Dec 112016
 

Another week in the books, time to purge the ol’ battered brain. (Battered as in beaten, not deep-fried carnival treat. OR IS IT A DEEP-FRIED CARNIVAL TREAT. I think there’s a recipe for that in Jeffrey Dahmer’s cookbook. What am I even talking about. I need sleep, my people.)

  • At work on Thursday, Gayle sent out a department wide email about having an extra candle she didn’t need and first person to her desk gets it. First of all, there’s no such thing as “not needing a candle.” CANDLES ARE LIFE. Luckily, I sit about five feet away from Gayle’s desk, so I got up to casually walk over and claim my free candle in a cool, calm, and collected manner. In my world, that includes nearly catapulting ones self out of their chair, taking a giant lunge, and then galloping like a FUCKING RACE HORSE around the corner to Gayle’s dark abode, completely cutting off Catherine, who had dashed out of her office at the same time in an effort to be #1. BUT I WON! And I have no problem admitting to the Internet that I was prepared to throw an elbow or eight (you don’t know my body) and clothesline a person if I had to. Anyway, you’re reading the blog of a proud new owner of a SLEIGH BELLS scented candle, homemade by Gayle’s friend. I let Catherine hold it long enough to catch a whiff, because I wanted her loss to sting even harder. I care.
    • I’m not sure what SLEIGH BELLS are supposed to smell like, but I think cinnamon?
    • Apparently, Catherine and I created a quite the audible stampede, so the topic of candles became a group conversation, which inspired me to share a CAUTIONARY TALE involving candle tarts. Here, I’ll tell you, too. Pull up a seat, bring a pencil to jot down some notes, or just write your name over and over in different styles like I do in meetings, but make sure you add various accolades after it, like ‘is awesome” and “rules” and “is better than everyone in the entire world.” Anyway, my story dates back to 2005. I was home alone one day, which right away tells you that this is about to be one of the Harrowing Chapters in my life. One of the candle tarts had been burning for some time in my bedroom and I decided that I needed to change the scent immediately. Because if the wax was still in liquid-form, it should be harder to change, right? So I did the logical thing and carted the burner into the bathroom and poured it right into the toilet. Former honor student, right here! What I hadn’t anticipated was that once it hit the water, it would QUADRUPLE IN SIZE. Maybe even whatever comes after quadruple. It immediately hardened and blew up like a balloon, turned into this grotesque, elephantine wax brain, buoyantly glurging in the commode, threatening to come to life. Now, here’s the part of the story where I couldn’t quite remember the ending aside from the fact that Henry was all, “OHHONESTLYERIN!!!” when he came home from work. So later that night (we’re back to present-day now, try to keep up) I mentioned this story to Henry and he laughed without mirth (see also: disgusted sigh). In Henry’s reality, I left it I the toilet and waited for him to roll up on his white stallion, Sir Lancelot’s plunger in hand, to conquer the Yankee Candle commode coagulation. Sure, this seems plausible….but I decided that I better fact check this in the ol’ LiveJournal archives. Because I knew this was something I would have transcribed for posterity since I have no life. And here I am, 11 years later, recounting this tale like it’s the story of my ENGAGEMENT or something (thanks, Henry). LiveJournal reminded me that I was a brave girl that day and reached into the toilet all on my own and removed that chunky abomination of Midsummers Night and threw it in the garbage. However, various tendrils stayed behind, hugging the sides of the toilet bowl like waxy plankton, so I did what ANY ONE OF YOU would do and flushed. And then the toilet proceeded to run all day long until Henry rolled up on his white stallion, Sir Lancelot’s plunger in hand, to conquer the Yankee Candle commode coagulation. There. Henry’s the hero yet again. I HOPE THIS STORY SATISFIED YOU.
    • Speaking of being satisfied, I don’t get the appeal of those “satisfying” YouTube videos. They don’t make me feel satisfied! They just make me feel like I am literally watching the thing that’s happening and feeling no emotion about it whatsoever.
  • The look Henry gets on his face when I get in the car & casually say, “I don’t know what I signed up for but there’s apparently no cancellation fee” could be used in place of those alarm system decals to deter burglars. Anyway, turns out it was to switch our electric over to some clean environmental thing and Henry is like blowing the top of his head off over this. He was reading the pamphlet I was given while saying “Tell me you didn’t sign up for this. This is what that guy came to the door about last week when I said NO!!” But it was some sweet college boy, and I couldn’t say no! Even though when I was walking by and he said, “Excuse me miss, do you have a second?” I said no. Yet somehow, here we are. Now I have to call and cancel but I don’t feel like it.
    • “ALL OF THESE REVIEWS FOR THIS COMPANY ARE ONE STAR, ERIN!” Henry frantically hissed. I feel like the last time I did something like this, it was for my phone (back in the landline days) and the utility company somehow managed to forward all of my phone calls to a tattoo shop in Homestead, PA. #truestory
      • But I mean…no cancellation fee…so.
  • My smug face, in case you forgot what I looked like:

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  • I’M GOING TO SEE CITIZEN TOMORROW NIGHT! Fourth time this year, plus another time too when I saw Mat on his solo tour! I can’t explain how rejuvenating this band is for me. Another show by myself, but it’s OK. Eventually I’ll start making friends. Right, Internet diary?? #pityparty #toobadsosad
  • Last Monday on my lunch break, I was accidentally walking beside a man who started introducing himself to passers-by as “Satan.” This was near the Army Navy store, and that’s where the other crazy guy bought his machete!! I didn’t stick around to find out if this was going to be Machete Monday Part 2: Erin Gets Hemisected
  • Henry tried to serve me the worst acorn squash tonight and I sent it back to the kitchen with a quickness. I love acorn squash, but he strayed from the tried and true path and added some strange combination of spices to it and my palate was like, “Bitch, hell no.” So then he roasted other vegetables for and practically frisbeed it at my face. What a sensitive cook.

  • Sometimes Chooch goes to this super lame gaming place on the boulevard and I’m like, “Whatever, loaf with all the geeks, whatever.” And then I just make Henry deal with it (you know, the small, unimportant details such as: having money to pay, and getting picked up, etc.) but yesterday, Henry was like, “IF YOU EXPECT TO HAVE A PARTY TONIGHT, YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO HELP ME BECAUSE I CAN’T DO IT ALL ON MY OWN, SO AT THE VERY LEAST, GO PICK UP CHOOCH FROM THE GAMING PLACE WHILE I’M COOKING.” Ugh god, I can’t stand how dependent he gets on me! So there I am, bailing Henry out once again, driving to some lame ass gaming place to pick up my kid. So I go inside all huffily because why do I have to do everything, and then some guy is all, “Oh hello” and I’m all, “OH HELLO GUY WHO MILDLY LOOKS LIKE CHRIS PRATT BUT ENOUGH THAT I FIND MYSELF SUDDENLY INTERESTED IN THE GAMING PLACE.” So I collect my kid and as we’re leaving, Cute Guy says “Bye Riley!” all cheerily and I whispered, “WHO IS THAT” and Chooch (a/k/a Riley) casually shrugged and said, “The guy in charge.” We came home and I was like, “Hey Henry, I’ll be in charge of gaming place drop-off and pick-up from now on, you’re so very welcome.”
    • Chooch just told me the guy’s name is Ed. “Oh. Eh….let’s just go ahead and call him….Damon.” Ed is not sexy.

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  • Got a new mask for the wall! If you ever see an old Halloween mask at the flea market or thrift store, grab that shit up for me and I will trade you serial killer cards for it, or something of actual value…like a piece of Henry’s liver.
  • I still don’t know what’s going on with the weird neighbors. More on that later, I guess. I’m just obsessed  now at this point. To the point of flat out stalking and spying. Eh, nothing new for me, though. #lowkeysociopath
  • Speaking of, while Chooch was at the gaming place yesterday, Henry had to go to the store to get more stuff for the holiday party we hosted last night, and I actually went with him for once because it seemed the better alternative to staying home alone while Boots was next door marinating in nicotine and gin baths. Or whatever it is he does. Fucking weirdo. (I feel you, Phyllis.) So Henry was standing in line to buy CHIPPED HAM (ugh gross) and he said, “Instead of standing here being in everyone’s way, why don’t you go to AISLE THREE and get the paper plates.” And then he repeated “AISLE THREE” like four more times for good measure, and I’m like, “Dude, you can say it all you want, that’s not going to make me magically know how to get there.” I mean, god. But I did eventually find it and that’s where the real challenge began: WHAT KIND OF PLATES SHOULD I CHOOSE? So I opted for these green plastic ones, because they looked festive, and this was after much deliberation between those and ones that had snowmen on them, but those ones seemed a little trite if we’re being frank here. So I take the plates back to Henry and he had all kinds of negative things to say about them, like, “These are expensive” (????) and “How many people are you planning on feeding?” — whatever that means. So after he collected his gross bag of dead animal, we had to go back to the illustrious AISLE THREE where he completely went over my head (literally — the plates he chose were on a shelf above my head) and I was like, “Then what was even the point of you making me come to AISLE THREE and do this?!” and he was all, “I don’t know. I was stupid to think you could handle it.” OMFG, GET FUCKED, HENRY!

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  • GUYS KURT TRAVIS HAS A NEW BAND AND I’M SWEATING A LITTLE DO I HAVE A FEVER MAYBE.
  • I was off on Friday and it was glorious. I need very little! That’s not true! I made EGGS. Like, how do people even know how to cook eggs, my good god. It was so frustrating! My brow was furrowed and dotted with beads of sweat. I think I scraped Henry’s dumb pan. I somehow twisted the eggs into a knot when I tried to flip them? Part of the yolk was cooked solid and the other part was not cooked at all. I mean, I ate it anyway, but I felt myself getting food poisoning mid-bite. Henry came home and I told him about my disastrous turn in the kitchen and he asked, ‘Well, what were you trying to do to the eggs? Scramble them?” And I said, “Uh no, I was trying to makde dippy eggs, obvi.” And then he was like, “No, please don’t try that again” and said he’s going to teach Chooch how to make them so at least if Henry isn’t home and Chooch is, Chooch can just take care of it for me. Thanks, I think.
    • I luckily did not get sick and die like I anticipated!  I kind of wanted to though because Henry said, “Oh you’ll be fine” and just like, laughed it off, so I wanted him to feel super guilty and sorry that he said that, and didn’t take me to the ER to have my stomach pumped like a real soulmate would have. Probably. Jack probably would have done that for Jennifer on Days of Our Lives.
  • Speaking of DAYS, RIP Stefano DiMera. </3
    • Literally, Chooch just said, “Days of Our Lives? What is that?” and I’m like HOW HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD ME TALK ABOUT THAT BEFORE, SON!? So then I had to explain to him what a soap opera is, OMG, and how before he was born, Henry and I would “tape” each episode on the VCR and then watch it while eating dinner, because Henry and I have always been a super hot and exciting couple. Envy us.

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  • Um. I’ll leave you now with this picture of Drew, who is pissed because I moved her wheelchair and also put lights on it. And then had like 20 people over last night which frightened her and made her squeeze in between Henry’s dresser and the wall because she is the complete opposite of my old cats, who were always like, “PARTY’S HERE! WHERE MY PARTY PPL AT?” Seriously, my original cats (well, minus Willie) were fucking attention-starved party…well…animals. They were always up in it.

CIAO FOR NOW. I’m off work tomorrow too so who knows what tales I’ll regale you with! I HAVE NOTHING ELSE GOING FOR ME.

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