Phone Interruptions

I have been having weird phone-related events happening all week. Like, if I answered the phone tonight and someone in a scratchy voice said "Seven days" I would not at all be shocked. Here's what's been going on phone-wise with me this week:

I got on the elevator in my building this morning, and there was a ringing noise. This confused the hell out of me because I recently canceled my cell phone plan. I looked around the 6x6 elevator for someone's lost phone, thinking that has got to be where the ringing is coming from. But no - it was the emergency phone in the elevator. So...I answer it. I mean, it was ringing and all.

Guy Calling the Emergency Phone in the Elevator in my building: Hey! Let me speak to your manager!

Me: Sir? This is the emergency phone in an elevator, there's no manager her, seeing as it's an elevator and all.

Guy: What? This isn't [Business Name I Don't Remember]?

Me: No. It's an elevator, you're calling an emergency phone in an elevator.

Guy: What?

Me: I think it's an emergency phone - it is red after all.

Guy: [Hangs up the phone]

OK SERIOUSLY? That's phone has a PHONE NUMBER ATTACHED TO IT? I thought you picked it up and it called the cops! I mean, I know the button with the fireman's helmet on it calls the firehouse, but who knew that phone is usable?

Phone randomness story #2:

A lady leaves me a message at work. She has a midwestern American accent on the message. So, I call her back at her work number and I get her voicemail.

[Australian Accent] Hey y'all! I am off snogging a kangaroo! SNOG  SNOG ">SNOG SNOG SNOG SNOGGITY SNOG! Leave a message after the beep, and I will dig my phone out of the kangaroo's pouch and call you right back!

Lady, that's you voicemail at work? YOU ARE MY HERO. Any person who has a voicemail that mentions inter-species romantic affairs is my hero.

My work voicemail should be something like this:

[British Accent - because SHE got to use a fake accent, why can't I?] Hi, this is Enna, I am not actually away from the phone, I am on the other line with Eric and chatting online with my friend Nia. I could care less about what you want from me, and the whole time you are talking to me I will be thinking about my lunch.

And now, for my third phone randomness story:

Ring Ring

Me: Hello?

Someone's sweet old grandmother: Michael?

Me: I am sorry, I think you have the wrong number.

Grandma: Is Michael there?

Me: No Ma'am, no one here is named Michael.

Grandma: Ok, just tell Michael his grandmother called.

Me: Yes Ma'am, I surely will.

I sincerely hope that Michael's grandmother sends him some Christmas cookies, because she sounded like the Matronly-Cookie-Making-$5-in-Your-Birthday-Card kind of grandmother. And I have a hankerin' for some cookies. And $5.

Maybe I Should Keep That to Myself

I have a serious question for people who are in relationships (and for those of you who aren't, go ahead and throw your hat into the ring too.)

Do you tell your significant other everything?

See, I do. If you watch How I Met Your Mother (and if you don't - you SHOULD!) Eric and I are Lilly and Marshall. You know that episode where Marshall is telling Lilly about his day, and it is literally EVERYTHING? That is how Eric and I are with each other. And I am starting to wonder - maybe I should keep some stuff to myself. Like - does he really need to know that I couldn't find any floss this morning (P.S. I go through more floss than any other human being on earth. It's true.)

And don't get me wrong - the magical allure of the unknown between us is gone. I blasted that out of the stratosphere the first time I farted in front of him.  It didn't help that he said it smelled like that one time a rabbit died and started decaying under his deck. I am quite the classy little lady.

So yeah, I guess my question is: Should I tell my significant other everything?

Snork

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="350" caption="I am totally wearing a snuggie right now."][/caption]

I have been a little busy lately - mostly trying to clear my sinuses and stop the body aches and hoping I do not have swine flu so I can return to work.

For the record, I do not have the swine flu.

I don't know about you, but when I come down with something, I turn into a royal bitch. No, really. I usually wake up pretty happy. Thursday, I woke up a total raging bitch. Here are some thoughts I wrote down on Thursday before I went home sick from work:

"Did you throw away MY memo? I will cut you!"

"Bitch you did not just ask me how I am!"

"I quit."

"Your neck looks like an old woman's vagina."

Needless to say, my internal filter was working overtime on Thursday. I knew I had to get out of there before my internal filter just packed up it's bags and left me to my own devices. I would have been fired. And let's call a spade a spade: My internal filter isn't exactly the best when I am completely healthy. I say some stupid stuff rather frequently (see this entire blog for examples).

Ok, I am going to curl up in my snuggie, adjust my curlers, and watch Annie Hall. What - what are YOU looking at? I am sure you do things to make you feel better when you're sick! Oh...oh there goes my internal filter...

Whaaaaaat Now?

So, I am sick. I do not think I have the flu. Eric doesn't think I have the flu.

But, since I work for the government, I need to get tested for the swine flu.

I have an appointment at 3:00 p.m. CST to see what is wrong with me, and if it don't have a curly tail, I get to go back to work on Monday. Eric told me I have to be honest with the doctor - that I I have to tell the doctor it feels like someone beat the crap out of my ribs and back with a baseball bat.

Eric keeps saying I shouldn't accidentally start a pandemic. *insert eye roll here* YES HONEY.  He ruins all my fun. But - if for some reason you are interested in what the heck is wrong with me, check back around 5 CST today and I will tell you ALL ABOUT IT.

I should make this a trend - I will call it Overshare Fridays. Ok - back to bed with me, before someone beats me in the ribs again.

UPDATE:

Who has two thumbs and DOESN'T have the swine flu? THIS GIRL RIGHT HERE. Awwwwwwww yeah.

You've Come to the Right Place

Ok, so before I talk about the whole dress debacle, let me just show you some of my search engine terms:

Are you looking for an almost funny blog? Why - you've come to the right place!

And now for the wedding dress showdown

Dress ones positives:

It's simple and elegant, especially for a wedding dress. It's shiny and has great fabric. It's not all frilly.

Dress two positives:

It's girlie and Gatsby-esque (which I do appreciate Lori!), it has sleeves (so no accidental boob-showings), it weighs less than the other dress, and...it's the first wedding dress I ever fell in love with. I neglected to say that yesterday because I didn't want to weigh anyone's opinions.

The final tally is:

Dress 1: 3 votes

Dress 2: 4 votes

Hybrid of both dresses: 1 vote

Dammit. This didn't help me at ALL!

Kidding kidding, I was halfway hoping that one of the dresses would win over the other, and that totally gave my answer right there. So, I guess I am saying I used you all to get my answer.

Sorry if you feel used.

Speaking of sorry things ...what the fuck is wrong with John Phillips?! I could write 5 pages of WHAT THE HELL over and over.  But this is supposed to be a humor blog so I just won't write about it.

Ok Ladies, Tell Me Which One

Ok, I have two wedding dress options, and I need your opinions on them.

Which do you like better?

Dress 1:

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="280" caption="Dress #1"][/caption]

Or Dress 2:

[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="430" caption="Dress #2"][/caption]

Which do you like better and why?

Family Circus Brats

I hate the Family Circus. I think you all know that. But let me just say it again:

I HATE THE FAMILY CIRCUS.

That little fact is why I love this blog:

Scott Meets Family Circus.

It is the best comic on the internet. No. Really.

Ok, right behind With Gusto. I cannot even lie - I have an internet blog crush on With Gusto.

But enough of my creepy internet lust for Tim Dennis (yes, I did get the restraining order. No, I will not "cease and desist" you're just playing hard to get!) and check these out:







Seriously, I am going to harass this guy until he updates his blog/comic again.

Ladies and Gentlemen...The Beatles

I have a new respect for Ringo Starr.  We have been addicted to Rock Band - yeah, we're those dorks. I always play the drums. Partly because no one else wants to play them (just like a real life band!) and partly because I am good at it! I know! The person with no musical talents WHATSOEVER can keep a beat.

At the end of Helter Skelter, Ringo yells out "There's blisters on me fingers!" And let me tell you, there were on mine as well. My hands look like hell right now.

So yeah, drumming is for me. I am even considering it over my pipe dream of playing the piano.

But ...do I hate my neighbors that much?

Wait, of COURSE I DO.

Have I told you about my neighbors? No?

Oh man, THAT'S a blog post and a half!

Here's some quick snippets about my neighbors:

When we first moved in, a neighbor asked us where we moved here from. I answered "The south side" and the neighbor doing the asking got this "Oh God no" look of horror on her face and then told me she would wait for the next elevator. She didn't even want to get on the elevator with me. As if I was going to rob her on the elevator. OBVIOUSLY I would case her condo and then rob her when she WASN'T HOME. Duh.

A neighbor knocked on our door in the middle of the night and threatened me with bodily harm. Apparently I was making too much noise. This came as quite a shock to me, seeing as I was sleeping right up until he started banging on the door. And I had to wake up in less than 5 hours. However, the "off" button in my mind doesn't quite work when I just wake up, so when he said "I'm going to have you kicked out of the building"  - I looked him dead in the eye and through gritted teeth said "I'm going to have you killed." Eric said that probably wasn't the best thing to say, but none of the neighbors talked to us for a year, and that wasn't exactly a bad thing.

A neighbor legally stole my car. This is a blog post in itself that I will post at a later date. But needless to say, I was pretty pro-gun after that.

My toilet overflowed, and as much as that sucked, a neighbor told Eric that any damage done to HIS condo he would be suing us for damaged. This is where having a great lawyer comes in handy. He found a clause in our associations rules that said that any damage done to your condo falls under your OWN insurance policy. This taught us to be nice to people who have accidents that they cannot control that somehow affect us - because that guy could have been understanding. Instead, he was a dick and lawyered up. And then tried to say that we had to pay for his lawyer. Nuh-uh homeboy - YOU hired him. In fact, that's what HIS lawyer told him as well.

There's an awful lot of really nice people who live here too, people who have held the door for me when I have my arms full of groceries. But just like they say that you have to compliment a child 100 times to make up for one insult - it's going to take a lot of time to make me like these people.

Well, that and the death of the guy who stole my car. I have tap shoes and a white tux all ready for when that happens.

In the meantime... I need to research drum kits!

Love Her or Hate Her/Mouthslutting

I like Dooce. Granted, I do not like everything she writes - some stuff I am just not in her target audience. And that's understandable. Some of the stuff I write people don't like or understand. I like her because she is an excellent writer, and because she has turned her whole life into a brand. I also like her husbands blog. I am definitely in his target audience.

If you don't read Dooce regularly, let me just tell you: The woman gets a lot of hate mail. A LOT. There have been a lot of sites that have cropped up just to tear her a new one. Some of the things they say are things I will admit I have thought in passing over the years. And some of the things they say are downright ugly as hell.

Dooce, aka Heather Armstrong, is one smart cookie though. People often do not give her enough credit.

Recently, she got a little tired of all the hate mail/comments/emails/sites, and started a Hate page on her blog, and then slapped up every single ad she could (or, actually, if we want to give credit where credit is due, her husband Jon slapped up every ad he could find.)

THIS IS FRICKEN BRILLIANT!

I can only read them in small doses, because shit, that is INSANE. What people write to this women is INSANE. I would spend my days in the fetal position if I got that much hate mail!

So yeah, kudos to Jon and Heather for turning something ugly into fun and profit!

And now, for something I wrote down on a piece of paper while sleep walking last night:

"Tell Beth she is a mouth slut. She always put objects in her mouth - pens, pencils, shirts. Tell her she is a mouth slut. This will save her life one day."

The 'this will save her life one day' part was underlined three times to denote ABSOLUTE IMPORTANCE. Note that I didn't tell myself to tell her to stop putting stuff in her mouth - only that I need to tell her that she is a mouth slut.

I cannot wait to see the kind of hits I am going to get from writing the term "mouth slut" on here. I am still getting loads of hits from that ONE TIME I mentioned that people kept searching for pictures of my feet on this blog (I am giving you the pervert eye, UK readers! Almost all my "foot fetish" searches come back to IP addresses that are located in the UK. And Nevada [this little revelation will only be humorous to my parents])

Have a great Friday folks - I know my feet and I will!

Welcome My Friend

To the person who Googled the term "Pictures of Drunk Muppets" and came upon this blog:

You, sir, need to be my new best friend.

24 Hours in a Day

So, I went the freelance route finally. The gist is - anything Eric and I can do for money we are now going to do for money. Well, not anything. I passed up the "pen pal" freelance gig where I would be a "virtual pen pal" for "lonely men" for a site that downright horrified me.

People, it takes a lot to horrify me.

Now I am thinking to myself as I write this, maybe I should have taken the porno chat girl position - if nothing else - think of the BLOG fodder!

But seriously, I can't imagine doing that. I would ruin everyone's good time by reminding them that women poop too!

I wish someone would pay me to go to those sites and post things like "sorry guys, she poops too" or "if you look really hard, you can see where they tried to photoshop out her c-section scar!" I just want to be the pervert internet's wet blanket.

Some jobs I did apply for are for general comedy writing, as well as technical writing. There are an awful lot of social networking jobs on there as well, which I will be applying to. If you knew me in real life, you would know just how well connected I really am virtually. No, really, I am a big bad virtual dork that is famous on the internet.

My motto has now become "there are 24 usable hours in every day." And frankly people, I plan on making money every one of those hours.

I know what you are all thinking - put ads up on this blog.

Here's the thing about ads - for one, I would have to move this blog to another server, wordpress doesn't support ads, which bites big time, since they are the cheapest hosting around. And two - I am looking at a maximum of 20 dollars American a month for the hits I get here now. Ok, it probably is more than that, but I would need to get double the hits I do now to pull in....say...what Eric used to make a month when he was employed.

Now, let me tell you my pipe dream - my dream among dreams - and why I am doing this - I want to pay off my student loan debt in one year. And, for the sake of honesty, it's just above $9,000.

I know I have nothing to bitch about - there are people out there that have over $100,000 worth of student loan debt. BUT THOSE PEOPLE ARE DOCTORS. I, obviously - based on nothing but my medical escapades alone - am not a doctor.

So that is my pipe dream right now. I am considering putting up one of those status bars - you know the ones - usually women use them to show how much weight they have lost or when their baby is due. I want to put one up where it shows how much debt I have left.

But sadly I do not have time for that right now. I have to reply to this guy who wants to know what I am wearing.

I am kidding Mom! I didn't take that job! There's not enough Purell in the world to make me take that job!

Do Not Diss My Toothpastes

Truth time - I shop at Walmart. Yes, yes, throw those scornful glances in my direction. But guess what - I was unemployed and now Eric is - Walmart is cheaper, and sometimes we need cheaper. Having morals is expensive.

Anyhow, I buy Ultrawhite and Colgate Total Care toothpaste - usually together. I switch between them - one for the protection, and one for the whitening power of awesome (seriously, Ultrawhite is the most appropriately named toothpaste EVER.)

I am only telling you this because it's what us in the literary world call a story introduction. (Don't act like you didn't learn something today! My blog is suddenly educational!)

Now, I am a freak about toothpaste. I do not like anything - NOTHING - gritty being rubbed against my teeth. It makes me gag.

I also do not like anything other than mint flavoring in my toothpaste. And not just lightly mint flavored, it has to be that taste bud damaging, burning mint flavor.

So, I am standing in the toothpaste aisle of Walmart, trying to find my toothpastes, and a woman comes up to me.

"See, I like this one" she says, and hands me a box of some brand. Probably Crest (nothing against you Crest people, it's just not for me.)

Ok, I am just looking for MY toothpaste. I am not just standing there, waiting for someone to hand me toothpaste. Wait...does Walmart have this service? Did I miss something?

So, I put the toothpaste back on the shelf, and then grab my toothpastes. The woman looks at me like I am crazy and says "Honey, just use this one, you won't need two toothpastes, you'll just need one."

"No thanks, different strokes for different folks, ya know?" Is what I reply. I mean, again, not look for suggestions, just looking for my toothpastes.

She walks away and says "Idiot"

I am sorry...but WHAT? I am not above throwing down in the middle of a Walmart. I will squirt this Ultrawhite right into your eyes!

Is it weird that when someone insults me, I instantly think of ways I can use what I am holding as a weapon? Yeah, I figured it was.

So, I guess the moral of the story is - never insult my handgun. HA!

Picture Time With Ms. Enna

Spam bots are getting tricky... I wrote about how I accidentally got glitter in my eyes. My mom commented with the following:

Then, I get spam comment that said the following:

So...uh...mom? Am I adopted? Because this lady SOUNDS LIKE SHE'S MY MOTHER. (I kid I kid! Please don't send me pictures of me getting pulled out of your "third base" to prove I am your daughter.)

Yeah. I mentioned my mother's "third base" on the internet. Feel free to engrave that on my headstone.

Enna Stein
1983-xxxx
Daughter, Friend, Fiance
"Blogger  who once mentioned her mother's third base on the internet"

Annnnnd now I am going to prepare myself for a phone call tomorrow at work. I don't think I need to tell you who it will be from or what it will be about.

Hi Mom! Sorry...

Pork From A Year Ago

Here's some posts from one year ago:

My postman thought I was a pervert. Also known as how Eric got a subscription to Playboy for one year.

I am a total dick sometimes.

This guy Mike has the same sleep disorder as me.

I still keep these wipes on me.

Ok, I am going to bed. This weekend has been crazy. Crazy good, but crazy none-the-less. And I need sleeeeeeeeeep.

So... You're Reading #10

Want to see something cool?

Scroll down to #15 and just look.

I used to be #10. But #15 is pretty cool too.

I took a screen shot of when I was #10 and saved it. I plan on making a scrapbook of all my accomplishments in life to someday show my child - look how cool your mom used to be before you arrived? Yes, child of mine, you ruined my life. Wait...no. I probably shouldn't say that last piece.

Before you get all on my ass, that was a joke! I would never tell my child that.

So yeah, Eric lost his job. And that sucks. But we have hope. And that's cool. He wants to do something other than what he has been doing. And really, that's pretty darned exciting.

Oh, and for the record, I am also number 45 or so on the Amazon top 100 books about parenting and families. Puts that little joke up there in perspective now doesn't it?

Seriously though, I have no idea why I am even ON the parenting and families list.  I mean, I still don't trust myself to babysit my niece and nephew. When people ask me to watch their children, I always think to myself "I should report you to DCFS for just allowing me to be alone with a child. I am a walking talking choking hazard."

I often joke with Eric that when we have a child, I am just going to drop it off at my friend Becki's house and tell her to keep it until it's officially "cool."  "Cool" meaning potty trained and able to feed itself. Really, we should just adopt a teenager.

And now, for something completely different:

I got glitter in my eye the other day. Have you ever gotten glitter in your eye before? No? Let me describe it for you:

It feels like someone soaked glass in turpentine and shoved it in an open wound. An open wound that compulsively closes.

I was smart enough not to rub my eye, and to flush it out immediately. But I couldn't blink. And then I started thinking that maybe I should go to the hospital. What it glitter even made of, I wonder?

I decide to go to my eye doctor. Mostly because he is right by me, and because eyes are his specialty. Plus I was afraid that I would be laughed out of the emergency room for my very festive eye wound.

So the eye doctor sees me, and uses this special stuff to flush out my eye. For HALF AN HOUR. Then he inspects my eye again, and sees no glitter, and says I am fine. No scratches, no real damage done.

Then, he takes off his glasses, leans against the counter, and says "Enna honey, are you determined to blind yourself in your left eye? You can tell me honey."

I love my eye doctor. That man is the shit.

And no, I really do enjoy not being blind. And lesson learned: A container of glitter with a really tight cap should be opened only with protective eye gear.

THE MORE YOU KNOW!

Randomosity

First up, how adorable is my niece in these pictures:





Someone is happy to be swinging!

Baby Peas' dad is now a blogger as well. You can harass him here. Go my minions - HARASS AWAY! Tell him you don't want to hear about the White Sox, you want to see more pictures of his adorable children!

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In other news, thanks to you all for being nice t0 me yesterday. It was a bad day.

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Ok, is anyone else obsessed with Farmville on Facebook? THERE IS SOMETHING SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH ME THAT I LOVE THAT GAME SO MUCH!

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This is my background on my work computer now:



Hey there happy Sunggle Bear! You so happy!

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In other other other news - I have a wedding dress. It's the first wedding dress I ever fell in love with. It's Charlotte's wedding dress from when she married Harry. And we ordered it. AND THAT IS AWESOME. I am so super excited. Like - jumping off the furniture running around the house in my underbritches excited.

So, here we are, this is the wedding dress I am talking about:



I mean, look at this, this is an awesome dress. This is MY wedding dress right there!

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Ok, that's it for today, Leverage is on, and golly do I love this show! You do not even know how much I love this show! Also - I just discovered the show Medium. WHERE THE HECK HAVE I BEEN? That show is excellent!

Dear Diary - Today I Had a Pity Party

I know this is a humor blog and all, but let me just tell you what is going on in my life. So go grab a refill on coffee (I am looking in your direction Nia) and come on back to my little pity party.

Enna passes out Pity Party hats. It's not a party without hats!

So, you know how I lost my job awhile back? Well, it looks like the same thing is happening to Eric. I probably shouldn't write about this. I mean, this is really personal for him, but let's just call this my therapy and let me get this out before I fucking explode.

Ok, we are just now getting somewhat back on our feet. Every time I stand up, another aftershock of the earthquake that is my life knocks me back down. Normally I just tell people not to live on fault lines. But what do I do here?

Do I keep getting up? I mean, every time I get up, I get angrier about the previous aftershocks.

On the plus side, poverty equals some FANTASTIC weight loss people! I would suggest you try it, but I am not that cruel.

And, for the record, I do not want to hear how it's going to get better, and to keep my chin up. That only takes me so far. (About as far as the liquor cabinet, in the event you were wondering just how far.)

Eric can literally get a job tomorrow, the man is talented and has excellent experience in a very specific field. But let's just stop for a second - if you didn't have to work for, say, three months, what would you do? What is your DREAM job? And let's say you are seconds away from a degree - what would you want that degree to be in? (Do not say teaching. No. Just don't.)

I guess, to summarize what is going on, Eric is at a crossroads. He doesn't want to work at a job he hates for the rest of his life, but staring into the face of poverty is beyond terrifying.  And he is good at this particular job. I just need him to see that fact. These people have beat him down to the point that he cannot see his worth anymore.

(Now watch me get sued!...) The last six months at my last company were abject hell. I would go home and name my Sims John and Bill and then lock them in a room with a fireplace and burn them...burn it all to the ground. Every day I got off the train and was saddened by the fact that the building was still standing. The boss would treat me like gum under his shoe. (There was a boss shift change. I still think the original owner/operator was a great boss.) I got saddled with a lot of things that were out of my control, and when they went bad, I was blamed and treated like crap. This job taught me that I am not above hating people. Actual REAL hate - something I never thought I was capable of.

Then I got my current job. My current job? The exact opposite of my last job. I am becoming friends with my co-workers. People are happy with my work. I have never made a mistake at work.

Let that sink in for a moment.

In three months, no mistakes. It made me realize just how miserable I was at my last job. I thought I knew how miserable I was.

You cannot have the sweet without the sour.

Eric is in the heart of the sour, and as weird as it sounds, I would rather be going through the sour. He is better at comforting me than I am at comforting him. He has pulled me through hell more times than I have him. I have one notch on my belt, and he has easily 60 on his.

I told him I would give up the house, the jewelry, all the stuff, and we would just do whatever it is that makes us happy. He said giving me all the jewelry and stuff is what makes him happy.

And this is where we differ. I can walk away from every thing except for him. People, clothes, jewelry, everything. Burn it all.

He thinks I am insane. And has told me that he doesn't want me to give all this stuff up.

But you have to admit, the idea of giving it all up, burning all bridges, and just wandering, it sounds appealing. Sometimes it's just too much stuff.

I would like to point out, by the way, I have been without Xanax since January 11th. I overcame the withdrawal and the addiction that no one tells you about when they prescribe it to you in the first place. I almost refilled it in February, and then almost again, in March. But I decided against it. I wanted to feel something, because by feeling it, I would never forget it. And I remember every detail now because I felt it - and still feel it. And those feelings? It makes the sweet just that much sweeter.

Well, this post well all over, now didn't it? I almost feel obligated to put in something humorous here.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Well, thanks Cheezeburger! That just about does it!

Well Carve Me Up and Serve Me On a Platter!

Who has two thumbs and swears too much on her blog? THIS GIRL!

A special hello goes out to Eric's family - who just found this blog because Jay just told you about it in an email.

HI! HOW ARE YOU? WELL NOW I GUESS WE WILL HAVE SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT AT THE NEXT FAMILY PARTY, WON'T WE?

If you're wondering where you can buy a paperback copy of my book, you can just go here and I direct you accordingly.(Yes, it will be on Amazon by the end of the month, it's just slow going. Sorry about that!) (It will also be on Itunes hopefully by Christmas. That one is a little harder, but we're working on it.)

If you're wondering if I write about you guys, the answer is no. Well, not really. I will mention "Mrs. Eric's Mom" and Charlotte gave me special permission to write about her (exact words: "Go ahead! The world needs to know how hilarious I am!") and obviously I write about Eric, but outside of that, no one else is mentioned.

Oh, and while I am saying hi to people, a special hello goes out to my UK readers. You now outnumber my US readers. Leave a comment, would ya? There's literally hundreds of you that I have never heard from.  Also - if you know Graham Norton, and especially if he is, say, hiring a new comedy writer, please pass along this site to him. HI GRAHAM! PLEASE HIRE ME! I AM EVER SO CLEVER AND CHARMING!

So, to Eric's Family, take a look around. I have a weird, juvenile sense of humor, and I have a tendency to over-share. Sorry in advance for all the profanity.

Sorry Paul

So, back back back in the day, I used to take sewing lessons. I know, throw those shameful glances in my direction.

Anyway, my ex-boyfriend Paul has a grandmother (like many of my ex-boyfriends) and this grandmother was a friend of my family.

Grandma O, as she will now be called, was quite taken with me. I like to think that it's because I was a really shy, quiet child (I know, shocking, right?) She found out I was taking sewing lessons, and asked me if I wanted to make her granddaughter some Barbie clothes, and she would pay me for them.

I thought this was a great idea, so I said yes.

Then my mother made the Barbie clothes because I was just learning to sew and was still working on the whole "straight line" idea (an idea I am still working on mastering).

And we passed her Barbie clothes off as mine.

Now flash forward to when I was 17. I am dating Paul, and Paul mentions the fact that his grandmother always compared him to me. Like, his WHOLE life. Every time he got a B for a grade, she would say "I'll bet that Enna got an A" (she lost that bet, I don't even know which class that was in, but she lost that bet!)

So, I ask Paul why - why does his grandmother constantly compare his accomplishments to mine? Why me?

And he says "Because Enna, you were under ten when you were starting your own Barbie clothing business, and I was just a chubby kid  playing video games all day long."

And that's when I drop the bomb on him - I never made those clothes, my mom did.

This look comes over him. It's the look of "I have wasted my whole life."

"Why didn't you ever tell me! Wait! Wait! We are calling my grandmother RIGHT NOW!" He was screaming and animated. More so than I have ever seen him.

I talked him out of calling his grandmother. I mean really, there are very few grandmothers that are impressed with me.

But it was weird. It was like I was watching something unfold that shaped his whole life. I kind of felt bad for the guy.

But, on the same note, I set him free from this tether. And he lives a very charmed life. He is one of the most interesting people I have ever met, and I am thankful that I got to be a small part of what shaped his life.

Ok, and now for more list: (If you're wondering what this list is all about, and why I am over-sharing,  you can see this post, this post, this post, and this post.)

86. I am so totally drunk right now.

87. I have given away more free copies of my book than I have sold. This probably makes me a failure as a writer, but then, out of no where, my friend Becca (not to be confused with Becki) sends me a text telling me I am meant to be a great writer. There is a God.

88. Nothing is sexier to me than Eric in a suit. Hence why we are not having tuxes at the wedding.

89. I secretly miss my former co-workers a lot. They get my sense of humor.

90. I am obsessed with soccer. I will start my own team one day.

91. I have survived skin cancer. Ok, it was precancerous, but to me, it was scary enough to count.

92. I do not understand Basketball. Eric has told me about it, explained it to me a million times, and I just don't get it. The closest he ever came was by saying "It's like soccer only you can use your hands."

93. I hate AT&T. I will never have their service again. No, seriously. I have never been so happy as when cell phones began to replace home phones. I take joy in calling them just to remind them that I will never again go with their service.

94. Dan Aykroyd is my hero. I want to live his life. Complete with having a super hot wife.

95. I once kept of a count of how many times I peed during the day. 24 times. There has GOT to be something wrong with that!

96. Someone mentioned someone's name I hadn't talk to since March recently. I used to talk to this person daily. You know how when you are walking somewhere, and someone is making a turkey, and it takes you a second to recognize that old, familiar smell. It was like that. "Who?" was my response. That response didn't make me happy, or sad. It was just a response.

97. I am way too much like Jack Donaghy. It disturbs me.

98. I have a weird fear of odd numbers. I find them untrustworthy.

99. I spend an awful lot of time in the art museum.

100. Have you ever looked in the mirror at yourself and said your name. I have. I still don't think it fits me. That's the real reason I use different names on the internet - I am trying to get closer to something that is more me.

Books Stores and Superglue

I was talking to my friend Joe online (through Google Voice, for those of you who like to keep up on my correspondence methods) and I had this delightful little conversation:

Me: congrats on the bookstore!

Joe G : ??? What r u talkin bout Willis?

Me: Dude call your wife apparently you got the contracts for your book store. SIDE NOTE - if she was planning to surprise you DO NOT TELL HER I TOLD YOU. And PS act surprised.

Joe G : Way to ruin the surprise ENNA!

Me: It's all over Facebook! I...I...I didn't mean to ruin it! Now I have to go light myself on fire. SIDE NOTE - please stock my book in your new store.

And now, for something Nia said to me that made me stop and go "woah" (via Google IM, for those of you keeping up):

UncouthBrute: Hey Aimee Ceour! Do you know, this world is a better place because you exist in it?

And for your daily dose of my idiocy:

Me: Oh no! oh no oh no oh no!

Eric: What's wrong?

Me: I accidentally superglued my fingers together!

Eric: Which ones?

Me: Alllll of them! My whole left hand!

Eric: (wandering over to see the gluey mess I have made of myself) How on earth did you do that?

Me: Hmmmmppphwaaaahhhhhh

Eric: Why did you stick your fingers in your mouth?

Me: Uhhhhhgffff hffffg thhhhhppppf

Eric: Can you get them out?

Me: Hhhhhffffp

Eric: I am trying to heeeeeeeelp but I need to know if you can get your fingers out?

This story ends with me missing some skin from my lips. Somehow I thought the saliva would melt the glue. Maybe it was just the fumes doing the thinking for me, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

And no, I didn't ingest any of the glue. That would have been stupid.

Now where did I leave off on my list?

71. At any given time of the day or night, I could go for some grilled asparagus.

72. When one of my friends has an event/party, I act like someone's drunk aunt. I hang out with their mother in the kitchen, getting plastered, until Eric wanders in and finds me talking about some random abnormal growth on me or how "my damned kids are pieces of shit and never call" and then he whisks me away to a land I like to call "Shitty Soberville" I am usually back to being sober by the time dinner is being served.

73. I eat faster than any other girl I know (and most men). I have to consciously tell myself "Slow it down there Enna, it's not a race. Nobody wants to test out their Heimlich skills tonight."

74. I also get hiccups rather frequently.

75. I listen to way too much NPR.

76. I am still getting rejection letters from jobs I applied at while I was unemployed. Every time I get one, I stick it on the fridge, like it's a paper with an 'A+' on it. I beam with pride and think to myself "That's right, I may not have been chosen, but by God the city of Manteno considered me. And they were kind enough to spend the money on postage for a 'Dear John' letter to me!"

77. I dated a guy named Paul once. Paul's grandmother knew me when I was a wee child, and still to this day tells him "I'll bet Enna is doing something really exciting and enterprising! That girl is going places! You should be more like her." And now I secretly think that all my ex-boyfriend's grandmothers say that about me. Thanks Mrs. O - you really inflated my ego. No one needs to tell that woman that I am now writing about how I am stupidly gluing my fingers together and then gluing my hand to my mouth. Let's just keep that between us, Internet Friends.

78. I took sewing classes as a child. Go ahead, let the mocking begin.

79. A fun Saturday night activity for Eric and myself is sitting around playing Oregon Trail. He insists on frequent stopping and rests, and I insist on letting the children die of dysentery because then I do not have to feed them. For the record, I have the high score.

80. Whenever possible, Eric and I will drive instead of fly. Partly because I am not fond of things I cannot land safely in the event of sudden-pilot-death, and partly because it's just so much more fun than sitting in an airport hearing announcements and feeling useless and eating way too much over-priced Cinnabon.

81. I yell "Moo" out the car window at not just cows, but pigs, buffalo, ostrich, and horses that I see on road trips. I restrain myself around cops and the Amish. Cops because they can beat me with a club legally, and Amish because they make one helluva rocking chair!

82. Many of my lifelong goals have already been accomplished: Visit a Waffle House, Visit a Tim Horton's, walk in the ocean, visit a different country, go somewhere tropical, visit Disney World, publish a book, etc. I also feel like I should make a new set for the next 30 years of my life. It's almost as though I didn't set my goals too high.

83. I am addicted to Metropolitan Home. Those houses are downright sterile and works of art in their own right.

84. I want a really big dog. I will name it something like Custard or Melons (note the 'S' people!) or Straw or Spare Change I Found In The Couch Cushions And Bought A Dog With. I think we can all agree I need to legally sign away any and all naming rights I have to Eric. It's for the best.

(You are totally picturing me putting up a lost dog poster that says "I lost my Melons! Call xxx-xxx-xxxx if you find her!" right now aren't you?)

85. I roleplay. Like - the Dungeons and Dragons kind of roleplaying. I KNOW. Now you know my most shameful secret!

Protestant Guilt

In case you didn't know, I was raised Catholic. Right up until the age of roughly 25, I was Catholic.

Then, I had a really weird dream about my dead grandmother where a Bible passage was recited to me and I was told to go to a specific church...and so I did. And at that church that very Bible passage was read again. Which lead me to becoming a Protestant. I would write down the whole story, but I fear it might not be interesting enough to post on a blog. Let alone a humor blog. But if you want to hear it just drop me a line in the comments and I will totally type it up for you.

ANYWAY - since I have become a protestant, I have been getting an influx of Catholic mail. Various Catholic organizations really want my money. They are also apparently praying for me. I am totally crediting my mother with signing me up for these mailing lists because it totally sounds like something that she would do just for the fun of it.

Not so subtle there Mom.

She knows I am kidding (maybe? Did you? I would really like to know.)

Having been raised Catholic, and having gone through 12 - count then TWELVE - years of Catholic school, I am now conditioned not to throw away anything that has an image of Jesus or Mary or a Saint on it. Which means there are now saint's images ALL OVER MY HOUSE. Including on my nightstand.

Some nights, I roll over and think to myself "Man, I just want to eat a brick of cheese. Maybe melt it up with some bean-less chili and just grab a wooden spoon and shovel it down my pie-hole."

And then I roll over and see an image of Saint Thomas and I have little conversations with him in my head.

"OH No Miss Enna. Do not be a glutton. I will pray for you!"

(And yes, Saint Thomas sounds like Aunt Jamima in my head. I don't know why.)

And then I roll over and go to sleep because I cannot get past the fact that people are starving in China and whatnot and therefore I shouldn't be eating 14,000 calories in one sitting in the middle of the night.

I need to get past this and throw this stuff away already. Maybe I should get some images of Martin Luther or John Calvin or John Wesley and have a little prayer-card face off. A mini-reformation in my own bedroom.

Annnnnnnd now I just sound crazy. Well, I am glad we had this little chat, Internet Friends!

To continue with the list (Part 1, Part 2):

51. If I had a little boy, right this very second, I would name him Rivers. Not River - Rivers. It's ok - Eric thinks I am insane too.

52. I wish Gain made a perfume. I would totally wear it every day (but I would probably stop washing my clothes. It would really be a trade off.)

53. I have been dealing with bouts of jealousy as of late. It's totally crazy - I am jealous of people I barely know.

54. I have kept a diary since as far back as I can remember.

55. The last person who told me they loved me (outside of Eric) was Leah. This may mean nothing to anyone else, but this was awesome.

56. I have been doing battle with myself the entire last year. Part of me screams "Life is too short! Have a baby/move across the country/get married/travel the world RIGHT NOW." And the other half of me says "Slow it down there lady, you have plenty of time. Plus - who would take care of your kids if you died?" (Probably Becki, in all honesty)

57. I am going to be one of those assholes that brings their kid EVERYWHERE with them. Work conference? BABY IS COMING TOO. Family reunion in Boston? BABY IS COMING TOO. On the plus side, it guarantees I will have my own hotel room. If you're wondering WHY - think about how I act when Eric isn't around - now imagine how I would act if I didn't know where my kid was at all times. Yeah. Not pretty.

58. I hate fluffy socks. It makes my feet feel like they are slowly and lightly being strangled by a muppet.

59. I do not use salt when I am cooking. I like to think I am secretly keeping Eric from a lifetime of heart disease.

60. I fricken Love Celene Dion. But I hated Titanic. Odd, I know.

61. I add hot sauce to everything. If I don't want to eat it - add hot sauce. It makes everything instantly better. Even tuna casserole.

62. I am seriously considering vegetarianism for the year leading up to my wedding. But dammit I love shrimp and crab and really any creature in the sea.

63. I secretly want to try eating a dolphin. Not like catching it and taking a bite out of it, more like finding a place that serves it. (I figured I should clarify)

64. Food really does taste better when someone else cooks it! I need to sign Eric up for cooking classes!

65. I totally wax my face.

66. I think that DQ Heath Blizzards are a gift from God. Seriously.

67. I pretty much only eat kosher processed meats...that is when I actually eat meat.

68. I got kicked out of the first high school I ever attended. I am actually PROUD of this fact. I mentioned it in the job interview once - and got hired at that job. That was at the previous job.

69. I have been hired at a job because I was the only white person to show up to the job interview. I took the job because I needed the money. This I am not proud of.

70. I can play the "Psycho" music on the violin. That is the extent of my musical abilities.