either you are insane, which is why I turned your case over to CFS, or you cheated on him and want to know before it's too late. Either way, you wasted TWO HOURS of my time. Then you insulted me on top of it.
And finally, to the mother who came in with her child and sat down, calmly filled out the paperwork, and then sat back down and waited. The triage nurses got to your paperwork ten minutes after you filled it out. YOU are the ONLY person who is allowed to scream and throw shit at us, but you didn't. Your kid had a serious head injury, and you should not have been as calm as you were. But you said you were being polite and didn't think it was that serious. Let me break it down for you: If you kid falls head first off his bike, and his eyes roll up in the back of his head and he can't speak coherently CALL 911! FUCK POLITE!
Thank you all for listening,
[Name Redacted to protect the idiots with stuff crammed in their asses]
Dear Forces of the Universe:
I am so so so glad that I am up to my neck in student loans so I could have a wonderful job as an ER Nurse. Especially when people come in and avert their eyes when they try to tell me what is wrong with them. Whenever someone comes in and does this, the nurses at triage watch to see if they will sit down. If not, they invariably have something stuck in their ass that shouldn't be there. And I will invariably have to dig it out of there before my shift is over. The Ass Brigade never comes in at the end of my shift, always at the beginning. Yes, I am sure you "accidentally" sat on that and it got wedged in there.
Actually, let me defend one guy. He came in, all freaked out, with a GI Joe or some action figure of some sort sticking halfway out of his ass. He slipped on one his kid's toys and fell getting out of the shower. He didn't know if he could pull it out safely, and was genuinely freaked out. That guy had the one in a million shot and seriously didn't know what to do. THAT GUY was telling the truth. The rest of you are just freaky-deaky.
And then there's the people who, I swear, don't even put any effort into their lies. I am so sure you got syphallis from the shower at the gym. Wait, was "Shower" her name? And don't worry, I won't be calling your wife. That's the health department's job!
And then there's the woman who came into the ER and acted like a bitch to me because I was not a doctor. Guess what sweetie? You don't GET to see a doctor. Your doctor would not help you, so you came here. Let me break down why no one will help you: YOU ARE INSANE. No, there is no way your husband could have somehow switched his sperm with another man's. I realize twins do not run in your family, but guess what? You're pregnant with them, so I guess it runs in your family now! But thank you for bringing your husband's hairbrush and asking me to get a doctor to check your fetuses for a DNA match. County hospitals do not have DNA facilities on premises. Shit, PRIVATE hospitals don't either. But let's get one thing straight: Either you are insane, which is why I turned your case over to CFS, or you cheated on him and want to know before it's too late. Either way, you wasted TWO HOURS of my time. Then you insulted me on top of it.
And finally, to the mother who came in with her child and sat down, calmly filled out the paperwork, and then sat back down and waited. The triage nurses got to your paperwork ten minutes after you filled it out. YOU are the ONLY person who is allowed to scream and throw shit at us, but you didn't. Your kid had a serious head injury, and you should not have been as calm as you were. But you said you were being polite and didn't think it was that serious. Let me break it down for you: If you kid falls head first off his bike, and his eyes roll up in the back of his head and he can't speak coherently CALL 911! FUCK POLITE!
Thank you all for listening,
[Name Redacted to protect the idiots with stuff crammed in their asses]
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Ode to Pam
After filling out a Facebook quiz about the five jobs I wanted to have when I grew up (A Catholic Priest, James Motherfucking Bond, A Food Chemist, A Government Cold War Spy, Professional Soccer Player) and my friend Pam responded by saying:
"Shit Enna, it's like you made a list of guys I want to fuck!"
"Shit Enna, it's like you made a list of guys I want to fuck!"
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Book Book Book EDIT: Story Time with Ms. Enna
Have you never seen my book cover? Yeaaaah, that's because it has my real name on it. So don't tell anyone, and I won't tell anyone my real name either.
No, wait. I will tell people my real name. I mean, I enjoy getting PAID, and in order to do that they need to know my name.
So, yeah, don't plaster this all over the internets...please. I don't want to get hate mail at my HOUSE too.
(My book cover link used to be here, but then I took it down)
Now, for a little story time with Ms. Enna! Gather around the story-time rug, my children, Ms. Enna is going to tell you a story about why you do not post your real name on the internets.
Ms. Enna woke up at the asscrack of dawn like usual, and got ready for work. Then Ms. Enna went to her local 7/11 to buy chips and pop and a Redbull because Ms. Enna likes eating crap for breakfast (AKA Ms. Enna likes to eat a "whores breakfast")
And Ms. Enna went to pay for her purchases.
And Ms. Enna's purchases were DENIED because Ms. Enna tried to use her debit card and apparently she had no monies.
This surprised Ms. Enna, seeing as Mr. Eric just got paid the day before and Mr. Eric doesn't ever spend money because he is cheap, leaving Ms. Enna a boatload of cash to have at her disposal for her daily Whore's Breakfasts.
Ms. Enna hopped on her bus and went to work.
When Ms. Enna arrived at work, she checked her bank accounts, and Ms. Enna had NO MONEY IN ANY OF THEM.
Nada. Zilch. This made Ms. Enna angry, not only because she had no money, but also because she didn't eat yet, and lordylodry does Ms. Enna like to eat, you know, at least ONCE a day.
Ms. Enna called her bank, who told her that the previous night, right about the time Ms. Enna posted her REAL NAME on the internets, someone stole her identity and went on a spending spree.
And Ms. Enna dropped the F-Bomb quite a few times.
THE END!
Ok, in fairness, my bank was really nice about it, and I am getting all my money back, as well as the overdraft fees for the checks that are BOUNCING SKY HIGH LIKE THEY ARE MADE OF FLUBBER WRAPPED IN SUPERBALLS. Eric doesn’t know yet, but something tells me (checks watch) he will find out in exactly 30 minutes when he goes to try to buy himself something to eat.
I get to leave early and head out to the bank and file a police report. OH JOY.
Also, I don’t think this had to do with me posting my name on the net, but in the event it did, I took it down.
The irony here is that today is our “Eat-Out” day, meaning we treat ourselves to lunch and then usually just get a pizza for dinner. (I know, we need a better name for this day since the current name sounds way more sexual than intended. Though, in fairness, I usually get crab legs on my “Eat-Out” day for lunch, and that is downright an orgasmic experience.) Eric is going to try to get something to eat and be denied. And then when we get our money back he will insist that we buy another gun because the world isn’t a safe place anymore. I wish just once he would try to distract me with crab legs. I swear, I would let him buy black-market SCUDs if it came with a side of crab legs.
No, wait. I will tell people my real name. I mean, I enjoy getting PAID, and in order to do that they need to know my name.
So, yeah, don't plaster this all over the internets...please. I don't want to get hate mail at my HOUSE too.
(My book cover link used to be here, but then I took it down)
Now, for a little story time with Ms. Enna! Gather around the story-time rug, my children, Ms. Enna is going to tell you a story about why you do not post your real name on the internets.
Ms. Enna woke up at the asscrack of dawn like usual, and got ready for work. Then Ms. Enna went to her local 7/11 to buy chips and pop and a Redbull because Ms. Enna likes eating crap for breakfast (AKA Ms. Enna likes to eat a "whores breakfast")
And Ms. Enna went to pay for her purchases.
And Ms. Enna's purchases were DENIED because Ms. Enna tried to use her debit card and apparently she had no monies.
This surprised Ms. Enna, seeing as Mr. Eric just got paid the day before and Mr. Eric doesn't ever spend money because he is cheap, leaving Ms. Enna a boatload of cash to have at her disposal for her daily Whore's Breakfasts.
Ms. Enna hopped on her bus and went to work.
When Ms. Enna arrived at work, she checked her bank accounts, and Ms. Enna had NO MONEY IN ANY OF THEM.
Nada. Zilch. This made Ms. Enna angry, not only because she had no money, but also because she didn't eat yet, and lordylodry does Ms. Enna like to eat, you know, at least ONCE a day.
Ms. Enna called her bank, who told her that the previous night, right about the time Ms. Enna posted her REAL NAME on the internets, someone stole her identity and went on a spending spree.
And Ms. Enna dropped the F-Bomb quite a few times.
THE END!
Ok, in fairness, my bank was really nice about it, and I am getting all my money back, as well as the overdraft fees for the checks that are BOUNCING SKY HIGH LIKE THEY ARE MADE OF FLUBBER WRAPPED IN SUPERBALLS. Eric doesn’t know yet, but something tells me (checks watch) he will find out in exactly 30 minutes when he goes to try to buy himself something to eat.
I get to leave early and head out to the bank and file a police report. OH JOY.
Also, I don’t think this had to do with me posting my name on the net, but in the event it did, I took it down.
The irony here is that today is our “Eat-Out” day, meaning we treat ourselves to lunch and then usually just get a pizza for dinner. (I know, we need a better name for this day since the current name sounds way more sexual than intended. Though, in fairness, I usually get crab legs on my “Eat-Out” day for lunch, and that is downright an orgasmic experience.) Eric is going to try to get something to eat and be denied. And then when we get our money back he will insist that we buy another gun because the world isn’t a safe place anymore. I wish just once he would try to distract me with crab legs. I swear, I would let him buy black-market SCUDs if it came with a side of crab legs.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Crisatunity
So, I don't know about you, but when I am not sure what is coming next, I like to make a list. Or, many lists. I also like to doctor photos of myself with weird captions, thus pretty much making me one giant walking, talking LOLCat:
Oh, and yes, I am eating a giant penis cookie in that photo. YEAH. And yes. My head is that round. Let's all take a moment of silence for my mother because of that giant noggin.
The gist of this post is that I have a plan and know what is going to happen in the future. So everything is going to be ok. We done worrying about me now? Ok. Tommorrow I am back to normally posting about my ass or peeing myself or whathaveyou. Thanks for your concern and comments folks!
*cocks shotgun* NOW YOU KIDS GET OFF MY LAWN!
Oh, and yes, I am eating a giant penis cookie in that photo. YEAH. And yes. My head is that round. Let's all take a moment of silence for my mother because of that giant noggin.
The gist of this post is that I have a plan and know what is going to happen in the future. So everything is going to be ok. We done worrying about me now? Ok. Tommorrow I am back to normally posting about my ass or peeing myself or whathaveyou. Thanks for your concern and comments folks!
*cocks shotgun* NOW YOU KIDS GET OFF MY LAWN!
Monday, August 10, 2009
A Post in Which Enna Goes Batshit Insane with Anger
Sorry about the rough language. But I am PISSED OFF.
Dear 2009 -
You goddamned piece of shit. No seriously YOU PIECE OF SHIT. Just go fuck yourself. You are halfway over, and you thought to yourself "Why not just fuck with Enna one last time!" Maybe it's fate I should be screaming at, or maybe it's you.
2009, you took my job from me early on, and that was something that I could freely accept and move on from. I was like "Ok, that happens, it will be ok." And I moved on and didn't dwell in self-pity. Then you took Sheryl. That one was harder to accept. That one knocked us down on our asses and we still haven't gotten back up. Only we can't say anything about it. We can't talk about it. So instead, it haunts my dreams. THANK YOU FOR THAT 2009 THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING.
Then some other stuff happened that made me want to pack it up and leave to go teach English in Japan, and I am sorry readers, I know everyone loves it when the drama llama comes into town, but this is one of the few things that happened in 2009 that I won't talk about, plus I am over this, why the fuck I am mentioning it who the fuck knows. Maybe for historical value.
Then 2009, you offered me some jobs and then TOOK THEM BACK. What the fuck is that? 'Here's some happiness - no shit I was just kidding Enna, you can go back to fucking yourself.'
Then I got a job, and Obama came out with this plan to help us idiots who could not afford our mortgages because we lost our jobs, and everything was looking bright. Eric and I dragged each other out of hell, and things were going good once again.
Is it because I wrote about how happy I was, 2009? Is that why you're throwing this at us again? Fuck, at ME again? I wish I could scream what is going on, scream the names of people who are hurting us out into the public, on this blog, on a fucking website that I would name IHOPEYOUFUCKINGDIEYOUCOCKSUCKINGPIECEOFSHIT (dotcom!)
That is IT. My friends know of Angry Enna, it's the persona I take on when I am out for revenge. AND I AM OUT FOR REVENGE.
Let's everyone say hello to Angry Enna, for she will be running the show for a little while until Normal Enna cools the fuck down.
2009? I have a damned fine lawyer. You think you can use people to push me around? You have another thing coming. I AM PISSED AND LAWYERED UP AND I AM COMING FOR YOU.
Sincerely,
Angry Enna
PS This was not about Eric and my relationship, nor my job, both are secure.
PPS This was very theraputic!
PPPS I fully expect Eric to read this and start hiding Xanax in my oatmeal.
PPPPS Ok that was a joke he would never drug me.
Dear 2009 -
You goddamned piece of shit. No seriously YOU PIECE OF SHIT. Just go fuck yourself. You are halfway over, and you thought to yourself "Why not just fuck with Enna one last time!" Maybe it's fate I should be screaming at, or maybe it's you.
2009, you took my job from me early on, and that was something that I could freely accept and move on from. I was like "Ok, that happens, it will be ok." And I moved on and didn't dwell in self-pity. Then you took Sheryl. That one was harder to accept. That one knocked us down on our asses and we still haven't gotten back up. Only we can't say anything about it. We can't talk about it. So instead, it haunts my dreams. THANK YOU FOR THAT 2009 THE GIFT THAT KEEPS ON GIVING.
Then some other stuff happened that made me want to pack it up and leave to go teach English in Japan, and I am sorry readers, I know everyone loves it when the drama llama comes into town, but this is one of the few things that happened in 2009 that I won't talk about, plus I am over this, why the fuck I am mentioning it who the fuck knows. Maybe for historical value.
Then 2009, you offered me some jobs and then TOOK THEM BACK. What the fuck is that? 'Here's some happiness - no shit I was just kidding Enna, you can go back to fucking yourself.'
Then I got a job, and Obama came out with this plan to help us idiots who could not afford our mortgages because we lost our jobs, and everything was looking bright. Eric and I dragged each other out of hell, and things were going good once again.
Is it because I wrote about how happy I was, 2009? Is that why you're throwing this at us again? Fuck, at ME again? I wish I could scream what is going on, scream the names of people who are hurting us out into the public, on this blog, on a fucking website that I would name IHOPEYOUFUCKINGDIEYOUCOCKSUCKINGPIECEOFSHIT (dotcom!)
That is IT. My friends know of Angry Enna, it's the persona I take on when I am out for revenge. AND I AM OUT FOR REVENGE.
Let's everyone say hello to Angry Enna, for she will be running the show for a little while until Normal Enna cools the fuck down.
2009? I have a damned fine lawyer. You think you can use people to push me around? You have another thing coming. I AM PISSED AND LAWYERED UP AND I AM COMING FOR YOU.
Sincerely,
Angry Enna
PS This was not about Eric and my relationship, nor my job, both are secure.
PPS This was very theraputic!
PPPS I fully expect Eric to read this and start hiding Xanax in my oatmeal.
PPPPS Ok that was a joke he would never drug me.
Sunday, August 9, 2009
Too Soon?
Joe: Ohhh I am so sick, do you have anything I can take to clear my sinuses?
Me: I have the Noah's Ark remedy, if you want it.
Joe: Oh man, do I even want to know what that is?
Me: You take two of everything until you think you're talking to God.
Joe: Wow. You know that's how Heath Ledger died, right?
Me: I am going to go ahead and point out the obvious by saying that Heath is indeed talking to God right now.
Joe: I am glad to see that regular church attendance has been good for you.
_________________________________________
Erin: I looked up my headache on WebMD and it said I was pregnant. I thought you would understand.
Me: I would rather be told by WebMD that I am pregnant than their usual response of CANCER CANCER OH YES YOU HAVE CANCER.
Erin: So...I guess pregnancy = cancer according to WebMD. I guess it's the same, you have something growing in you until someone gets it out.
Me: Wow. That right there is blogworthy (and it was!)
_________________________________________
Me: Oh my squee! IKEA has a crib that sits on the ground, it's not one of those full sized ones, it's like an apartment crib! Now we can have a baby!
Eric: Seriously, IKEA was the only thing stopping us from having a kid?
Me: IKEA's lack of registry is the only thing stopping us from registering for gifts, so, I guess our reproductive decisions should be based on some strangely named Swedish furniture as well.
Eric: I sincerely hope IKEA doesn't one day start selling caskets. You might kill me in the night just because you got a good deal on a casket.
Me: No, not unless they sold plots as well.
Eric: Wow. That was the least comforting thing you have ever said to me!
Me: I'm sorry, not unless they sold plots as well sweetie.
Eric: Ah, so much better.
Me: I have the Noah's Ark remedy, if you want it.
Joe: Oh man, do I even want to know what that is?
Me: You take two of everything until you think you're talking to God.
Joe: Wow. You know that's how Heath Ledger died, right?
Me: I am going to go ahead and point out the obvious by saying that Heath is indeed talking to God right now.
Joe: I am glad to see that regular church attendance has been good for you.
_________________________________________
Erin: I looked up my headache on WebMD and it said I was pregnant. I thought you would understand.
Me: I would rather be told by WebMD that I am pregnant than their usual response of CANCER CANCER OH YES YOU HAVE CANCER.
Erin: So...I guess pregnancy = cancer according to WebMD. I guess it's the same, you have something growing in you until someone gets it out.
Me: Wow. That right there is blogworthy (and it was!)
_________________________________________
Me: Oh my squee! IKEA has a crib that sits on the ground, it's not one of those full sized ones, it's like an apartment crib! Now we can have a baby!
Eric: Seriously, IKEA was the only thing stopping us from having a kid?
Me: IKEA's lack of registry is the only thing stopping us from registering for gifts, so, I guess our reproductive decisions should be based on some strangely named Swedish furniture as well.
Eric: I sincerely hope IKEA doesn't one day start selling caskets. You might kill me in the night just because you got a good deal on a casket.
Me: No, not unless they sold plots as well.
Eric: Wow. That was the least comforting thing you have ever said to me!
Me: I'm sorry, not unless they sold plots as well sweetie.
Eric: Ah, so much better.
I would rather be pregnant than get the result of CANCER CANCER CANCER YES YOU HAVE CANCER!
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Second Life and 40ozs to Freedom
This post is going to be a split one - mostly because I did not update yesterday but also because the first half of this one will be contemplative and the second half will be funny. I swear.
Does Sublime make anyone else really happy with the warm fuzzies. Anytime I hear Sublime it reminds me of every late night backyard summer party Eric and I have ever closed out. It reminds me of fireworks and driving around with the sunroof open. Maybe it's just me. Plus I never tire of the song Badfish. I could listen to that all night.
Enough already Enna! Get to the funnies!
So I was talking to my friend Dave the other day. Dave is a librarian for his school in real life as well as in Second Life. He didn't exactly buy the game and decide to be a librarian in that as well - he isn't that much of a book dork - his library has it as a service in Second Life.
Dave told me about his latest encounter with a she-male in Second Life. The She-Male Monstrosity came into the virtual library, continually put his/her crotch in Dave's face, and asked if it would be funny if he burned the library down.
Then the Shemale rubbed his/her hands through Dave's hair and asked if he wanted to have some sex (how this works - don't ask me. I have no idea. I can't get my Sims to use the toilet or the treadmill, let alone have sex with each other in a library.) Dave politely decline, and might I add, kept his Second Life voice down, as he was in a Library and all, and the Shemale set off a "bomb" of little Marios (from Super Mario Bros. Don't act like you didn't play the shit out of that game too. I know you did.)
This has to be the best rejection story I have ever heard. I wish in the real world when I rejected perverts they would explode in a confetti of little tiny Marios. Actually, no, that would probably scare the behooey out of me. And then we all know what would happen.
I would pee.
Now excuse me, I need to go set up a Second Life account so I can go mess with Dave's card catalog. And when I say mess, I think we all know what I mean.
I will pee on it.
Does Sublime make anyone else really happy with the warm fuzzies. Anytime I hear Sublime it reminds me of every late night backyard summer party Eric and I have ever closed out. It reminds me of fireworks and driving around with the sunroof open. Maybe it's just me. Plus I never tire of the song Badfish. I could listen to that all night.
Enough already Enna! Get to the funnies!
So I was talking to my friend Dave the other day. Dave is a librarian for his school in real life as well as in Second Life. He didn't exactly buy the game and decide to be a librarian in that as well - he isn't that much of a book dork - his library has it as a service in Second Life.
Dave told me about his latest encounter with a she-male in Second Life. The She-Male Monstrosity came into the virtual library, continually put his/her crotch in Dave's face, and asked if it would be funny if he burned the library down.
Then the Shemale rubbed his/her hands through Dave's hair and asked if he wanted to have some sex (how this works - don't ask me. I have no idea. I can't get my Sims to use the toilet or the treadmill, let alone have sex with each other in a library.) Dave politely decline, and might I add, kept his Second Life voice down, as he was in a Library and all, and the Shemale set off a "bomb" of little Marios (from Super Mario Bros. Don't act like you didn't play the shit out of that game too. I know you did.)
This has to be the best rejection story I have ever heard. I wish in the real world when I rejected perverts they would explode in a confetti of little tiny Marios. Actually, no, that would probably scare the behooey out of me. And then we all know what would happen.
I would pee.
Now excuse me, I need to go set up a Second Life account so I can go mess with Dave's card catalog. And when I say mess, I think we all know what I mean.
I will pee on it.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Recap
So, after the delightful sleep pills experiment, I have learned something:
Set you darned alarm Enna.
I woke up at 5 a.m. again. But then I went back to sleep.
And did not set my alarm.
So it was a success, sort of. If success means sneaking into your office with greasy sweaty hair from sleeping and not showering and hoping no one catches you or smells you.
Oh, and I also dreamed that I had a barrel (like the kind that homeless people would wear in cartoons) full of baby doll legs that I had to eat otherwise the drill Sargent would make me run 5 miles.
My exact words: Uh, Drill Sargent Sir? I think I would rather run the 5 miles.
But instead I was forced to eat doll legs on a military base some where. I am pretty sure that little torture goes against the Geneva Convention. But I could be wrong. I'm wrong a lot.
Well folks, it's time for bed. I only got through half the barrel last night and those baby doll legs aren't going to eat themselves.
Set you darned alarm Enna.
I woke up at 5 a.m. again. But then I went back to sleep.
And did not set my alarm.
So it was a success, sort of. If success means sneaking into your office with greasy sweaty hair from sleeping and not showering and hoping no one catches you or smells you.
Oh, and I also dreamed that I had a barrel (like the kind that homeless people would wear in cartoons) full of baby doll legs that I had to eat otherwise the drill Sargent would make me run 5 miles.
My exact words: Uh, Drill Sargent Sir? I think I would rather run the 5 miles.
But instead I was forced to eat doll legs on a military base some where. I am pretty sure that little torture goes against the Geneva Convention. But I could be wrong. I'm wrong a lot.
Well folks, it's time for bed. I only got through half the barrel last night and those baby doll legs aren't going to eat themselves.
Monday, August 3, 2009
Early Morning Activities
I get up in the morning at 5 a.m. Not because I have to get anywhere that early, but because I have been getting up that early for the last five years or so. The interesting thing about living this close to where I work is I have a lot of time on my hands that early in the morning all by myself.
Last week, I made myself a full pancake breakfast. This morning, I made three batches of chocolate chip cookies. Tomorrow, I am making toffee.
Ok, seriously, I need to learn how to go back to sleep. If nothing else, I am running out of flour. FLOUR - the basis of all FOOD! And I am running out of it!
So yeah, against my better judgement, I am turning down my air to 60 degrees tonight, padlocking the patio, zipping myself up into a sleeping bag, and taking a sleeping pill to see if I can sleep past five.
It's weird though, on the weekends, I sleep for like 16 hours. I went to sleep on Friday at 6 p.m. and woke up at 8:30 a.m. WHO SLEEPS THAT MUCH?
Sorry about the weird post. You could say I'm a little sleep deprived.
Last week, I made myself a full pancake breakfast. This morning, I made three batches of chocolate chip cookies. Tomorrow, I am making toffee.
Ok, seriously, I need to learn how to go back to sleep. If nothing else, I am running out of flour. FLOUR - the basis of all FOOD! And I am running out of it!
So yeah, against my better judgement, I am turning down my air to 60 degrees tonight, padlocking the patio, zipping myself up into a sleeping bag, and taking a sleeping pill to see if I can sleep past five.
It's weird though, on the weekends, I sleep for like 16 hours. I went to sleep on Friday at 6 p.m. and woke up at 8:30 a.m. WHO SLEEPS THAT MUCH?
Sorry about the weird post. You could say I'm a little sleep deprived.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Overheard in my Office
Coworker 1: So, how is new girl working out [referring to me]?
Coworker 2: She's really neat and organized.
Coworker 1: Well that's good.
Coworker 2: No, she's like American Psycho neat and organized.
Coworker 1: Oh weird.
But how did they know of my love of tyvek suits???
Coworker 2: She's really neat and organized.
Coworker 1: Well that's good.
Coworker 2: No, she's like American Psycho neat and organized.
Coworker 1: Oh weird.
But how did they know of my love of tyvek suits???
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